We find ourselves in a bit of a spiritual pickle. On the one hand we are believers born, disbelief comes when we enter the world and see what has been done, but we are powerless against those we need for survival so early, newly born, and fall hook and bootstrap in lockstep with the system that has been about our enslavement to it. We’ve little choice since it is obvious, though we may or may not worship it, it is our ruler. How can we rise up when the weight of the shackles of Laws bent on ownership of humans themselves is so much heavier than the rising is capable under such a lode? How? More like WHEN, the HOW unfolds with the cascading story, now not then. The how’ll come to its precipitous timing. If we understand ourselves, we’ll be content in the instinct for Home, our Spirit will be grateful when the last battle is dead and forgotten. We are such feeling blah blah beasts, like empathy inexplicably became the monster under our beds that we never talked about for fear of b
(The Weaver's Song)