Keep the Opposition Alive
How easy to be choked in mire, drowned in the swamp of easy mediocrity! How easy to sink to the level of living for nothing, speaking only that which has before been said, an easy, herdlike going along with what all else nod in an age of indistinction and colorless corruption. But that which opposes stands up, and speaks, for intelligently refined, it is the oil that feeds the fire in the belly, there where Vindler speaks wisdom in the gut.
Are you important? For what call did you birth forth in blood and amniotic ocean into perilous and strange world made from the bones and blood of ancient monsters? That call is a debt your deeds must e'er repay. For your very presence feeds upon the planet, and if you are to be more than a mouth for fodder, then let what comes out of that mouth, and let those limbs fed on fodder, speak for something more divine than the mere being here, but something deeper, more profound! For nobility is not had without cost ; easy it is to slip from courtesy. Easy it is to let selfishness immatured usurp the quality of one's inborn kindness, making brute to fit a rough world, coming back alone with blows instead of mallets with which to polish. For roughness lies ready for our ready making, if we will take up tool with ready wit and work. The shaping work of the Gods is not yet done, awaiting only our limbs to willful heed the call, and find that special shaping only we can carve. It is certain that the world's ferocity and overwhelmed wave of ongoing immense shall wipe with scoffing hands of erasure whatever we seek to impress upon its even humble parts, such that creation is a struggle to etch upon the magma flows whatever imprint we can desperate and at times random manage. Life must be deliberate, or it is soon merely species of storm, swept up within, merely a moment in the senseless drift, and to go beyond this, one must summon up and gather such piercing spear of force within that one may penetrate the very fogs with one's indomitable will.
It is the chance to grapple you have been given, from Gods grown master through the grapple, against unbeatable, or so seeming, odds. This whole array of endless black, this fire-studded theatre of stuff, this march of titans tumbling watery and cold through the great expanse, is monstrous and strange, and swallowed, it swallows, while one may grant it worth alone through struggle, which pits one's smallest will against its awesome immense ; and for such a gamble, even the Giants nod begrudging admiration. So the Gods will grant greater merit. You have rushed wind-tunnel and wild into a hopeless space, the odds all aligned against you, so gull, wings whipped back and buffet by the hurricane, with what courage will you meet the feary fate? Such merit shall you win utter with audacity.
For that it is, it ought? What cowards utter such feeble squeaks eked from bedlam? For that it is, it shall become, and I, I might be gifted such honor as to be one of many who shapes that very happening! There is one we love! Not one who cowers slavish before whatever simple happens to present itself! Seek out, and let ears hold the secret yet manifest truth : there is meaning in heroic defiance. This world was not meant to be bowed to, but enjoyed through the prayer of adventure, which is its own species of complex worship, one thrown down gauntlet with eager and earnest dialectic.