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People often assume, perhaps correctly, perhaps not, than I am crazy.
Insane.
Psychotic.
Maybe they're right, for I often act that way around other people. Save for those select few who, after years of looking and searching, have seen the real me. But many have never laid eyes upon that small, withered, person. They only see what personalities I choose to show them, merely that and nothing more.
Sure, my armor has cracked before. Everyone's has at one time or another. But no shield, of mental or physical, is ever impenetrable. Every chain has its weak link. And I have, after years of suffering under the torture of this false person, letting them control me, decided what three weak links are inherit in all persons.
Love.
The first destroyer, the small acid weakening the fortress. For there is nothing so strong, so weak, and so absolutely confusing as that double bladed sword. It can bring people together, and tears them apart, in the same instant. I should know, I have suffered under its tyrannical grip long enough. And, as I am sure history could show you again and again, so have many other people. Torn between the tale of star-crossed lovers, as many choose to think of it. Or just a pure miserable fate, as I like to think. To watch all that a person has come to cherish disappear into the dark nothingness is always painful, and always will be to some extent. But to watch, to be forced to see again and again, that one person, that ever so cherished heart, torn out of your embrace eternally is enough pain. It has caused wars, and in few times, has ended wars. But never, in no time that has ever chosen to exist, has Love prevented a war. It is a knife that is unsheathed in haste, and put back only in vain.
And then comes the second beat, the eternal one. The sister of Love that we all fear more than any other. The one people fear, run from, hide from. And the one thing no one can escape. They who turn their back upon this weapon, this forever humanity, will do nothing more than create an ever worse situation. They turn their back on the one enemy, no matter how hard Homo Sapiens try, they cannot defeat.
War.
The second shadow, lurking in the back alleys of the human mind, waiting for the glimmer of Hate to release it. War, second of the three human miseries. Sister to Love, Mother of Death, Destruction, and Loss. All people rule it in their own turn, but it does not rule all people in its turn. Few, the oh so very lucky few, can seek control of this hateful enemy, and use it for their own will. But in the same light, those oh so very lucky few can only fight for such a short time. And in the end, even they must perish, leaving the chance to others.
Others, who in their own turn, will probably, probably cannot, ever truly match their predecessor. But no person. No person, in all of eternity, can ever match another in full equality. They can surpass the person, or fall just short. Maybe even match some of their qualities, but they can never match that one person. And because of that, human history is a rich and vibrant stream of eternal change. Were this to change, to slip away into the Past, then woe be it to the human race. If a human race would still be around later to look back. I doubt it. But that is not all that humans have brought down upon themselves. Whether by will or by fate, there remains the third, and perhaps the most hidden and sought blight.
Peace.
The whisper in all minds, the one thing than can truly cause a collapse of all, and at the same time, it can raise up everything. This red dipped blade has ended more, started more, and caused more than any other idea, creation, or being that has ever existed. It raised up Rome, and then destroyed that fair city. As if a snowflake in a fiery grip. This solitude, this deceiver, this enemy should be truly the most feared, and the most praised. For without Peace, the Present could not exist in the form we enjoy it. Though War and Love can exist without Peace, Peace cannot exist without War and Love. Someone must see how to end War, and to harvest Love before they can create Peace. Though that is easy. Easy to an extent that amazes all people, even me, to this very day. But to maintain that Peace as a tool, not a weapon, is almost impossible. The human mind, along with mine, cannot fathom how to maintain this great enigma. But someday, if hope is allowed to exist within this equation, people will learn how to use their weaknesses for their sake.
But I doubt it. Human have problems controlling anything. Everything. And these three rhythms, beating in eternal harmony from Alpha to Omega, are of no exception. If human were to conquer all, leaving all else for naught, then they would destroy themselves.
Doom themselves.
Kill themselves.
Human beings cannot exist without a challenge, some great peak to reach for. And, were this summit to be climbed, and all else left behind, there would be nothing left to go on for, but to see it all fly by as we jumped.
No, these three Miseries, Love War Peace, must exist if humans choose to exist. It is sad, but true. And without these Misery, I would not be striving now. And perhaps the reader would not have come here. And the designer would never have put this up. And the computer, electricity, even the wheel might not have come to exist. No without these three Misery, all would be lost, all is lost, and all will be lost. Together, they have created human, and together, they can destroy human. But humans must consent to creation and destruction. That is the one Misery which we can truly control.
Will.
Without this, all is already doomed. Will has shown itself infinitely to be superior to everything, and in the next instant, more inferior than anything. Every human which contains the Will to breathe one more time, to let one more thought flash across their minds, and change their mind one more time, contains Will. But to lose this, to watch it leave, is to watch the human race commit suicide. And that would be letting the Misery win. Or lose, considering that the Misery cannot exist without humans.
So perhaps it is a circle. Without them, there are no us. But without us, there are no them.
To destroy one would be to destroy the other. To commit genocide in one way, form, or idea. So
before a person thinks they have reached that final peak, and wish to jump by to see what they
have completed, they should look up again. There is always one peak higher. That one peak,
encloaked in a misty shroud, that is always a step above them. A person may never reach it, but
at least they can try. Try to go up higher, and reach out with the human race for that one last
mystery, that one final Misery.
E-mail comments to denki@angelfire.com
