Questions with No Answers

I am sometimes convinced of the existence of a certain life that I am destined to lead. What that life entails, I do not know. But it does sometimes seems as though that my role in the larger picture of my life is just as significant as the person I met on the street the other day whose name I do not know.

How much resistance am I suppose to put against the crushing devils in my mind? And how much of my soul should I put on the silver platter and present to all who wants a nibble?

And if the plan was for me to live in misery and exile for all of my life, to what degree am I able to silently accept and bow to the platters of evils that I am fated to encounter and consumed?

Would I arrive at the end of my life, sinewy and shrivelled from the experiences and sights that I have seen, silent and stout in my mental rejections of the worst sides of the human race? Or would I be able to preserve the innocence and naivety that I still may have in me and see the goodness in the shattered remains of every broken day?

In the knowing and the unknowing of the world that I live in? How does one go on to proceed to thread tenderly on burning coals with grace and obedience and docility?
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Forget about likes and dislikes. They are of no consequences. Just do what must be done. This may not be happiness but it is greatness.

George Bernard Shaw