Despite my intermittent ramblings about the nature of things, the sheer chaos, I have nothing but great compassion and respect, yes, respect for the world. The way it goes on in the face of utter terror, the way it keeps spinning along. Few things are as inspiring as the very world we live in. No part of it can match its overall effect. On most days, I look around and bow down to lay my sword in front of what I see. For all the fight in me, I am but a loyal servant of all that is good and beautiful in this world. I am here after countless others, and I hold this insurmountable legacy above anything else. I do not seek a reward. To be here, among the others, is an honour. To be alive is my prize.
I look at a field, the blades of grass waltzing along with the breeze, and it makes me cry. I look at the beige, hazy sky at the golden hour, and it makes me weak in my knees. Of course, there are days I gloss over my love for the world. When they end, I do not sleep well and wake up to sweats and panic. To exist in this world is to be in harmony with it. If there is any way for us to be happy, it is in this compromise, this surrender—the world comes before me, the world comes before me. No religion, no politics, can save us. It is only this feeling of belonging that matters. We must be one with the world.
Those who stand atop pedestals raised on the bones of others do not know this, and in their heart is a gaping hole. They fill it with loud words and bold claims, but in their heart, they know. Their Gods left them long ago; their politics is a personal agenda. They are hollow—they stand in groups but are hollow inside. They will never have what you and I have. They will never belong.