Without faith―faith in any sense―, what does one have? Doubts, uncertainty, fear? Pretty wretched equipment... Faith is a beacon in the hopelessness of rough seas, a light that will lead one out of darkness. One must not lose the faith only because of being told not to believe.
A fatalist, who is it? Maybe just a puppet in the hands of fate, a shipwrecked soul thrown upon the shores of existence, a mere observer of the course of events, a motionless figure in the madness of running time? When we say, "It is or was supposed to be thus," not only do we humbly see that we are part of a bigger whole, exceeded by a higher power, but we also find a deeper meaning in the given event, seeing its transcendence, perceiving the end turn into a new beginning with a light that has started to shine in the dark, as we have finally found the good in all the bad. If something or someone enters my life, it is not by coincidence for sure, and yet I choose whether I open myself up to them at that point, how I respond, which predetermines what follows.
Much is a question of choice: What has befallen me or is happening to me may be my destiny, still... I can but do not have to stay, face it, resist it, fight it, withdraw into myself, shy it away from me, flee, hide... What happens if I stay, and what if I go? If I am open to it, what will I be willing to sacrifice? What will my sacrifices, loaylty, devotion hold for me? What if it breaks my heart? What will my arrival at peace and surrender bring to me or take away from me, and what about my resistance? One is a creator by choice. Our power lies in freely electing our response to any situation we have found ourselves in.
Destiny cannot be a predetermined answer to the question of my choice, not in absolute terms, as my choice is a question of unpredictability, a faith in boundless horizons. Here and now I stand at the crossroads of life and elect one of the possibble paths ― yes, each path has a destination, which may be predestined; however, I have taken the path, albeit without knowing where it will lead me eventually. The step I take gives impetus to a chain reaction. My choice co-writes the story of my life, it co-paints the map of fate. Destiny is an inner landscape in which I dwell answering myself to the question of whether I let it perish, go wild, or turn it into a blooming orchard.
We are rovers in time, but how much time have we been given? How quickly should we go, and where to? What path should we tread, and why? Shall we set off for the journey at all? Have the cards been dealt and the die is cast ― and even if so, has it not been me who has drawn these cards from the deck so as to play with them? (...) Unless I ask, there are no answers to be found, but even if I do, there may still be no answers to come. Then, it may not be a matter of questions and answers, neither may there be an answer to some questions ― and even if there is, it is not the one and only unshakeable truth, as it is, rather, one of the possible points of view.
Therefore, in this time and place, in the labyrinth of a thousand roads, I make my choice, whereupon comes my surrender to the hands of Providence.
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