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To write, or not to write; that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the heart to suffer
The critiques and disappointments of readers unknown
Or, by seeking one's own inner truth,
Take strength against a flood of despair
And, by accepting self, end them.
To feel, to write - no more and by that passing we say end
To the heartache and the thousand vivid thoughts that
leap deep within us - oh 't'ould be a consummation
Devoutly to be wished.
To cease, to rest;
In rest, to risk the dreams. Ay, there's the rub,
For in that restless dreaming what thoughts may come
To wrench our sleep-set peacefulness aside
And thrust on us the views of other lives and space
That make us pause. Ah, there rides the reverence
That makes art the grail for such as one.
For without, who would bring to light the lusts of man,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's downfall,
The pangs of loss, the heart's delay,
The insolence of power and the rise of honor?
Who'd speak the anguished voice of self
When one might decide his own end make
With not fair reason left behind?
What would such beings bear
To toil and strive to reach true insight,
But that the dread of truth left unrevealed,
The undiscovered country from whose lands
No storyteller 'ere returns, puzzles the will
And make us force ourselves to bear those ills we choose
Than fly away to others whose comfort we know far well.
Safe comfort doth make cowards of us all
And thus the drive for inner understanding
Is strengthened o'er by the deep impact of thought
And enterprises of great depth and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And crave the name of Action.
*** The End ***
DECLASSIFIED MISSION BRIEFING
RETURN TO SGC
OFF BASE
