These are the days of conspiracy, with its shifting sands and boorish tempers. Convinced as we are that everyone else is profiting as we ourselves are shoved further aside, we find it all too easy to rail, to sulk, to give in.
Mostly, we just want to hide.
But the one odd thing about conspiracies is . . . sometimes they are real. Sometimes, forces beyond our own imagining work together, upending our carefully contrived plans for nothingness, damning our diminishing hold on routine.
And it feels, at this moment, as if numerous ones are hatching all around us. Some even subscribe to the notion that we are entering into the end times, a scenario flatly rebuffed scores of times over the past several decades alone.
But as we will never really know the hour, we may also never wholly appreciate our own contributory negligence. For what we send out into the world is often what we find.
We are as much the very influence that we rail against, as we are often the very agents of our own despair.
But knowing that just might be the first step towards freedom.
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