INVALID

I understand the psychology of the sick and the infirm:
You conserve the energy you have.
Start receding, incident by incident, day by day.
Isolate, pull back, push away, stay inside, save, conserve, preserve, regress, atrophy, die.

It’s counter intuitive, but logical.
I feel bad, so let me feel worse.
At the center of that choice is the evaporation of hope,
The elimination of faith.
I no longer believe, so I make no effort.

I don’t see it this way in the middle of the choice, this is the curse.
Courage is the vision to see more choices.
Willingness to select one without knowing the outcome.
Allowing hope and faith to leech away
Tells me that courage has already fled.

The warrior lives a courageous life in each moment.
He has learned where to place his faith and hope.
I let you see the mask, never beneath it.
It’s stage business so that you will not watch the rest.
The ugly part, the real part, me.

I am relying upon technique, I am lying to your face.
I am watching myself do it.
You can never see the terror,
Pulling me from the sweetness and victory of each night’s dream
Into the daily waking life of masquerade and impersonation.

Of course there is no real need to act.
There is no monster hiding beneath the mask.
There is only habit.
Pathetic repetition of tiresome ritual, pain and avoidance.

How can the warrior go into battle
Without the armor and the faceplate?
Would not the soldiers of the enemy find my heart without it?
If the heart is pierced,
Will I bleed to death?