On the edge of clarity sits destruction. For creation lives in the cracks, in the way out, in the space squeezed and teased out of clarity before its absolutes reign over. In that escape, we build. We grow. We create.
I grew up in a country that had lost the taste for creation. That has been obsessed with the notion of defining its identity so badly that war and conflict became the only language it knew.
In its confines, I built the perfect prison to escape the tumulous raging disruption that tried to define me at every corner. Are you a Muslim? Are you a Christian? Are you with this party? Do you support this guy? Which region are you from? Do you… Are you… Where, Which, What… Oh dear God, get me out!
And out I was from one prison to another. One which I controlled with absolute reign and no way out — one ruled by a simple decision tree, a yes or a no, and nothing in between.
It was the most dangerous weapon I could ever wield and worship. It was absolutes. And it took me a long, long time before I realized their treachery.
See, there is nothing more harmful than a yes or a no. Their clarity seems pure, honest, and virtuous, but it is not.
It’s vile and toxic.
Their defining trait sits at the heart of death. They are the slow decay in the wilderness of truths, afraid to admit to themselves the ultimate reality. That when there is no way out, in their grasp, we die.
The funny thing, though, is that it doesn’t seem so at first. Everything seems to be fine, and for a period of time, it will be.
Yet, it is nothing but a ruse — a delicate poison crafted to create an illusion that mirrors a reality we desperately want to accept for its glorious promise, not noticing its deadly outcome.
On that road, many individuals, organizations, countries, and, most of all, ideas have laid bare their arms and marched to death. Just take a peek at the news and suffer the anguish our world holds in its embrace as a result.
And clearly, for irony’s sake, there is hope simply because there are no absolutes. That is the reality we cannot escape. And thank God, the universe, or whatever you hold dear, it is so.
I found my way out of my prison forcefully, not willingly. I was happy there, or that’s what I thought. The illusion was that good. Yet, no matter what, it fell apart eventually. That eventuality is beautiful because it is the inevitable way out that is infinitely created. No limits to it. No absolute definition that can restrain it.
So remember, because all I could ask of you is to remember. If you can’t escape whatever you are in, you are on the road to death. Seek creation, give yourself, others, and more a way out, and live.
From the crack of an egg came life. From what seemingly was the road to death came creation. That is the mystery of the way out.
Until next time,
Carlo
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