There are those in life who dwell among the commoners and are seemingly destined to lead the world to the glorious conquest of Nature. But is it goddess Destiny, their muse, who drove the stake of passion into their feet with her hold so firm that she never abandons them wherever they travel?
Shifting our stare to catch sight of those who are everything but the great men and women we speak of, we stop and ponder them. What god schemed to betray them when the hands of grace failed to blast their minds with the furious bolts from passion’s storm. They were not betrayed, as though God cast them as merely extras in the movie of Life.
Those whose feet fall with a hammer’s step leave their impression on the body of Nature, mastering her with their sedulous application of penetrating insight. But, begging Nature to reveal herself in order to satisfy the cravings of their lusting stomach, those who fall to their knees on the ground to pray are left with nothing but the torture of their unfulfilled cravings, which will never be met.
Lay-offs From Existence
“In order to assess what a type of man is worth, one has to compute how much his preservation costs-one has to know the conditions of his existence.” – Friedrich Nietzsche
“There is no collective bargaining with reality (or life).”
How is a person’s value to be judged? Does his existence depend solely on the alms of others, whether by their physical or intellectual overflow, or does he pound out his own contributions to the common weal with potent hammer blows of sapience. In one case we see those who leave unprecedented bounty in their wake; In other cases we find those who fumble with their aborted intellect barely providing for their own existence, let alone impregnating the world with ideas that give birth to a new dawn of mankind.
Here is a man, and you ask, “What is he worth?” I aver that this can only be answered if we compare the benefits that he confers to society with the viands they feed to him. Does he provide more than he takes, a profit to the world? Does he provide just as much as he takes, the books breaking even? Or does he take far more than he could ever give, a straw draining the juice squeezed from the fruits of wisdom’s tree, able, but unwilling, to apply himself.
Casting furtive glances at those Prometheans he envies, the mediocrity secretly admires the power of their mind, but never admits his impotence. How is his existence akin to that of a parasite—a being inimical to the body of its host? They feast, and at the same time kill from inside, ignorant of the fact that they will perish along with the gutted host.
Innovations do not begin and end with the mere ability to steal the work of others, covering your tracks by dressing an old bottle with a new label. The money one drags home isn’t the measure of conquest; the measure is a scale which weighs the value of your existence. Some break even, some sink to the bottom loaded with earned value, while inconsequential others float to the top, as their output was surpassed by their consumption
Protected from the consequences of their indolence and ignorance, seeking protection under the veneer of “preventing exploitation”, the mediocrity asks to eat the fruits of labour, irrespective of what valuables, if any they themselves have mined from the natural environment. Although it is true that no man is an island, given how we all live off of this world and have benefited from the contributions of others, some have built houses from what was once only a mound of sand, while others chose to find shelter in the shade, coming out only when the houses were completed by others.
Between a productive man and a mediocrity there is no symbiotic relationship, just as tumour existing within a healthy body isn’t a relationship of mutual benefit. Where they should have long ago fallen to their demise after refusing to stand erect in order to see the sun, instead they drag the world down with them to stare into the bleak abyss. The purity of the human race becomes spoiled by miscegenation, as the commendable are forced to breed with the contemptible.
The Meek Shall Have This Dearth
It is said that the meek shall inherit this earth, but they’ll have Nature as she is, clothed , refusing to reveal herself. Their mouths are left dry with no taste of her body’s juices to savor.
With a persistence wrought from ravenous desire, the passionate endlessly drive themselves to master the body of Nature, while most of the people one will encounter will act as poison to the soul. With little to offer save your time wasted, you accomplish little as you’re forced to bear them.
The wretched speak as if their mouth served only to function as a secondary orifice for the elimination of waste. Since one hole isn’t enough to purge them of their shit, they try to say what they know, but they don’t know what they are saying.
Some can be pulled from the depths of their ignorance, allowing the soporific elixir that kept their mind dormant to evaporate until their brain finally awakens. Every alcoholic has his moment of clarity, and either they will be released from the distorted sense of perception or they will continue on to seek light through the Cimmerian cloud of ignoble existence.
But, as though they were affected with an intractable ocular affliction, the eyes of some will refuse to be freed from a distortion of vision so great in scope that they could stare at the sun, and still claim that it is night.. Cast their deluded eyes back into the tenebrious shell that is their empty soul. Treat them like a disease—something that must be avoided at all costs, and if you’re infected by one, something that must be destroyed without reservation.
Entreating Nature To Expose Herself
Not by the force of will, but only to those who are able to savor the subtle taste of her lips does Nature pass her secrets. Instead, the buffoon moves close to her, and after a soft proposal from her lips, bites her tongue as she tries to speak her seduction.
The walls of her reticence are shattered by the warm hands which run over her, secrets tasted as sweat runs off of her body. Nature is revealed to those who seek an understanding gained from consent. It is the precise stroke of logic, and not the repetitive motions of a lout, that arouse her.
The lambent shower of her eyes washes away the accumulated filth of well-worn ignorance which once soiled your body as her stare dresses you with the fresh raiment of her adoration. Reason and science enable one to master their surroundings; Nature invites the caress of a warm and calculated seduction, not a cold and a perfunctory molestation.
Indelible Prints With A Hammer’s Step
“Not everyone’s footsteps fall like a hammer upon the crust of the world, leaving giant craters of accomplishment in their wake. Even small accomplishments find a way into every crack of impossibility, building up and finally splitting it open for all to see.” – Matt Pearson
The body of Nature is before you and the opportunity to have her is always at hand, if only you ask her. If only you’re willing to listen, understand her essence, and realize that she wants to be romanced, not approached as though for any man she was a sexually edacious creature for the taking.
With a world so great in potential, teeming with discoveries yet to be held in our hands, however you can make an impact is still a difference made. A small gain in ground leaves behind the limitation of today, and brings closer the becoming of what, tomorrow, awaits your being.
One need not be a genius among men, the strongest mind, in order to frenzy Nature into a sheen of sweat, for even with the wind’s softest breath ripples still break the silence of a pond.
Author’s note: Special thanks to Matt Pearson for all the suggestions and for the edit, and, for being a good friend. I owe you a beer, or ten, in Vegas.