“I have beautiful hazel eyes. But you’re likely to miss it when you meet me. More often than not, they’re clouded with the ways of the world. “

I am sure. If only I could let go of what I call ‘the ways of the world’, which is honestly more of a me thing than a world thing, I would be happy. Truly. I would go on to live the life of my dreams, achieve all those shiny trophies I’ve drooled over, and be the star I’ve always known myself to be, in the eyes of the entire world. I’d have it all. If only.

It’s like having the promised land a stone’s throw away. There’s only but a veil between us. A veil, not solid or real enough to not let me see what awaits just beyond my reach. And yet, it’s beyond my reach. It’s not that the veil is too heavy or too stuck to be removed. It’s that, I am the one holding it there.

And I’ve named it the Ways of the World. Who has ever been honestly guilty? Only ever reluctantly, helplessly, pitifully. Who in their right mind would associate with such names? You could never accuse me of being in my right mind if you tried.

I would vehemently deny if you asked me. But I am sure it’s only my ego, my absurd human half, the one that cannot breathe without validation, who’s been making me do this. It’s laughable really, this is the proof, or counterproof. Look how easy, the divine submits to the human.

These worldly machinations, fears, doubts, and envy, all born through our placing on a pedestal the ‘image of us in the other’s eye’, become our tragic flaw. A Human’s Hamartia. They become the Performer’s Hamartia, coming between the art and the artist, the poet and the rhyme, the dancer and the rhythm.

It comes in between the human and the divine.

If only we could, so easily, rip off this veil, this obsession we have with perfectionism, with praise and with the fear of failure, we could be gods.

You’re laughing, aren’t you? Telling me, “If this were true, we have a hundred if not more walking the earth.”

Well, listen to what I have to say to that. What, O naive human, tells you that they aren’t. What tells you that the idols you praise and so admire, the ones undoubtedly flesh and bones, aren’t but gods who’ve shed their human failings?

What is Human if not Divine cursed with Time?