You love me. That is why you chose me. I cannot shrug it off as a fortuitous selection. I have reasons to believe otherwise. Reasons that you have helped me rediscover within myself. You love me, and that is why you sent me here with your message.
It was no accident that you commanded her to enliven my heart with your breath. It was no accident that you asked her to sow potent seeds of your image into my very being, to grow and mature with me. It was no accident that you commanded her to be with me, to support me, and to help me convey.
You set me a goal: to share your vision. You also bestowed on me some tools to help me convey: clarity of sight, and articulation. In doing so, you set the path that I must take. After that, you directed her to show me the signs toward the path, and to help me walk in that direction. She has been guiding me like an elder sister should guide her brother. It has been my honor and pleasure to obey.
But now, I stand before you to report my failure. The failure is all mine, and not hers. I report honestly, with fair hopes that you will not condemn her, because she has done what she is best known for. And she has helped me as much as she could, within the constraints you laid out for her.
I have woken up to the fact that the vision you ask me to propagate is not transmittable. I have tried and failed, because the audience does not seem ready for it. The audience wants tales, but not Truth; they want myth, but not facts; they want comfort, but not reality. They want her, not you!
The use of vain symbolism and mythical mumbo-jumbo does not achieve the expected transmission; it simply captivates and mystifies the audience. Undiplomatic expression has also repeatedly failed in helping to realize the desired objectives. I see no other way of doing so. They seem to love diplomacy, but I can give it not. They seem to enjoy lies, but your message is not a lie. All I can do is present hard facts, which they are not ready to digest.
I have looked up to you several times for help in this regard, but you have always appeared indifferent. It appears that my success or failure does not really matter to you. Time and time again, you appeared too unconcerned. It seemed that you were either too far away, or too busy, to listen to my cries of agony.
But every time I came face-face with the greatest leveler, you suddenly empowered her to bail me out. Nobody else could have ever carried out rescue operations on that scale. She casually walked in, grabbed my little finger, and led me away from the fatal fall, right under the nose of my undertaker. And when I thanked her, she only said that it was your wish.
No, it was no accident that you did not let me die. There was a powerful purpose behind it. You want me to succeed, because you do not let me rest. Every time I resign, you appear, and you overwhelm me with a new wave of inspiration. You compel me to go out and share. Once again, with a new hope that I might succeed, I am only too happy to obey. But there is something amiss.
I report that it does not hurt when they mock at me, or misunderstand me, or criticize me. It does not hurt even when they call me crazy.
But it does hurt when they misunderstand you. It hurts, because I love you.
I am confused. You set me a goal, an impossible one. Then you sent her (who has a conflicting goal) to help me.
And suddenly, almost everybody is in love with her. They are enticed by her, and try to court her. They want to marry her. She tells me funny anecdotes about them every day. We laugh about them.
It seems that she has succeeded in achieving her goal. I have certainly failed. And yet, you continue to inspire me through her. She comforts me on your behalf. She says that I must continue.
I need to ask you: What do you really want of me?