The world is in turmoil. Like the birth of any creature into this realm, it comes with shock and pain. Make no mistake, though one world is dying, another is being born. Some have no inclination to transit into this new world. They are too enamored of the old world. Their appetites have not been satiated. How much wood can you feed a fire before it tells you it has had enough? There is no end to desire, or to the errors made in the pursuit of that which, having been miss-perceived, can never be acquired in its true form; not until it is truly seen.
You cannot clearly see yourself in a smoking mirror. You cannot truly see another when your eyes are fogged with desire. I don’t think it’s an accident that desire and aspire happen to rhyme, even though they are quite unlike one another, there is an association that can be seen by a penetrating mind that knows how ropes and carpets are made.
Now come the days of Banker Folly. Now comes the redlining of tension, between the predators and the prey. Now comes Push for it’s engagement with Shove. The rock and the hard place are set to embrace and many shall finally get that threesome they were fantasizing about. As is generally the case, it won’t be as they imagined it would be.
The possibilities are many. What is meant to happen, what might happen and what will happen; these are all in flux and they are all equally as personal as they are general. Only a fool does not see the potential for conflagration and planetary wide distress. The Bankers are like the monkeys with their hands trapped in the vase, grasping the avocado or mango that they are terminally reluctant to release. This madness will cost them their lives but it will also cost them far more than that. Oh, that is something no longer under consideration. They gave that up a long time ago.
Though we are soon to see the things we have not wanted to see, we are also going to see things that far too many of us never considered the existence of. Yes, they have their collective versions of the invisible, ineffable; an old white man with a beard, a cartoon Madonna in blue, whose dress is the water of oceans, composed of so many thousands of years of falling tears. They’ve dined on scriptures that tell them who their friends and enemies are. They’ve learned that natural things are evil and now they are learning that the unnatural is the contemporary preference, of the silent and faceless unknown. For some reason it is not difficult at all for the blind and deluded to hold conflicting visions, side by side. One of them is the hope for some promised benevolence and the other is the usual surrenders to that which makes the first impossible, or maybe not. We’ll have to see, won’t we?