There is within us a sort of scroll, like a golem’s animation, but infinitely more complicated– our drive and longing, hidden oft times by memory of failure, by unthinking cruelty, and the most boring forms of despair.
In one word you might call it our desire: the entire complexity of our life distilled down to a single, sharp point of an internal compass. It cannot, in its directing, ignore anything; it can only be ignored.
To the degree that we are able to follow it, to the extent that we are brave enough to even look where it leads, to this degree exactly will we impact the future. Our other stirrings and circlings will be nullified, if even necessary, with time, and our worry and pain will melt out into the sky, like so much wasted heat.
It’s not because you are anything extraordinary, that your desire should be important; only because no one else is the same as you, not having learned from life that exact sets of things you’ve learned, is its execution so valuable to the rest of us. We can do the other things, that we know– we benefit most when you do those things that only you can, that you burn to do.