Good things come out of sacrifice. Toil. Perspiration and hard work. What use; an easy life, what use; lack of struggle. In fact they even insist that a good artist is born only out of pain. Only those that have seen pain, experienced it — become good artists.
Endure, you must, else there is no glory.
Then someone finds out — there is nobody to fight against; nothing to fight against. No one disagrees, nothing is a hindrance. What we are doing is right and everything seems to be in order.
“This is your mind playing games; this is the invisible enemy!”, they cry! Your mind is your own enemy. You have to bring the enemy to the fore. You have to fight. For nothing is gained in an easy life. Doctrine.
So we fight. We toil, we believe we are fighting something, what it is, we may see if and when we kill it; overcome it. We make things difficult and pat each other for every difficult step we take, recognising the hard work we do, against ourselves, the invisible enemy.
I sacrificed too. Sixteen drafts before I wrote this one. Sixteen posts of possible expression were converted to a state of nothingness by this cruel index finger of mine that clicked the “yes” without as much a second thought.
This was a difficult post. And I am getting there.