Domain
by Hannah Slater
Freedom without restraint. Individualism. The pride of America. Free to live well, or poorly. To hold our lives in these hands. And yet, I wonder. Skimming through the memories of what made up the semester, I wonder even more. Does freedom to choose, to determine that which we are, release our lives from fate any more than a slave on the stair of a kingdom? In times filled with loss, I'm shocked back into recognition that finite are the hands I bare with which to control the world, and yet they alone can reach to my soul and conquer my responses.
Sitting day after day on my grandpa's bed, alone with his empty self in Hospice, his cold clammy hands conversed with meaning and purpose: "Take what life offers, and don't pass by chance, but remember it ends." My hands sometimes ache for his, but they're no longer here. Their words however, are forever within reach and live on with each beat of my heart. But God forbid they stay there, lest they leave earth with me. For just like he said, this life will conclude. Indeed my control is quite limited, but there are things in this world which belong only to me.
To yell, sing, pout, push, or fight. This is my kingdom, and these are my subjects over which I rule. A vast domain I have, indeed, and it is a heavy load to manage. Perhaps these are small unheard choices, yet they resound for generations--past the power of any cannon or earthquake.
Will I fight back when provoked? Will I give up when I'm challenged? Will I choose to speak gently? To forgive? To peruse justice? The choices I make in response to fate compose this individual, and this individual becomes a piece of fate for another. These decisions make up me.
Life changes and rolls onward, sometimes sweeping over. Fate has games to share. I must respond to my circumstances with conviction and fight for what is right, lest I am overtaken by life and her tide. However, there is a line beyond which my power withers, and I find myself subject rather than king. Control yet there be, though it's out of my grasp; and with that I can rest. For I know the heart who holds it.