The frustration is compelling. One must act, that much is certain. The night draws in. We know how the dawn shall greet us. One does not need a mystic to see such things. We are of that kind; perceptive and delinquent. We have made a monster of life – that nuance of being, a shallow sentiment in our pitiful eyes. Yes, we were undeserving – even of our own malicious judgement. We never dared gaze that inward. Too soft were our eyes, perhaps too heavy was our guilt. And from this burden was the heaviest of tolls exacted – dignity. And yet to reach this point of capitulation we must recognise that dignity had already been surrendered. All it took was for a vulture to notice, and notice they did. And people did not ponder, let alone weep, at their downgoing.
And so many an ideology was written to correct this injustice – this offence. Many a scripture had to be forged, taught, espoused. Martyrs were even said to have died for it. So grand its message, so prominent. Sons were even resurrected to tell it once more. But no one truly believed the words; they were too constricting, too demanding. And no one had the heart for such doctrine. Yes, one could die for such ideas, but one could not live for them – they were not meant for ascending one’s presence, only one’s negative ascendance – heaven, that theatrical plane. And so man was made hollow, made to feel ashamed of his freedom – that he must bend his knee to any ideal upheld to be greater than himself. And from that point has all humanity ceased to be relevant. Everything has always been a reaction to reverse this ailment; all his charity, his humility, his obedience – sought to both justify and then maintain his submission. Devotion? Devotion is the name given to servitude and then we take pride in who is the more pious.
So spin a better tale, diviners of virtue. Explain why our compassion has presided over the declining dignity of our species. Which deity shall I hurl my insults at? And yet we are too far gone for such hysterics. The enlightened have long abandoned their posts. On to some other amusement. Books either burned or forgotten, all in the act of denial – how fervent our apathy. And so is it any wonder that I disdain this ‘progression’? This euphoria of existence? Where each act is a painful acquiescence to a subsistent lifestyle. Who now shall bow? Knowing the shame of his servitude?