All My Trials

The thrust of mind on every plane relflects adversity... and life idealized is every life that cannot ever be. Profound, the misanthrope that operates behind the shadow of our consciousness. Pervasive is the hate that flavors that bright charity abounding in a smile benign, yet shallow in design. We would not trace it, dare not face its counterpart inside. It hurts too much. There is one injury that cannot heal, that echos down the corridor of all reality, confining us within the little world we own; the hurt that never fades is like that stubborn visitor L'esprit de l'escalier, a threshold of regret. Perhaps such thorn as this within a well-kept soul is our condign salvation, our protection from insanity remembering too well a frailty too easy to forget. ~