Hope

The burning flame. The Cockroach eternal. The bubbling cauldron that strips the flesh from despair and cooks it into the grim broth that nourishes the spirit long after all other sources have failed. Beyond logic, beyond reason, beyond resources, hope will keep us going.

At it's best is the beacon of light against a dark and terrible world. At it's worst it is the twisted carrot that drives us deeper into madness. It lets us wallow and gives us an excuse for not moving forward. Because many times reality cannot live up to the glorious creations of the mind that our hope empowers us to strive for. We say we're waiting, that we're just looking for the right time. And sometimes it's true.

But sometimes it's cause we're too afraid of it not coming to pass. Sometimes it's because we don't want to deal with the grim reality that dances a tango of razors across our fragile dreams. Dreams are a comfort that we have some small control over. And hope is what gives them power.

When we are in our darkest times it's the hope for the better that can pull us out of the hole and back into the light. But the comfort we find in hope can just so easily turn toxic, created unrealistic expectations and lead us down the path to ruin.

I say all this because I'm prone to the worst kind of hope. The pillar of Promethian fire that promises to transform the world into something new and profound. But like all fire, if I rely on it too much, or if I don't tend it the right way, I'll get burned. Or even worse... I'll lose it.

I hate hope. I have spilled more tears and screamed more silent screams in the name of hope then I have anything else. A lot of that I fully acknowledge is due to what I'm usually hopeful about.

I hope to be loved, in the same way that I love.

I hope to have a family to call my own, and not one that I borrow for a few precious moments before reality slams down hard.

I hope to be successful, and to not have to devote my life to worrying about where the next scrap of green paper is coming from.

Though there is a hope that I hold so dearly that I cannot pry it from my heart. Its tendrils travel so deep that to pry it away is to sacrifice my life itself. It's one that I know many others also feel but this is one that truly defines me. What I want more than anything, what I hope for with the intensity of a starving child...

Is to belong.

Not to just be accepted. Not to just be tolerated. But to be able to throw ALL that I am into a community that needs and wants me there. A place where I can wear all the masks I have without worry about the consequences.

Sadly I don't think that place exists. But like every other fool looking up at the stars... I'll just keep hoping.