'This hag, this Reason, would not let me look up,
or smile, or hope: she could not rest unless
I were altogether crushed, cowed, broken-in,
and broken-down...Reason is vindictive as a devil...
If I have obeyed her it has chiefly
been with obedience of fear, not of love'
(Charlotte Bronte, Villette).
So many times have I crushed myself with vindictive hard reason that it is not wrong to say I am my greatest mortal enemy. Sometimes the devilish Reason in me see the world in a pair of poisonous lens, identifying millions of flaws and stupidity in people's character, existing social systems and even loved ones. Unable to love oneself, I have failed to love others the way they should be. Why let a tiny microscopic flaw be blown up to overshadow every shining goodness? Why be so bitter and sour? Did I grow on bitter-gourds and sour plums and feed on endless deprivations? It doesn't make sense to me why I am so critical. It is so easy to pass judgments on anything, even a fly. But to see beauty, so abstract as it seem, is like a mission impossible. This is a sign calling for the gardening of an unruly mind overwhelmed by strangling narrow creepers that block out nourishment and sunlight and the removal of poisonous fruits planted by random passing birds of no importance. To be a gardener of one's mind confers greater strength and empowerment on the slothful gardener who let the creepers strangle and suffocate the original Eden of our minds.
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