At the Heart of Power

by Christopher Lovejoy on November 20, 2011

I placed the baby doll and baby bottle inside my cliffside retreat, inside a hollow in the floor near the corner so that I wouldn’t be reminded of them when I sought refuge from the wind and rain.

Speaking of the wind and rain, dark clouds had covered the sky since late afternoon.

Daylight was fading fast as I climbed the ladder to my cave in the cliff, where I sat on the precipice at the entrance of my retreat, gazing serenely at the choppy sea, contemplating The Will to Life.

The Will to Life – not to be confused with the will to live – is a wondrous thing to behold.

We see it most obviously in the birth of an infant, and through its lusty cry at birth, we know, in no uncertain terms, that the infant has come alive to its senses in the manifest realm.

We see it in the irrepressible outburst of a child in love with its life, laughing out loud from the heart of its soul to give us a potent reminder of what it means to embrace the promise of life.

We see it when two young lovers lose themselves in the eternal embrace of two souls meeting and bonding as one, igniting their spirits to kiss and caress their way into each other’s heart.

The Will to Life lies at the heart of power.

When the human will – blindly conditioned to have this, that, or the other thing – divorces The Will to Power from life itself in a fit of frustration through a serious loss or lack of empathy, The Will to Life can all too easily become twisted beyond belief, robbing The Web of Life of its vibrancy.

The result? Shadows running rampant through a collective heart of darkness that haunt us all.

Cases in point: abusive husband beats fearful wife into submission with brutal, vicious fists; abusive wife browbeats anxious husband into submission with cruel, malicious words.

When children are kowtowed into bearing witness to this mindless abuse, the risks are all too real: lifeless, loveless wills to power, amassing dark, heavy karmic debts born of mindless prejudice and senseless persecution, perpetuating endless chain compulsions to see and do violence.

It’s as if humanity cannot, for the life of it, align The Will to Power with The Will to Life so that it can move authentically beyond its primitive origins into a loving, caring sensitivity and maturity.

In spite of the arrogance that would take its cue from coercive threats of violence, we all have a right to speak our minds and our truth, no matter the situation or the circumstances, until we feel safe enough and strong enough to speak from the heart with affirmative assurance.

I sensed intuitively that the baby doll and baby bottle were casualties – likely casualties of a nasty divorce between The Will to Power and The Will to Life, where the latter party had stood little or no chance of maintaining in good faith its beneficial presence and promise.

I felt that their unlikely appearance on this island was symptomatic of a world gone mad with power divorced from life in a jaded age of separation, reflecting a deep-seated addiction to punishment and a profoundly sick love affair with blaming and shaming as a way to avoid freedom and responsibility.

Call me intuitive or call me sensitive, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling.

As daylight faded towards extinction, I slipped into my security blanket before total darkness could envelop my world and make it that much harder for me to find my way in the dark.


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