Self-Liberated

"The essayist is a self-liberated  man, sustained by the childish belief that everything he thinks about, everything that happens to him, is of general interest." – E. B. White

The human race is a fascinating gathering. We love to gloat over our self-sufficiency and adulthood, gallantly holding up the mantle of independence. Scarcely should we look back on our childhood but to glean a moment that has passed all too quickly. Dare we admit a jealousy of time itself, that has ravished us of desire and hope and passion? And so we carry on at a much quicker pace than necessary, rushing towards an end we know nothing of. Our goals have lost their appeal, yet we yearn that much deeper for something unattainable.

There is a commonality at the core of the human shape, a pattern that draws us together while at the same time decisively waging war between us. We are individuals, we are strong, we need only ourselves. The battle mantra shouts a deafening cry to silence togetherness.

What is it that guides one to another? A child expecting the embrace of a parent who doesn't show up; a girl who yearns for the protection of her father; a boy who screams out at the injustice of a silent mother. Is it that guidance which has shoved us so far apart?

Reflected in the memories of my life are shades of color resembling your soul. Clarity, it is said, comes in moments; brief segments of time that reveal not what is new, but rather that which has always been and yet remained unknown. Clarity, then, is the revelation of a past reality. It begs the question of how past realities are reconciled with the current.

Are there mirrored images in each of our lives, such that when I look at you, I see a glimpse of me? It is not so childish to believe, then, that I am of general interest; that one life might appeal to another simply on the basis that both exist. That is the brilliant beauty of the human soul; it reflects all that surrounds it and becomes a sculpted mosaic, inspiring awe within a wearied race.