There are times when—all too innocently, because we have not been mindful of what is before us—we give too much license to a dead past that cannot be changed, and then we lose our handle on things. Like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, we conjure from the ether of our past a solitary-but-sharply-outlined idea, and then suddenly, one after another, memories begin to fall upon us, like bright orbs called from galaxies far beyond, and much better kept in the distance. Our disappointing families and imperfect parents, our closely held secrets and sins and sorrows and regrets, given too much free reign, begin to dominate us. They wreak havoc on our emotions and then begin to drain our spirits until we are depleted and depressed—all trust, all hope diminished. When we get to that place, we begin to hate everyone—or to imagine that we do—and to wonder about that Being we call…
Source: Word on Fire Blog