a·pol·o·gy
əˈpäləjē
noun
- 1.a regretful acknowledgment of an offense or failure.
- 2.a very poor or inadequate example of.
- 3.a reasoned argument or writing in justification of something, typically a theory or religious doctrine.
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If ever I were to apologize for anything it would be that I don't believe that I have loved enough. Or maybe it was that I have loved the wrong things too much and the right ones not enough. Where I gave into fear instead of grace, I drowned in self-loathing for the creature that I became. Every decent-seeming man would deny orders over his heart, so I am not a decent man.
What are we, if not monsters, we who have stolen the humanity from our enemies then snuffed out their lives as if they were a candle's flame? Can such men be redeemed? By what measure shall we use? We see many today in our society cover themselves in glitter as if that can hide their scales and a fancy coat can cover up wickedness. But by what, again, are these things measured?
For who am I to say such wicked sins exist if I am one who has perpetrated much as well? Was I, or was I not instructed in right and proper behavior? Can my sins be absolved by the waving of wands and a toss of a Hail Mary? Can I turn a blinded eye towards the wrongs that I did towards others, when Justice herself is blind and I am only half so? Where can somebody who has been wronged and has done grievous things find absolution?
I once tried to run, but where do you go when you are trying to escape from yourself? When even Death is denied to you?
The recent celebrity suicides always brings to mind my own attempts and I always spend time considering of whether I have done the right thing with not following through with my own murder. I had three times where I deliberated it, pretty much each for the same reason.
I read a tweet thread about Anthony Bourdain, where his ex-girlfriend posts about what depression is like. For me it was as if my life was draining out of me, my spirit or essence, like a perpetual bleeding wound that couldn't heal. The light that I once had in my eyes, the optimism I had about the world, slowly suffocating in the darkness until I couldn't even see it within my self. My sun was black as pitch, and burned with the fires of a thousand dying stars. There were no evening lights in the night sky to guide my way.
In the way that makes up our mortal life, I had found myself in a gloomy wood, astray, for the right path had been lost. I was harassed by the beasts and monsters that lay hidden within mankind, showing me the ugliest parts of myself and others. I made my way through my hells, danced with deadly sins, and wrestled with the virtues that remain within every soul.
Anthony Bourdain imagined himself a fraud. I imagine myself a failure.
I had written the details of my suicide attempts but had found them drawing me back into those places and I find that I have trouble arguing with my own reasons for ending my life. I also always seem to find that one reason to not. And that is not a failure of love, but a reason to apologize that it is not simply shared more.
And I think that if anything maybe we can see that Mr. Bourdain was a person on a journey, like all of us are, he opened very many people's perspectives on themselves. Which, by the fruits that they bare shall ye know them. And it would be a failure of mine if I didn't share my reflections, of why we get to those places. Of how the deepest questions that we ask our selves, we can't escape them. No matter what.
And so to we, who face death, or have dived passed and came back, I want to say thank you. And to recognize you is not a failure. Because that one atom's breath that keeps the kindle burning, I think that is something that needs to set us all a blaze.
Because I can tell you that one question that we all ask, why? Why take another breath? And by what measure is that worth it?
By these things that I have seen, it always comes down to that one thing that should never be fraudulent, and one that is desperately exploited by our modern society.
And by that measure, if genuinely held in the light and comforted in the darkness, I would say that if they can discover that within themselves, they are neither a fraud nor a failure. That is the only thing that will guide them through their day. For they, in spite of all they see and have experienced, know what the world is needing the most.
Dudes with a bleeding heart, but more importantly a reflection as to why it needed to be bled in the first place. Because we can see that the blood is already on our hands. I, who has clearly spilt a drop, would do all that is within my power to prevent one more tragic loss.
I have seen my enemies through a digital screen. I hunted their pixels across data streams. For 16 seconds I was god, then I saw what a mess we made. Where once honor was planted, war tore asunder, and I understood the nature of what we've become. My entire belief system made obsolete at push of a button.
And by this nature I'm not sure if I am to be commended on my seeking or tormented and ridiculed, because from the moment that they made me a killer I knew that there would be no cleansing my soul. So I sought a way to create beauty where none existed around me. If my soul be painted with my sins let it be a story for you to know that in the end of all things, Love is all there needs to be known.
I am a warrior, for what do I fight? I am a priest, what do I worship? I am a magician, what do I create?
Cannot all of these things be one and the same?
I know that I feel my most powerful when love resides in my breast. I would worship that which gives me the same sense of complete satisfaction, and exercise my will upon natures strands just to see her dance.
There are times I wonder why we spend so much time wondering things. We can figure out the universe is numbers, and we can imagine infinitude, but are we actually paying attention to what we're being told? When it comes right down to it, we should.
Because, let me tell you, it kept me from giving up, taunting me with "you'll just be here again if you do." After my belief in god, country, and self had all been destroyed, the wicks to that effervescent fuel were dirty, indeed. I let what other's tell me who they thought I was matter. I lost myself.
I was degraded and I sought appeasement as the mongrel I was, I was bent but never broken, to what purpose am I to be, a tool from the master's forge, but what happens when the sword breaks?
I've read enough fantasy to follow that quest to it's end, but let me actually show you it's reward.
I have paid the price, and it was worth paying because it must be paid. Wisdom, will aid your weary bones, and knowledge pay your life's passage. Seek these things and you will see many wondrous and terrible things. You just have to make sure that your wonder doesn't turn you into a monster. And you have to make sure that Fear doesn't kill your Mind.
because even if you find yourself broken, that even a candle would be as the sun in the darkness of your life, it is that nature which drives us no more than any beast, by human tongues it is expressed, in all it's hallowed out and worn vernacular, the world bleeds for love.
I just wish we'd all stop with the bleeding.
And I tell you, before I close this letter, that even now my heart bleeds from the wounds that have been given me, and I would not wish a breath of the pain that I have felt to touch the moisture on their skin. There are enough natural wildfires without us having to put out emotional ones too. My heart hurts for the suffering they must be going through to hurt me like they have. I wish them to be free.
Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.
Here is my Apology for Love,
Respectfully Yours,
B. Bryant
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