A Philosophy of Hope

I think we under estimate the impact of hope in this nation, which is remarkable because it was founded in a state prodigious in its presence. We have become engrained with power politics and armed vigilance, seeing nothing but the rot of human existence — going to bed fearful of the future. The dual poles of our nation proselytize apocalypse with the others success and we never leave our entrenchments because of it. Ours truly is a hateful existence.

Is this an argument that the hope this nation was founded on, the dream of a more perfect union, has passed us by like the wind through the trees? The soft presence fading underneath the roar of our discourse. It is loud, it is exhausting, it is terrifying. But only the birds can truly hear the wind, and like the birds it is in an eternal cycle we will never know but are beholden to its ebbs and flows. As fear and darkness have the night hope comes as the return of birdsong in first light of a new springs day.

What this resplendent coming will be is defined by us, and the achievement of its vision is up to us; as that is the nature of freedom. But on that day we find our wings and hear the winds voice, live or dead, I hope to hear our song breaking the morning’s silence.