Such a tragic fallacy, to believe regret is invincible and depression infinite.

Yes, the past hurts. Memories burn bright at first, both good and bad. Sins and guilt grip one another, hand in hand. It is far too hard to forget what still remains. But time marches onward. The candle light of passion may fade, but so does the raging flame of hatred. And it is this finite existence that makes it worth considering.

What, then, keeps a fire stoked? A subconscious fuel from the hearts and minds of those lives yet unlit. We are as charcoal, awaiting our chance to burn for a cause. But through indecision, we forsake this chance and allow the will of others to light the flame for us. Is it even the flame one wants? When the time has passed and the charcoal burned to dust, will regret be enough for embers?

No. It will never be enough. Because a life is forged by too, so too is the flame of passion lit by a conscious desire to act upon it. If there is regret that could light a fire, it may perhaps be the embers of what could have been, a road less traveled, now mere dust in the wind. Given the choice, however, most would drift away as easily. Because conscious desire is not so easily acted upon by those without awareness of their passion.

How is one supposed to discover their rightful flame if they don’t know they can act? Why would they even do so? Perhaps they once knew, but failure to burn bright has fizzled the passion and a cruel wind has taken hold. The world is ever so cold, unkind to those without flames to light the way. It is here, that the charcoal’s purpose is dulled. Who needs fuel for a flame that won’t stay lit? To choke when others can breathe, to falter in the empty room, is the essence of depression.

This is where the subconscious desire burns brightest, fueled by memory and sin. It once was and will continue to be, if nothing ever changes. To stop trying is not to give up, but to let the hands of others work one’s own effort. To lose that purpose, yet allow the flame to burn. Is that how one’s life should be lived? I earnestly believe that no one would choose this fate, but many have done so by refusing to take the effort into their own hands. Still, a flame is a flame, warmer than the cold world, a seated relief that keeps one warm through sorrow and pain. To feel this is another part of life as well, even if not many would choose this.

Alas, a flame is still alive and time continues to march. Even the burning guilt, the painful memory, will fade. And no subconscious hands would light it over and over, for embers and dust are poor substitutes for charcoal. What comes next? Surrender to the cold world? The effort of such uncaring hands will not light the flame of one’s life. Go forward? How is one, who has yet to crawl, supposed to run? Go back? There is no light down that path anymore. Wading in the darkness, forgotten by the flames of others and unlit by one’s own, is not a road one can travel for long.

So the only course remains. To accept that life has happened this way, by the works that have shaped the road up to this point. For better or worse, it is done. The depression, though enduring, has its limits. The regret, though powerful, has aged. The past is over. It cannot change, it never could. Its dust now lines the crossroads of the roads yet to come. And there is no turning back, once the steps are taken.

When that time comes, what will the charcoal burn for? As embers of a fleeting passion? As dust of dreams, now forsaken? Or perhaps, will the subconscious desire guide the way to a new purpose? There is more charcoal in this cold world than one would believe. And that is where the first steps will lead: to faith. To purpose. To passion and to a brighter life.

It has a way of working out. It just needs to start with you. What choice will you make?