What if today was your last day on Earth? What if you knew it and couldn’t do anything about it? There’s an old quote which goes something like “if a man convinces himself he’s going to die, he’ll surely find a way to do it.” – is it true? I’m not sure anyone knows. I find myself in the final days of working on this piece and it feels like walking alongside some ecclesiastical scholar writing a doomsday scripture.
This is normal.
I say that because I have been down this road before, even if the stakes haven’t been as lofty as they are now. Five books under my belt and I still worry if everything will get done on time. I find little solace in the trust I’ve put in those around me. The loss of control is a necessary part of the game, but not a part I particularly like. Worrying about it won’t fix the problem, but that doesn’t mean my brain won’t try. I, like so many of my fellow writers, are at war with their own internal monologue – even if I suffer from the war wounds of an external one. The war doesn’t dampen my spirits about the piece as a whole. I think it’s a story worth telling. I think there’s real value on the face of it, but the underlying tones and themes are important for this age as well. That’s not some self-important balloon I’ve attached to myself in hopes of convincing you. It is quite simply a fundamental truth which most of you already know, all this book will do is reinforce it. For those close minded carbons who ape the attitude of neanderthal culture this piece may do nothing at all, and that’s fine. Change is a hard road even for those who believe it is right, for those who stand against the winds of change it becomes deadly to their own self-image.
There is sadness here as I write this. I think of those my little tribe has lost recently. Sweet and caring people who once shared this existence with us. Those who deserved an extra lump of understanding and kind words, like holiday mashed potatoes. Their choices led them down a different path than society had deemed them to walk, and so they questioned whether or not they were a burden to us all. I have yet to understand why people choose to be so ugly. Could it be they feel the need to deride and crush the spirits of those they do not accept all in some vain attempt to make themselves feel more a part of the herd they’ve joined? Or is it some sanctimonious fever they’ve contracted at their local church which pushes them to claim that only their leather bound hymnal has the lone code of life everyone should prescribe to? In either example they are so far from right it sickens me. They are the cancer on this Earth, a poison which afflicts the body of our life stream, one which I hope we collectively find a cure for soon.
I wrote this piece as something of a love letter to a close friend. While I do not understand what it means to live in their shoes, I do know what it means to be pushed to the edge of a society and treated as a pariah for what I believe. Theirs is so much more difficult than mine. I wanted them – and anyone who exists as they do – to understand there is a future I see where we do not draw lines around ourselves and push others away. I see a future beyond the days of harsh words and foul governmental policies where we begin to concentrate on what is best for our future as a whole. This does not mean all voices will be one – for we are too independent as a species to exist as drones complying to some computer master – but there is a final reckoning coming.
An End of Days.