Ruminations of a Delusional Revolutionary: On Peace

There is no peace while there is suffering. There is no beauty while there is injustice. All the soul wants is freedom from existing in a world filled with pain, liberation from a system that commodifies our very being. Our lives lived in the margins of time. All the soul wants is to laugh and know no one is crying. To dance knowing that everyone is upright. To relish in beauty knowing everyone can see beauty too. To feel free to enjoy the world knowing every other soul is granted access to the same plane of reality, the same form of existence, there exists no form of societally imposed difference — we are all given the same chance to fly.

For when you fly and see the fallen, how can you continue to soar? Everyday your soul feels the weight of indifference, the guilt of existence, the cognitive dissonance of living in a hypocritical society. What is said is not what is done, and what is done will never be truly said. Actions are shrouded in clouds of money, power is condensed into the hands of the oppressors. Power is used to maintain systems of inequality. The revolution is always a myth. But the people can feel it, bubbling in there blood, when they inevitably look out at the world and see disparity. The revolution exists in the cracks created by the hypocrisy of the system; in those moments of logical confusion, where deduction leads to illogic when using the system’s rational.

When the revolutionary feels the hypocrisy boiling her blood, she is given riches to make her idle. For a haze of indifference washes over the “comfortable” but how long can comfort silence screams. When desperation fills the air there are only so many locks separating the comfortable from the uncomfortable. The diseased reality contradicts that of comfort so one lives in a constant state of rationalizing difference. Myths are created detailing the heroic nature of the winners, the losers are erased from the narrative — but not from the world. Though their reality may be directly negated by the system — it still exists and thrives in the margins. For their gardens are littered with rose petals for their fallen martyrs, the quest for liberty can never be bribed away.

When the last becomes the first our souls can finally soar. When the last becomes first our realities can cease to be siloed and we can all exist in one plane of existence, shaping it to make it better for all, we can rethink the paths that have been dug so deep. We can create bridges to harmony, true harmony — where nature is respected and every life is given the same chance to fly.




Just an idealistic yet delusional revolutionary

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Just an idealistic yet delusional revolutionary

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