We're at a point now where the only way humanity is going to survive is if we learn to live together on a shrinking iceberg.
We are running out of space for your fight, we're running out of room for you to hide behind jargons, behind shallow, empty facades that feed a bottomless ghost. We don't have the space for your agendas, your soapboxes, your tantrums anymore. Your planet for hostility is now a neighborhood with an echo.
If it doesn't benefit us all, it has no use. There's no room anymore for us without them.
Forget the time we each could take a corner to stew. Forget that extra room designated for cheerleaders, with no clock, a room to learn the jingle of disguised hate, packaged with wrapping paper and a pretty bow.
There's an echo here. I heard it just the other day. It's time you hear it too. It sounds as familiar as the last time you spoke.
Be wary of those echoes with no room but only to bounce. Echoes are never clear. In the middle of the iceberg sits a sleeping dragon with ears that hear.
Weapons designed for extinction, with enough beliefs to encourage it. A dragon we all ran towards, from separate corners, to build. Each piece nailed together from the toolbox of fear. On a shrinking iceberg, do not fear the weight of this dragon or the scarcity of supply.
The surplus for the build is plentiful on a shrinking iceberg where we keep making more. Just be wary not to wake him.
One test remains for humanity on Earth. It's the last test, and the longest lasting.
The test was always here, nudging with increased attention. Exceeding success isn't sufficience. Just to fail not would be fine:
And in that test remains the channels of information, which have more arteries than ever. They are the carriers of an instant boomerang, designed to tap your emotions, to keep the body alive, to keep the boomerang flying. Back and forth, a tentacled hot potato.
A game for everyone insures it never gets dropped.
These arteries do not all carry only the oxygen we need, but also a poison to keep the dead forest alive.
A forest of dead wood, intentionally packaged with no time to rot. To rot is to die, and few have the courage.
Instead, continuously knock down a new tree, a vain and never ending attempt to cover the hole in our hearts with a shelter we never needed.
And this is our great mistake, to believe we are the voyeurs, the spectators, with us on one side and them on the other, fooled by flags, listening to the perpetual lie, that the world is flat, booming through the megaphone, to keep us cheering for our side while we eat the hot dog we sold ourselves for our unearned convenience.
The price was low, so buy, and ignore the cost is high.
We are not the crowd just cheering for our team, entertained. We are participants in a game we do not have to play. A game we're told to tune into, to set to sync on some tv set.
So sit and stare, before the commercial breaks.
We must practice living together on this shrinking iceberg as it sinks.
Because when it finally does, we will be left understanding the one word the great teachers always attempted to tell:
Compassion. The other is ourselves.
Until we are forced to lock arms with the other which we hated, in survival against the sea, use this weapon:
Our capacity to appreciate beauty. It's a hidden weapon we've ignored.
The world is not beautiful.
The world is a conflicted vibration of energies attempting to fill a vacuum. The world is killing and eating itself to stay alive. It neither knows not cares.
But we do. We have the capacity.
We may look at a setting sun and see something that is not even there. We may see beauty. The great trick the universe played on the wicked. That the violence of the sun is aesthetic anasthesia. The particles of a cloud are a chance for the human to be in awe and appreciation.
We may explain away the moon, why it is there, but it has no meaning until we have danced under it.
Beauty is not in the world. It's in our eyes. It's our perception of beauty which distinguishes us, disguises us, guides us, and gives the universe it's soul.
Through us, the universe finds it's consciousness.
Make room on a shrinking iceberg.
The Journey Continues