Growth, Not Death

Means, not ends.

Apocalypse is a culmination, not an end, of days. It is the natural result of all that each of us has done, to ourselves and each other. Through global interdiddling we have brought ourselves to this terrific climax.

The rise of nation-states and corporate behemoths, that scarcely comprehend what they are or do, much less why, has generated a more or less unwelcome byproduct: a burgeoning global population. Millions are slaughtered needlessly, but billions more are born and cling to life.

We are like dust motes on the palace floor, constantly trampled and swept about; but these motes think and feel, compare notes, organize, and struggle. As the victims of those who trample and sweep, we have gotten to know them better than they know themselves. We have come to understand that the entire palace was erected upon the bodies of our ancestors, cemented in place, millions of years thick, where they fell. Blowing about on that floor, dodging, jostling, learning, we have begun to realize that the castle looming over us is just gingerbread, a fantastical sugar confection; and that the tears of agony and frustration, gratitude and release, that we now cry every day are melting the damn thing from the ground up. It's only natural.

As the ramparts of the castle fall we shall surely be crushed, and a great cloud of toxic dust shall rise over the land. Yah, mon, but we shall learn that the dust that had settled on us was disguising our true nature: that we are motes of spirit, which can never be crushed.

As the stresses of Apocalypse slam and strip the dust from our souls, we grow. And the bonds between us, the shared understanding, tolerance, and mutual encouragement, grow exponentially.

Our bodies will wither and die, so much lovely dust, and every thing that matters will be taken from us; but we will blow away victorious.

The dust will settle and life will spring anew.  We'll settle our souls in the midst of it and grow on.

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