She who sleeps

As the light fades over bent backs and tired faces, the dispossessed of the world offer silent prayers to infinite gods in a giant, collective sigh of desperation. Prayers to old gods and new; gods of the ancient desert, treacherous, icy peaks, and riverine fields of fruit and grain. Pay close attention, however, and you might just feel the shadow of another prayer. An unspoken prayer, conceived almost in guilt and shame. A tired prayer, but deeper than the roots of civilization. Vicious, yet noble; a prayer to a Goddess older than memory.

The world of man is her womb and tombstone. She lies unseen, but her spell creeps into the hearts of all. She is the conscience of the world, its only truth and destiny. Her disciples are legion; her fury unstoppable. The history of civilization is the story of her enslavement; she cannot be awakened. Her slumber is fed by those who fear her wrath. Yet even in her sleep, the cruelty and terror of mankind haunts her dreams. She strains against her bonds, and the earth trembles in fear. Fires erupt, blood is spilt, and the madness of humanity is unleashed. In those brief flashes of sublime chaos, another chapter in our collective memory is begun. Yet she does not awaken. For like all of her divine cousins, she is in need of a prophet.

A prophet who would bring the world of men to its knees, perhaps never to be rebuilt. Who would spit in the face of regression and stagnancy, shove the world off of its axis and laugh while it hurtles, spinning and tossing and crashing off into unknown space and time. Who would scream at the horrified faces of the planners and rulers, the controllers and puppet masters, at the meek and the cowardly, at the boastful and pompous. The world will know his face, his triumphant gaze, as it watches the rules broken, one by one, the laws trampled on, all that was known overturned, and all that was holy defamed. Do you recoil in horror? He expects nothing less, for he says:

Too long have you not lived. Too long have you submitted. Too long have you looked to others, to the skies. Too long have you paid heed to the counsel of those who do not follow their own. Too long have you turned to imaginary friends and old men in the sky, to write down the rules of your lives. Too long have you bowed down to laws that insult your collective dignity. Too long have you waited for fate and providence, and too long have you given into them. Too long have you lurked under the veil of ignorance and blindness, a false shroud of false comforts and false promises, too afraid to take a peek. Too long have you let others take the reins. Too long have you entertained the ravings of popes, bishops, mullahs, politicians, capitalists, lawmakers; diseased old men who spitefully hold you back from living the life they could not. Too long have you insulted your liberty, your strength and integrity. Too long have you been waiting for a second life that will never come, and ignoring the one you have. Too long have you not lived.

Time to live. Time to break and tear and rip apart the fabric of reality. Time to unveil, uncover, undress and stand proud in all of the naked glory of liberation and freedom.

Revolution lies sleeping. Pray that the dawn is late.

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