The resistance that eats itself

The Ouroboros never looked sadder

As the fire advances eating new buds and blossoms, we quarrel. We cannot listen to each other. We cannot even listen to ourselves. All we can listen to is this little implant somewhere in our resonance chamber. It’s been told that all of the problems of the world come from some group of people. That if we *somehow* got rid of them, the world would become Eden again. It’s easy to fall back into tribal thinking, especially nowadays, during postfuturist times.

We tried rationality, we tried science, we tried technology and it gave us unfathomable power. We dreamt up visions of beautiful futures, where we would quash suffering, we would fly and eat grapes all day long. As the machine of progress marched, did we ever really question if the road hinted at the destination? Did we ever look out the window and just think for a second about what the power we were developing was feeding? Now we’re close to the destination. Humans are not sacred, God has been killed and looted like the noob he was. We can do it better. We *will* do it better.

And so, the spirit of unholy arrogance rises, with promises of hacking humans into the horrifying wagies they want us to be. Like bees in a colony, we will likely be unable to resist (can we even resist now?). In horror I turn to the resistance. Oh no…

It seems as though the few and dim lights of resistance I knew are fading away right when we need them the most. What happened? Well… we became enamoured by the building of the resistance and forgot about the time we had nothing but the floor and our friends. We fell in love with our ideas (after all they’re so beautiful), then we fell in hate with anyone who would dare question even the tiniest hair on our idol. In the absence of God, and in the absence of any humility, we are now standing face to face with the giant of arrogance that has already taken so many lives.

So we are quarreling. Fighting over things we can’t even define well. Fighting over social media. Fighting through computer screens. Drinking even more poison, feeding the feeling that the “other side” has no forgiveness. Digging ourselves deeper into the trench. After all we will need trenches when “they” come.

Of course, as far as I see it, we’re chickens fighting chickens while the fox eats an occasional one in the background. We’re angry, we’re sad, we’re hurt. And instead of being able to share that with others who definitely carry that same wound, we would much rather stab the dagger deep into our former friend with all the hatred for those we can’t touch. It’s so easy to kick the small and weak (those we would call community). It’s so hard to touch those who actually opress us. But we want to feel like we did something, right? We’re “a movement”. We’re “acting against the system”.

In full honesty, though, we’re just cowards. The revolution that eats itself is the triumph of the establishment. The rebels who forget their connection to the other are just the seed of a tyrant. That seed is in every single one of us.

The hardest lesson I’ve learned recently is that we are *not* better. We are all liable to flip the script and transform into a monster.

The only way I can fathom not to do that, is to remain aware that we *are* and *will be* wrong. That alone we are nothing. That life means something only because of other people. And even though hell is other people, heaven is as well.

The One is All.