My inner self was a house divided against itself.

— St. Augustine of Hippo, “Confessions”, Book VIII, Chapter 8

For lent, the Confessions have been my steadfast source of inspiration and reflection. It’s brought me humility, and grief. Now it promises hope, beyond comfort. For lost I am, and my instincts prevail over truth.

The fair nymph has turned her efforts towards academia. Narcissus, that I am told to be, asks if it’s an attempt to help me find redemption. To join, and walk beside her to build a better life, a dignified life. Truly, it has nothing to do with myself.

Covered in shame and guilt over my lonely farce, I lashed out. For my spirit has broken wings, and can’t reason no more. Shown the way, the blindness sends me to a desert without a soul. This miserable place, where delusion is found at the end of glass, is the refuge.

Truly she shows the way. The wicked reason rather fancies the mirage. For the destination is far, and the journey is long. And I, but a jinn in the desert, woke up a storm, that pride prevents to lay to rest.

The pain is unbearable. Pathetic self pity are the best description for these words. Only the wish lingers, for yet another day, another try, and most likely another failure.

Who knows what tomorrow has for us? It’s never too soon to repent.

May he who sees through all, guide me, and yourself.