“God is dead”
My own biological father lies many years in the earth.
Dead.
He loved violence the way one would love peace. It didn't unsettle him. His hands were steady when he committed the unspeakable. Chaos was his best companion and vengeance his ultimate language.
All things I have talked about many times.
He wished to carve me in his likeness, see his own reflection living more through my bones. The female extension and he almost suceeded. The game he created is still ongoing maybe but he sure isn't winning it.
I have desired ending his life with my own hands in my childhood, and that was a part of his game most likely. Being raised in the shadow of cruelty teaches you early how efficient rage can become. And how blood is just blood, regardless of the genetic markers.
Though one can say we are not born from one root alone. And that's a good thing. There is a whole long procession of ancestors whose lives were spent in struggle yet service before him. And many branches of his tribe that bloomed and fruited for decades..
Both of my grandfathera and their brothers andtheir ancestors all were forced to walk through wars...and willingly returned to heal what war had broken.
And My grandmothers' sides too..
Warriors, physicians and rulers... Crafters reaching back through centuries, seekers of knowledge who walked many paths long before my own generation.. Touaregs, Jews, Kabyles...
Their lives were not gentle either just like my childhood.
The world met them with many many hardships, with violence, with trials, and still they built, studied, and gave their strength to their communities.
The end wasn't always a good story.
One of them I often think of these days because of the war in Iran was a relative who was forced into the hidden machinery of foreign military programs.
He went to Iran for education, and from there he was taken into Russia, where the nature of his work became a chain around his life. The years passed and the road home closed behind him, leaving him bound to a government.. And I often feel saddened about his entrapment. Even in his old age, he can't escape it.
Perhaps that will always be the fate that often greets those who stand too high in ability or knowledge.
It is inescapable.
The tallest tree reaches first for the sun, and it is
also the first to feel the blade like I have said many times. But it is these roots that teach the forest how to grow. And it gets easier to navigate accepting the incompleteness of the world and how to act from principles without the delusions of guarantees, like I have also said many times.
You do your best not because people deserve it. But because you do, for your own convictions.
Dead.
He loved violence the way one would love peace. It didn't unsettle him. His hands were steady when he committed the unspeakable. Chaos was his best companion and vengeance his ultimate language.
All things I have talked about many times.
He wished to carve me in his likeness, see his own reflection living more through my bones. The female extension and he almost suceeded. The game he created is still ongoing maybe but he sure isn't winning it.
I have desired ending his life with my own hands in my childhood, and that was a part of his game most likely. Being raised in the shadow of cruelty teaches you early how efficient rage can become. And how blood is just blood, regardless of the genetic markers.
Though one can say we are not born from one root alone. And that's a good thing. There is a whole long procession of ancestors whose lives were spent in struggle yet service before him. And many branches of his tribe that bloomed and fruited for decades..
Both of my grandfathera and their brothers andtheir ancestors all were forced to walk through wars...and willingly returned to heal what war had broken.
And My grandmothers' sides too..
Warriors, physicians and rulers... Crafters reaching back through centuries, seekers of knowledge who walked many paths long before my own generation.. Touaregs, Jews, Kabyles...
Their lives were not gentle either just like my childhood.
The world met them with many many hardships, with violence, with trials, and still they built, studied, and gave their strength to their communities.
The end wasn't always a good story.
One of them I often think of these days because of the war in Iran was a relative who was forced into the hidden machinery of foreign military programs.
He went to Iran for education, and from there he was taken into Russia, where the nature of his work became a chain around his life. The years passed and the road home closed behind him, leaving him bound to a government.. And I often feel saddened about his entrapment. Even in his old age, he can't escape it.
Perhaps that will always be the fate that often greets those who stand too high in ability or knowledge.
It is inescapable.
The tallest tree reaches first for the sun, and it is
also the first to feel the blade like I have said many times. But it is these roots that teach the forest how to grow. And it gets easier to navigate accepting the incompleteness of the world and how to act from principles without the delusions of guarantees, like I have also said many times.
You do your best not because people deserve it. But because you do, for your own convictions.
