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I awoke last week with these inner grumblings: “I have no reach, no influence.” Whatever notion occurs to me, or idea I propose, or project I work on: it is all pointless because I have no means to bring it to life, beyond my own tiny world.

I must confess that these are live frustrations: I’m not yet one who has truly tamed his ego. Yesterday those frustrations materialised as a heated outburst when a family member cut me off mid-sentence, wandered away, then carried on as if I was not there. Yes, a fleeting rage, discovering that I don’t even have influence in my tiny world.

It is a source of frustration, I will readily admit, my ego on full display. And yet: yes, I am reminded that this is undoubtedly a mercy. An opportunity to leave ill-considered ideas, perhaps, with the realisation that they cannot possibly come to fruition. So why waste time on them? An opportunity to refocus priorities.

Does anyone read a word I write? One or two, perhaps; a handful at most. Why do I carry on then, performing in public like this? On the off-chance that perhaps a passerby may occasionally offer a word of encouragement? A murmur of my soul petitioning me to make myself heard? An inane compulsion I cannot control? To substitute for the conversations I would have had if I had been in any way articulate?

So it is that to those inner grumbles, in the end I respond: “This is more a blessing than a curse.” Yes, it’s a kind of liberation, curtailing my ability to cause too much harm. If only I could reconcile myself to my inability to effect anything around me, surely it would free me of the base and baseless calls of my soul.

Eventually to the voice within I reply: “Arise, and take comfort in your obscurity and insignificance. This is better for the ultimate destination of your soul.”