Control and Fear

The weak fear that which they cannot control. They feel that they are powerless to fight the people and events that seem to swing back and forth in the cavern of their lives, changing it without asking for permission. So they hide within the catacombs, seeking to escape the pendulum that relentlessly carves new niches. Some hide so deep that the pendulum's silence effects can no longer be felt...most of the time. And when it rocks the foundations of their burrow they scream out in fear, striking at anything within reach, clutching their dearest possessions--those few things that are small enough to hold on to.
   The strong control that which they fear. They feel they are powerful enough to contain the people and events that seem to etch out a new future in the cavern of the lives. They pack the catacombs with knowledge and power to keep the pendulum swinging where they will it. As it carves out the niches they desire, they seek to bring greater weapons into their realm; the silent thwacking of the pendulum is the music of their souls. But at times a great force wrenches the pendulum from their grasp and each new surface that is struck explodes with a power exponentially greater than the power buried there, opening new wounds that had not been understood before.
   But the truth is far beyond these. Both fear and control are relentless taskmasters, drivng us into a frenzied whirlwind if we hold on. But the funny thing about a whirlwind is that if we let go, we are free. If we understand that the cavern in which we live is simply one small part of the great honeycomb of time and space, we can be freed from the vicious circle that entombs us. However, we must take care that when we are flung out of the deep, we take time to study the honeycomb. We will then find the truth, the source of all our wisdom, if we are brave and humble enough to see it. If we do not, if we screw our eyes shut or obstinately look only in the direction we choose, we will miss the great wonder.
   So look with me for a moment, and see the great mystery unfold. For in every cavern there is a great wind, filling every available space. When neccesary it is a gale, but at other times it is a gentle whisper. The blowing of the wind across the surface reveals a face. It is the face of the one who possesses the winds that drive the pendulum. It is the visage of he who fashioned the caverns, etching his countenance on each surface. And it is he who catches the far-flung ones and reveals his face.
   And when I look on the Great One, Lord of Hosts, I see that his face is littered with blotches of brown and pus-filled yellow where the Evil One has been at work, distorting the dwellers and clouding their minds. Then the Lord's eyes fill with tears, glistening with blood-drops. As they trail down his face, the path that is left in its flooded wake has been cleared of blemishes--made new. The winds are calm for a moment, slowed by the passing of the tears. Then, slowly but surely, they start the pendulums again.
   Then he gently lowers me down, safely back in my cave. My pendulum returns to its job of carving out my life. I quaver, unsure whether to run in fear or attempt to control the swinging. And I feel the cool breeze.... I climb the wall of my domicile to get a stronger breeze. I do not run, I do not hide, I keep my hands calm. Instead, I watch as the Great Wind etches out my future. And I am at peace.