A response to Nietzsche’s widespread philosophy of Amor Fati. This is Libera Fatum. When I wrote this poem, all I could imagine was being draped in black, grieving on the inside of a confession booth, banging my fists in frustration for answers. This encapsulates my wrestle with fate.

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In nomine Patris,
I have loved my fate like
a contemptuous child.

I have loved it by its wrists,
and broken bones.
Like a sore thing.

Tell me, have you ever tried to grip
a thing that flies?

It screams —
and I hum.
I saunter —
and it runs.

You must know, Pater,
I’m an ungodly sinner.
I look at the other’s and wonder:
Why is mine not like theirs?
Amor fati, I scoff.

What good is there in loving
a fate that demands a fight?

Mary loved a martyr.
The child and its father.

Oh Pater, do you hear me?

I have loved it by its wrists,
in spite of my broken bones.

And all you can tell me is:
Don’t love it, don’t hate it,
Release it and for God’s sake child,

let it alone.

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In nomine Patris (In the name of the Father). Patris seems to have multiplicity in identity here: the father within (animus as an inner masculine principle), the father outwith (the priest) and the father above (God). The Father archetype is in this, as he is most commonly, a guardian, a protector and a guide. And in desperation and uncertainty (navigating our fate), there is often nothing we need more. He offers wisdom: the idea that loving your fate and setting your fate free are two distinctly different ways of relating to what is outwith our control.