“There come a time, kemosabe, when good man must wear mask.” The Lone Ranger’s Tonto
A “brother” can remain “big” only until the narrow bridge into adulthood has been crossed. Beyond it he should remain what we all should be to each other: simply brothers.
As time and eternity are identical beyond what we see as “life-spans”, the concepts which remain beyond our short, conscious passings through our individual life-times, should be seen, considered and understood at their ab-ovo value and meaning, bare-stripped of all unnecessary loads of mor(t)ality.
Mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters to each other, living out the seeds of common sense within us…
Alas, our eyes are already sore, tormented by the inherited grains of quicksand, of generations upon generations of heirs to “that” arche-authority which sits distant, quiet and obnoxious about the whatever origins of this…
Unfortunately, life can never be what – hopefully – should have been; no one can walk naked anymore in some daydreamed Eden gardens, without the prospect of a planned rape nearby.
Innocence must were clothes, holding a solid stick nearby.
There’s no real hope. It died the day when death came into this world, bringing an ever nearer end to individual lives.
Two things remain for facing authority: submission and defiance. One cannot coexist with the other for reasons beyond necessary survival, even though shaded alternatives as “theatrical submission” may well be one of defiance’s many masks. When confronting injustice at authority’s levels, even my enemy’s enemy is a better option than submission.
In this world of inflicted hopelessness, truth and lies have become inseparable allies for defiance’s sake.
As Orwell so clearly coined it, to die hating them has become the true meaning of freedom, liberty’s pulsing core.
Submission to authoritative injustice is complicity; defiance against it has become true justice…
-to be continued…-