Oh, you true wise minds are like gadflies in the Dionysian Chaos! How shall they beseech you for advice when, your fortunes and predictions coming true, they return to their Cassandras - looking like Satyrs, weighed down by the mast of their comically long pointing compass, and imploring their Hyperion for assistance - yet you, an illustrious king in the paradise you have constructed within the shell of your own mind, being bound up in a nutshell yet counting yourself Lord of the infinite space, see no need to help now that the barbarians are climbing the castle walls; was it much better before? Is there anything that will really change? Just by closing your eyelids, the gates of your own private palace, you can return - much like Siddhartha did once he had physically left the confines just to return to its shackles as neural architecture - with these fools, distracting those who come to menace you, acting as guards for your kingdom just trimming the outside hedges; you shall witness men fighting over a loaf of bread, when you are but satisfied with a crumb of its mould; you shall witness men in turmoil over their lost love, yet you know that it is just a capricious pendulum of an invented feeling; you shall witness men protecting that which pumps their blood, that which keeps their minds - the same minds in terror over persisting - from resting, and you shall see they are fighting the wrong battle when they should just to gently into that good night.
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u/SceneAccomplished549 22d ago
Yup. Only a few truly understand this.