The Inexorable Pull

It was planned ages ago.  It was written after that.  Time is telling the tale.  Time is marching on.  But the end is in sight.  The end is inevitable.  What has been written is irrevocable, indelible.  And it HAS been written.

Look around.  See the signs.  They are clear, for the few.  To the blind all is dark.  Just as time marches on, so do the blind, stumbling toward the precipice, lemming-like in their hurry.  So much jostling, so much pushing, and all toward ruin, destruction.

As one snatched from the fire, am I, are the few.  I wish it could be different, but no...  Only a fraction will live, a tiny portion of the whole, just as it was written, long ago.

We have to live as secret rescuers, yanking those passing by on their way to the cliff out of the crowd.  In secret, yes, but boldly moving, always moving.  Always asking for the next opportunity to save, like our namesake.  Always laying down our lives, always striving against the tide, inevitable though it may be.

I ask myself, I ask you, have you taken every opportunity?  Have you given till it actually hurt, till the blood spilled?  Not yet, no.  But there is still time, all is not lost.

Simple.  Keep it simple.  No need, nor want, for monuments or temples.  We are the monuments.  We are the temples.  Stone is not holy, stone is not living, nor made in the image.

The shapes, the colors, the smells, the textures - all made in the image, and sacred.  But not all.  Only the chosen, the elected, from before time began.  And after time ends, all will bow the knee, and all proclaim holy.

The evil is rising, at a compounding rate, exponentially greater, faster, harder, uglier.  But it matters not.  It has been written, long ago.  It will surely come, and surely go.

Stand fast.