Despair

George Frederic Watts "Hope"

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

 Sometimes I repeat these verses of Shakespeare's Sonnet 66. It occurs during awful moments of weakness when my soul in pain. Our weak body can cause it  and we not are able to supervise always our feelings.  Despair is what you feel when you feel too weak to change itself or the world especially.  Certainly it is the  weakness and even a sin. Because we doubt through it. If you give in, even the slightest bit, it will drag you down until you have lost sight of hope completely. Some of the most chilling images in the Old Testament are in the Book of Job.
"Why did I not die at birth, Come forth from the womb and expire?"(Job 3:1)

Marc Chagall "Job désespéré"

Assailed by deep despair, Job curses the day and the night in which he was conceived and born; because, had he never been brought into existence, he would never have suffered such pain. "You have fashioned and made me; will you then turn and destroy me? Remember that you have made me of clay; and will you turn me to dust again? Did you not pour me out like milk and curdle me like cheese? You clothed me with skin and flesh, and knit me together with bones and sinews. You have granted me life and steadfast love; and your care has preserved my spirit" (Job 10:8-12).
Really, again and again the hearts are born and bleed under the weight of the cruel existence. This weak creation can lose itself definitively in this struggle for life. But after all what is sense in this pain? I cannot know. But suddenly this consciousness which had lost itself comes back again to itself, for to be again divinely beautiful and free what it also was always. When we forget it, we are struggling like pitiful creatures.
Despair and Love are incompatible. And when my soul embodies this insupportable weight of despair, in this soulful silence it's the best time to hear  ...

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