Rebirth. Such a wonderful concept: casting aside the old to embrace change, transforming into something new. A beautiful process, if not a painless one. Yet it seems we always expect the end results to be worth it—and indeed, perhaps they often are—so we subject ourselves to the pain of rebirth to become something new.
A desire to be reborn can stem from anything. For some, it is a desire born of hatred.
It may sound strange to say such a thing, to tie something as beautiful as rebirth to something as ugly as hatred. But what is rebirth? Turning into something new, something nothing at all like what you once were. Does that not imply that if you pursue rebirth, there must be something wrong with what you once were?
Not all may realize it, but for some it is painfully apparent. Some hate themselves with fiery passion, condemning their whole self as worthless scrap. When you see yourself like that, believing nothing could possibly be salvaged, you cry out for rebirth. You want to free yourself from everything that you now are—all the vile, corrupt, broken traits that combined make up the excuse for a person you see in the mirror—and become something else. Something better. A completely different person, one actually worth the space it takes up and the resources it consumes. There is no hope for you, for this you, but a reborn you…that you might have a chance.
Do not misunderstand: I know rebirth is noble, and I mean it no disrespect. After all, what other means do we have of escaping this hatred? These thoughts merely dwell in the shadow, the night preceding the dawn of rebirth, and the night does not speak ill of the dawn. But when the night darkens and you hear things, mysterious, nocturnal entities that may very well mean you harm; when you have no way of knowing when the dawn will finally come; when you’ve been waiting, longing for it for what feels like an eternity…when you’ve spent too much time dwelling in the shadow, you know of no other place to dwell.
But in an odd way, your hatred gives you hope. The self-loathing that overwhelms you spawns desire to leave what you are behind, to keep striving for the dawn you’ve been hoping for, to want with all your heart to find a way to dwell in the light at last! You cling to the promise of rebirth and you hope, hope with every ounce of strength that the dawn will come, and that your current self will die with the night so that a new you can be born with the day. The warmth of the sun—the flames of the Phoenix—the light of God—it must rise, must fill the sky with bright hope that gives you the power to move on!
Discontentment, in some form, must come before voluntary rebirth. But imagine how relieved you will be when rebirth finally incinerates it.