Sacrificing myself

Do not think that suffering of one person for another is any light thing. Some have done it so well, that it is not easy to recognize the difference between the roles these two individuals are playing. As though a perfect union is formed where the very patterns of individuality have been sewn together. Has friendship ever had a more simple meaning than this? It seems as though the very addressing system by which the heavens open for personal revelation, could be confused, so perfect a union has been formed. Though both have perfect freedom to follow their own path, one has chosen to share the path with another, but perhaps the chooser always chooses this before really knowing what that means. As though nothing can be said of this path, except that having chosen the path it must be given fully, and not in part. As though the chooser knows that he would never go this way, if he had known fully what it meant, but from love chose this path blindly because he loved too much to chance losing his younger brother or any friendship with him. A choice with consequence that seems to nearly outweigh all choices and desperation and desire to walk away later. One cannot simply abandon one's own self.

Is life a race where the only way to win is by going the fastest and letting go of all ties? Can I slow down to help another, or is that only acknowledging grief and not supporting their happiness, but only their slow pace? When is it good to make personal sacrifices in order to heal another, and when is losing my own life a worthy endeavor? How can it be done truly? Is choosing another's wellness over my own a virtue in its own right? How often is it in vain? When it seems all things lead to my own destruction or loss, but somehow there is a benefit to those around me, should I believe my delay in progression can lifting others? Can it truly be helping the weary? The weight presses down more than anything known previously, or else is so strong it causes all other pains to be forgotten, so dreadful is the current weight.

Is there any difference between helping the stranded, and being stuck in the mud myself? Along with the suffering should I hurry to pass by? What of the other Samaritan who seeing a man beaten, gave care and food but so hastily he forgot his own soul and starved right in front of those he hoped to help? Or perhaps, he was so starved already that he was anxious to feed this other man as no one had fed him. This man was overcome by his burden, though it seems even birds have suffered more faithfully, but when he found himself starving yet able to aid another, he jumped at it.

Sometimes it seems to me that he never put his heart in the gift. He knew his generosity only stemmed from greed in proxy. But other times it seems it was needs that he filled in good faith, for so badly did he still want for the gifts that he could now give.

And what of the woman, who was surrounded by the evil hearts which do not seek wisdom believing that lies are leverage, and though those innocent were with her, she could only run, and separate from the evil, for she saw that the innocence in her was just as vulnerable. She suffers daily the anguish of not saving another broken soul. She can only teach others to run, by emphasizing how anxious she is to stay away.

Is there relief for the weary heart? When will peace and meekness be our rulers? When will the meek be freed from the guilt of their oppressors? Must the righteous always learn cruelty to stay the wicked hand from those meek and humble? Will those willing to be broken always be broken by their enemies before their master? But the master who has journeyed far now sees the wicked who do already fear his nearing, none whose courage can endure his presence, but soon the meek will rule, and though broken, wishing only that the master would break them believing it would break the evil from their hearts.

Not long ago, this one girl gave a talk about her trip to Nauvoo. She's very pretty, and very sweet, yet the way of her talk makes me think she likes the idea that people might think of her as naughty. Once I looked her in the eyes while she sang a song I had never heard before. Her eyes felt so inspiring and exciting, yet I am very foolish around her. In her talk she said of how the destruction of the Nauvoo Temple was reinacted, yet in the background the temple stood new where it once was. The picture she painted in words from her experience was beautiful, so I want to believe she is sincere, so I would be glad to befriend her.

But in truth, all these things are only a dream that is nearly forgotten. I have broken the heart of the simple. I believe only God can mend these wounds. My fear of attention gets painted on my face so I hide my face to hide my emotions. However, by hiding my face, I reject the simple friendships and normalizing interactions coldly. This is just as regrettable in treatment of others as my reception of unwanted attention. When the little things I do or omit to do wounds another sensitive soul, I don't know how to make amends, so I must believe in God for my lack. When all things are made right, I will understand why these dreams drift away. For time will paint the beauty of things once lost.

Troubles hooted

Living by the standards which govern my heart does not protect it from breaking when the world is surrounded by unrelenting imaginations. These laws when lived make me vulnerable yet give opportunities for others to live them more easily.

When in a wicked world, is righteousness a betrayal of self, only until the wicked repent? I just hope having faith unto repentance is the means to persuade others to repent.