You must be porous to hear the chorus that calls some to greatness. Those who can't ignore its chant, being deaf to music.
You have to be dense to do what makes no sense, especially when you do it at your own expense because inwardly you are convinced that you are being spent in Destiny’s service. Thus nights find you working and days find you nervous because your only resource is a fund of courage that renews itself without your help (or permission), compelling you thus to pursue the vision. Meanwhile others behave as if you don’t exist. Those that are aware often stare stymied because you keep aligning yourself with the unseen with no guarantee that you will succeed.
In your defense you erect a fence between their doubts and your own even as you are driven to labor to manifest a greatness that only you believe in enough to invest despite the stress and ridicule. The only consolation is that you have now become indifferent when, in referring to you, others whisper, “fool.” Instead you flash a half-smile because you too have turned this stile in an effort to turn away from what consumes your days and command your nights. Not even God is the consolation that religion excites. Yet HHe is the Source of Destiny’s summons.
He’s also the reason your friends start running when they see you coming. It isn’t because you solicit money or anything else. You just sometimes need help believing in yourself. But it seldom happens, so you keep hoping and working that Destiny is certain, and that you aren’t deceived. Yet in reviewing the lives of the great similar parallels you perceive. That’s what makes it hard just to discard the time you’ve invested and to discount the ways you’ve been tested. So, you just vow to die until you are ushered into eternity away from time. At least it can’t be said that you denied your allegiance to the thing that kneaded itself in your soul.