What do you think of the man, crawling across the floor? He drags himself by the hands, moaning “more, More, MORE.” Wretched and pathetic, but deep in his bones a deep determination. To one day, be king of the world and call out his words confidently from his golden nest of a throne. Even though now he drags himself across the floor, looking to devour and build. Always to feed the hunger for advancement, evolution, accumulation.
There is something serenely beautiful in the single-minded determination. In the solid love of a single thing. He is an addict, getting off on success and domination. Pitiful without it, a demigod when he is on a high. Some days he soars above the clouds. But on others, the rain falls on his head. Poor little dominator occasionally brought low, only to rise again more fiercely. A creature of determination: either the pitiful remains of a man, or the true extraction of the core element.
Tell me, is our kind made to be this man? Are we just layer upon layer of clothing being worn by this one single soul? Or is he the clothes that have taken life, and something else—the core element—that has been lost?
Tell me at once if you are he, that you may be banished foul beast. Tell me at once if you are he, that I may welcome you with open arms. He is a creature of the two natures: the wretch, the king. The weight of a hair on the scale separating one reality from another; and you hold one in your hand now. Time to make a choice.
What if I told you that such a man already owned a controlling share of your soul? That he had the noose tied around your neck, ready to lead you on his path; to follow his way and live his life? That he was the whip-bearer, the chain holder, the jailer and the taskmaster? Who had laid out pavement over the bones of your ancestors, and would use you too before throwing you away.
Tell me, would you choose to be like him? The wretch, the king? Following some oh so subtle hope to damnation or revelation?
Or would you choose to take your hair, and walk away into the darkness without a light? To abandon what was made for you, and to cast it off as clothing; suddenly alive a new being: the dissenter, the unnamed.
