“This, we say, is man, the fallen principality. In these tragic desolations of intelligence and genius, of passion, pride, and sorrow, behold the import of his eternity. Be no mere spectator, turn the glass we give you round upon yourself, look into the ruin of your own conscious spirit, and see how much it signifies, both that you are a sinner and a man. Here, within the soul’s gloomy chamber, the loosened passions rage and chafe, impatient of their law; here huddle on the wild and desultory thoughts; here the imagination crowds in shapes of glory and disgust, tokens both and mockeries of its own creative power, no longer in the keeping of reason; here sits remorse scowling and biting her chain; here creep out the fears, a meager and pale multitude; here drives on the will in his chariot of war; here lie trampled the great aspirations, groaning in immortal thirst; here the blasted affections weeping set their life in silent injury; all that you see without, in the wars, revenges, and the crazed religions of the world, is faithfully represented in the appalling disorders of your own spirit.”
“The New Life”
I cannot seem to get past these thoughts today. “Look into the ruin of your own conscious spirit”………..Within the soul’s gloomy chamber passions rage and chafe, thoughts are wild and desultory, imagination vacillates between glory and disgust, remorse scowls and bites the chain (we have no sense of it), fear drives the will, great aspirations (our hope and desire) groan in immortal thirst (for what we are unsure of), affections weep setting our life in silent injury: all this is the appalling disorder of my spirit.
And yet………..He loves me.