Chapter Text
One can never escape the path fate sets forth.
The most profound powerlessness is not regret for the road one did not take. It is the recognition that even if one could return and choose anew, one would still choose the same.
Inauthenticity.
This was the sole reflection Lilith could offer on her own life. Or, more truly: absurdity. She had run, with all the strength she had, toward the horizon. At every fork she had chosen what seemed the best. She had seen no other way. And yet here she was — still longing, still wandering, still lost.
It is then that one begins to ask the questions. Of the meaning of life. Of death, of suffering, of God, of Being. The question of life's meaning has meaning only when life itself is brought under question.
For those who reach their thirties, this questioning seems to grow common.
It arises from the quiet contest between the small fire that yet burns within and the dullness that the years have laid down. In time the dullness wins. With its victory, suffering seems to end; life resumes its course; the questions fall away, as though one had buried one's face in the sand and chosen not to remember.
She had thought this would be her life. She had thought this would be her measure of it.
Until something happened. Something greater than life.
Let there be light, the Bible says.
Then she saw the light.