Twilight's Whispered Whispers

There is something inherent within the heart of man, something as passionate as it is pervasive, that will forever cast the aspersions of discontent within his soul, mercilessly tormenting him with the shadows of fear, raspily whispering sweet discord into his ear. Promising the promise of transcending his turmoil, but ever reminding him of the scores of present absences in his life. The great question of our existence is not one of how we have become, for we are; nor is it one of how we shall depart, for depart we shall. No, the question is simply this: shall we regard this pervasive passion as friend, or as foe?

This passion, like most others, is a quiet thing. It is not like lust, that blind and obnoxious beast with no regard for the delicacies imbued within the finer emotions of our lives. No, this passion speaks loudest when it doesn't at all - when it makes itself known simply as a gravity, new and foreign, gently but insistently tugging upon one's countenance. Happiness seems to no longer be defaulted to, but rather seems a series of momentary diversions from a brooding state of contemplation. Most despise this state of affairs, and will expend seemingly boundless energy and resources in order to overthrow its influence. We rail against the dusky twilight of the unknown, unmindful that it harbors our whispering passion. Neglecting that while the whispers are inherently neither good nor ill, they lace the very air we breathe with their aroma, and cannot be ignored.

Our great issue with the whispers whispered by this pervasive, passionate something is most often not one of perception, but of discernment. We usually know that they are there, but they are so frequently lost in the maelstrom of our circumstances that we exhaust ourselves with the strain of attempting to gather their message. The frustration this engenders within our spirits usually fosters a sense of resignation to our present circumstance as we simply learn to tolerate the gentle insistences of these passionate whispers. As we commit the atrocity of allowing the joyful, dreaming child within us to become jaded. Realistic. Logical. Of allowing our gaze to forsake our horizons in favor of our toes or, God forbid it, our traveled path behind.

And thus we are again faced with the question of how to regard this persistent something that whispers in the shadows. There are those who regard the whispers with acrimony - but these people usually mistranslate the message they render. You see, they permit the unfounded assumption that the unease the whispers create regards their temporal circumstance. Unwilling to discipline themselves toward the end of mastering the fears that swirl within their chests, they use their hands to make seismic changes in an effort to mitigate the restlessness they feel. Those who regard the whispers with such animosity wrongly judge that their message is to abandon their beloved, or to buy things they cannot afford, or to set fire to the bridges that span some chasm or another in their lives. They judge that their unrest points to a need to change something that surrounds them.

Those who count the passion as an ally, though, those who have mastered the craft of harnessing their emotions, know that its whispers bid them change not what surrounds them, but what suffuses them. What lies within. This passion that makes us discontent with where we are wants us to change ourselves.

Every time you hear the whispers, listen carefully. Forsake the temptation of considering what they are calling you out of, and focus instead on what they can lead you into. Use their message as a stimulus for growth, not escape. Much has been made of changing the world, but I know firsthand that it's a fool's errand. Change yourself.

There is something inherent within the heart of man that insistently whispers to him from the twilight.

The whispers whisper a message of hope.

The whispers whisper a message of woe.

The whispers whisper, "Friend or foe?"