The Paradox

On a calm, quiet night I close my eyes and find myself at the window, looking out upon an undisturbed expanse of white. My breath fogs on the chilled glass and with my sleeve I wipe it clean. My sleepy gaze is broken by movement, as stark and contrasting in the stillness as a light thrown on in the thickest night. You are there. This is not a placid stroll through the falling snow. You tear across the frozen terrain, all madness and spinning wheels. You have no destination; just a grim objective, as with screaming speed you trace new scars on the landscape of your life. You seem to clearly see your own demise and pretend not to care, but the bitter air has blinded your eyes to the wounds you inflict, the sutures you tear, in so many intersecting lives. I can’t breathe as I watch you and I can’t turn away. Like a dream in a dream in a dream, I can’t wake enough times to stop play on this scene.  Finally, like the foreign sound of my voice played back on a recording, I hear myself call your name.

“Come away from there.”

The words billow and echo, crossing the frigid miles. You pause when my voice reaches you, then turn, inexplicably, and begin to trudge in my direction. Though we are leagues apart, you arrive at my doorstep with all the speed of this heart that I can’t now slow to a normal beat. You are a bundle of turmoil, like heavy snow on the branch of an evergreen, it shakes and falls from you only to be replaced by the burden of a never-ending storehouse. I usher you in. This place is warm and safe, but you only shiver all the more and shield your eyes from the light. I start to speak and my thoughts pick up speed, an avalanche of all the truth I can recall. Your darkness merely deepens. With each word you retreat, uttering threats that, should I advance, you will unleash an even deeper misery. As if to prove your point, you thrust a blade into my face, but you touch its glinting steel to your own skin. A gale of biting winter air, your desolation knocks the wind out of my lungs. Tears sting my eyes, then well and cascade down my cheeks. I plead with you to hope. The wailing words that fall on your deaf ears scream of life yet worth living. I choke on my sobs, but your only trace of emotion is the cold flame that blazes briefly in your eyes. You scorn my speech. “What life?” you sneer, “It reeks of shackled legs and iron bars.” Strange words from one already so long a prisoner. I sigh.

“Therein lies the paradox. Until you surrender, you’ll never be free.”

My efforts, however earnest, drown beneath the fathoms of your icy waters. Reason falls like so many crystal tears and shatters at your feet. Kicking the scattered fragments, you turn to leave. The door you bar against me shuts with a hollow thud, the resonance muffled by a deep blanket of snow. My eyes fly open and I’m awake in a yawning silence, alone with a pervading sense that I cannot step aside and let you fade into grey. But I hardly move, except to drop to my knees. Again I cry. This time my voice cleaves the ceiling and rends the heavens on its way to the One who commands the deep. I call for my brothers and sisters, the rescued myriad.

“Join me.”

Intercede for these captives who loath release. Cry to the only One who is able to break and to heal.

“Batter my heart, three-person’d God; for you

As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend

Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

I, like a usurp’d town, to another due,

Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.

Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,

But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.

Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,

But am betroth’d unto your enemy;

Divorce me, untie, or breath that knot again,

Take me to you, imprison me, for I,

Except that you enthrall me, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.”

–Johne Donne, Holy Sonnets XIV

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