The Fortress of Beliefs

Have you ever noticed anything like this?

At one point in our lives, at least for some people, there seems to be a strange sort of fatigue that settles in. Not one that shows up all at once. A kind of slow exhaustion that builds over time — something that can feel much deeper than just physical fatigue. A sense of holding-it-together for too long, or perhaps more like an exhaustion-of-the-soul. The fatigue of carrying so much — our convictions, enduring resolve, purpose, or maybe the unmovable sense of knowing exactly where we stand and why. A sense of solidity, rightness, or direction that adds meaning and relevance.

Fine for a while, maybe the entirety of a life — but for some, somewhere underneath that certainty, something has been bending under the load, something that has been working very hard from very early on — monitoring and assessing things, keeping things in working order, and ensuring all is right and safe in our world. Making sure the structures and walls we have built are solid, and that the pathways are clear.

A kind of personal fortress. Built brick by brick, stone by stone, firmly connected with interlocking shapes, held together with the mortar of preference, identity, and belief — often expressed in no uncertain terms, certainty on full display, both as the fuel and expression of our thinking and actions. A place where we embrace and protect that which is dear, and defend it against all who we sense are opposed.

Over time, we build these structures carefully, weaving together overlapping ideas, the pain and the promise, the hopes and the fears, the wins and loses, trying to make sense of it all, adding reinforcements or repairs when and where needed — a point of view, a system of values, a way of life. We embody it all as fully as we can.

We revel in what we have built, and labor quietly within those constraints, day after day, year after year, until one day, perhaps, we sense a certain weight, or a little bit of sadness, maybe the notion of an unfulfilled sense of meaning, or even simply begin to softly weep. A sense that the fortress we built, decorated, and dedicated our life to, somehow lost its sheen and the joy we worked so hard to weave in. And perhaps, at that moment, there is an inkling that the fortress we lovingly built and cherished is no longer so welcoming or inviting as it once was — where somehow, the air became a little bit stale and the walls that we erected, no longer feed our soul.

For some, but not all, the subtle winds of time and circumstance erode, topple and reclaim every stone we have so carefully laid. And then we are left wondering, where do we stand now?

So the choice then becomes, do we stay in the fortress that no longer serves, or move to a new home with fresher air?

Our Best Laid Plans

We build a fortress to resist the wind,
Then weep that the air is stale.

We study the physics of flight,
While we nail our feet to the ground.

Do not ask how to enter the flow.
Ask what stone you are holding that stems the tide.

The song of the wind and river,
Have been waiting for a very long time.

Poem contributed by Niranda G.