Four walls made of plaster shouldn’t be enough to hold in a hurricane. But they are. Small words from small minds shouldn’t be enough to turn a masterpiece into a ruin. But they are.
Because when the titan is every moment expecting to be rained on by the pebbles the peasants perpetually, ceaselessly hurl at him, he can never be free of the fear, no matter how insignificant the pebbles should seem to him.
The four walls always seem to be closing in, forcing the beauty to shrink and shrink. The words seem impossibly big, unconquerable, indisputable.
But we see evil with magnifying glasses. We look at the good with one eye only. Are four walls strong enough? Are small minds big enough? Not if we’re bigger. Not if we’re stronger. Not if we allow ourselves to realise the greatness we were made to be. If we do that, the walls will just be walls. They’ll be torn down with a sledgehammer, one powerful swing at a time. The small minds will be small, and the words they say inaudibly insignificant. The hurricane will be allowed to rage, and the masterpiece to radiate its beauty without apology.