Tara Noble
Jul 10, 2017 · 2 min read

Hope is a thorny concept. It can serve as a cloak of delusion. It can provide one with necessary mooring. It exists to both serve and shackle us. Only hope can allow us to fantasize beyond rational thought. It can carry us aloft on a wave of could be. It can envelope us like an ill-fitting shirt. We are warm and yet, not quite comfortable.

False hope can be rather narcotic. Even when we believe we are being honest with ourselves, that we are living our truth, it leads us to a place where we feel safe, numb. We are shielded, momentarily, from the weight of our concerns; the nagging suspicion that all is not what it ought to be. All is not what it could be.

Losing hope is a tiny death. It is a slow loss, a grieving, that makes the body sore, the head woozy. Your dreams on their death bed and you at their side, helplessly watching them slide into oblivion.

Inexplicable loss, even conscious loss, has its sting and it will have its way with us. To fight the inevitable is only to prolong the agony that must move through and find an exit wound. The trick is to allow it to do its work in its own time. The gut will lead the way. Ignore the gut at your own peril.

The leaving of hope is a kick square in your center. To push this process is foolhardy. Shortcuts will come back to haunt you. The possibility of creating an alternative faulty outcome is very high in this scenario. It is best served when allowed to flow in an organic sense. Be fully aware of its presence in your life and get out of its way. Let it do its work. It will let you know when it needs to be acknowledged.

Romanticism further complicates the situation. Holding on to the past, obsessing about if onlys, replaying situations and imagining different outcomes. All of this is extremely draining and serves only to deplete us. It’s distraction in its purest form. What has come to pass has a pulsing life of its own. It is the reality that demands to be faced and recognized for what it is.

Death is one of the most challenging experiences that we face as humans. The death of hope is no exception. Mouring our dreams, our desires, takes its toll on our entire physical selves. The resulting exhaustion is thankless. The tears will sometimes leave you scoured out, feeling as though you have nothing to give. This is an illusion. You have everything to give. Allowing ailing hopes to leave your body, your life, will eventually free up space to let in more goodness. A fresh start, a tabula rasa, is the gift for all of your honest suffering. You just have to muddle through the hard part. And each time you endure this process with an honest heart, you will find a most precious reward.

Tara Noble

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