Crisis of Principle
Ξ October 9th, 2007 | → | ∇ Philosophy, Writing |
I’m having a crisis of principle. It’s sort of like a mid-life crisis only it’s brought on by principles, and has nothing to do with mid-life. Well okay, so it’s only similar to mid-life crisis in that it’s a crisis.
I have this dichotomy of directions brewing in me. On the one hand, I’m a Taurus. I need stability in my life. For me, having grown up knowing that my next meal depended on the tips my mother made that night, that stability has long been about a good, stable job. I have that. And I even am one of those lucky people who enjoys their job. For the most part I love developing and enjoy the company I work for. They’re not nearly as evil as many large corporations, and I don’t feel philosophically irresponsible for working there.
The problem is that More and More I’m beginning to feel that my work doesn’t have much meaning. This bothers me sometimes. I’m a spiritual person, and a philosophical one. I search for meaning in everything around me. My life is structured on the premise that I am a spiritual being experiencing a physical reality. If my experience is meaningless, if the changes I make to this plane are meaningless, what incentive is there to make them? I am called to the work of priesthood, to counseling and healing the heart. I’ve invested years of my life into the Brotherhood of the Phoenix, and I continue to do so. I have my feet firmly planted on that path, and I am beginning to fear that it will clash with my need for security.
If the day comes when I have to choose between giving of myself to my community, or holding down my job, my community will always win. This terrifies me. The thought that I may have to make that choice some day gives me pause, makes me want to challenge my own assumptions about what is right for me. It is a shadow that hounds me, a new devilry to take the place of those that I have already banished.
There are days, like today, when I despair for the lack of value in the work I do, and it is all I can do to eek out my hours in the office and run home to do something worthwhile in counterpoint. I suppose my anxiety is natural, it is a gradual fear for me, that I won’t be able to stand on my own two feet, that my strength will be my undoing. I look around at the people whose lives I touch, and a part of me wonders if I’ll have the strength to transform my community if I am not financially soluble. Part of me wonders if my family finds my value in my heart or my pocket. I know the answer, but there are days when it is hard to believe that. There are days when it is hard to believe that those dearest to me would have anything to do with me if I weren’t always there to bolster them in times of need (Not speaking financially here, just in general.)
But it is the dark of the moon, and these thoughts are natural for me now. I should have realized what would be in store for me when I acknowledge her. There is a quietus that I must face tomorrow night, as the dark of the moon floods the sky with still-light, inky blackness that flows from the sky like tar, moon-beams of that dark radiance, waiting to find out if I’m strong enough to face my demons again.
