“THE WAR I NEED TO LOSE”
Everybody wants to win the war. This is true whether the war is fought against Isis or the war to lose a few pounds.
It occurred to me this morning that there is a war that I really need to lose. It is the war within my own deepest self.
I am one of the combatants, but I am also the battlefield. The war has been going on ever since I can remember, probably from the moment I was conceived.
Sometimes, there will be a brief lull in the fighting, but it never lasts long enough to be mistaken for peace.
I am told that the rightful king has been exiled. Sometimes I believe that. Sometimes, not so much.
But one thing I know for sure: I like to play the king, but I know very well that there is a power behind the throne. This power is the real king. He/it/they will allow me to pretend to rule. I can even wear royal rags at times, but I cannot long sustain the illusion.
Sometimes, the exiled king launches raids on my petty, pretend kingdom. There are victories. Sometimes I am able to fend off these raids; sometimes not.
Sometimes (more often these days), I wish for a full-scale invasion, a personal D-Day that would sweep away the resistance.
There have been repeated assaults, but so far I have unsuccessfully beaten them back. It seems as if the exiled King, the Real King, is waiting for some sign from me, some sign that I am no longer willing to be a puppet king in the hands of a malevolent power.
This is a war I need to lose. I need to lay down my weapons, take off these silly rags I call my royal robes, and abdicate my throne.
This is a war I need to lose. And having lost, I may discover, to my shock, that I have won.
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