Harry Angel, in "Angel Heart."
The bane of our existence?
Cultures, I have read, create their own mythologies over time. Can this be said of us, as individuals?
It goes something like this: our lives are molded by early experience and we begin to shape our own personal myth. This is me: the kind of person I am, what I believe, why I believe it, and so on.
And is it possible then that the myth becomes set in stone? An image, even, to be worshipped?
And is it also possible that relationships, viewed through the filter of Myself, must be disrupted, tainted or even destroyed?
Unless there is love.
I have been loved by someone who loved me; not the me I had created in my heart, but the me she could see underneath all the pride, resentment and bitterness.
There was a glimpse of kindness and goodness and tenderness that she could see, looking through eyes of love.
But much, much more than that, I have been loved by Christ who for some unexplained and deeply mysterious reason, set His heart on me.
And so the me I have imagined and loved and gloried in, must become what He has imagined, desired and ordained.
It is hard. It is painful, even heart-breaking at times.
But it must be.
How could it be otherwise?