Why is the obstacle always called the wall?
It is more like a pile of shit.
A heaping pile of foul manure you have to wade through in order to get to the other side. The stench so awful you can’t breathe, your stomach constantly in knots ready to hurl at any given moment. Your thoughts are so incoherent you barely remember your name, all you know is the never ending shit.
Your muscles ache from the constant strain, the stress of it all destroying the little sleep you manage to get. The smell fouls your very soul, tainting it a horrid brown for the world to see.
On rare occasions you find a flower growing amid the chaos, the manure giving it strength even as it takes yours.
If you are wise you will stop to smell the flower. The fragrance, though slight, a welcome relief from the crap that surrounds you. Breathe deep of the lovely fragrance, you know not when there will be another.
You can’t take it with you. You can never take it with you. It is only there for that brief time, if you try to hold on to it you will only destroy it. For something that beautiful cannot survive in the endless shit that you must endure.
So you leave the beauty behind and continue your journey through the raunchy pile. Your mind tries to remember the flower, to hold onto it as long as possible, knowing it will not last. The never ending stench will eventually drive the beauty away.
You trudge on determined to reach the other side. Knowing that eventually you will, at least you hope you will. For that is all you have left now, hope. Hope is the only thing that cannot be taken away, you have to give it away.
So you cling to your hope. It is your lifeline in the great pile of shit you wade through. You cannot see the other end of that line, the pasture of filth is too vast, the lovely green too far away.
You, with your hope, must suffer the passage alone.
One day you come upon a pair of flowers. You have learned much during your passage, you stop to breath in the fragrance. A welcome relief from the world you have come to know. The pair so fragrant you almost forget about the stench surrounding you. Almost.
All too soon you must start your journey anew. Eventually a slight difference seeps into your befuddled mind. Is it possible the shit is not as deep as it was before? Could it be your hard work is paying off? Hope is renewed, strengthened, you persevere.
As the days pass there is less and less crap to wade through. More flowers crop up, in singles, pairs, then in bunches. Their beauty surpassing the brown filth that has surrounded you for so long.
It occurs to you that manure is good for flowers, the fertilizer they need to grow big and strong.
Soon there are only small blotches of rancid brown scattered among the most beautiful flowers you have ever encountered. You make sure to stop and enjoy each and every one of them.
The truth finds you one day as you stand in a field of lovely blooms, surrounded by color, light, and a wonderful fragrance.
Shit is necessary in order to make flowers.