Recrudescent Call for Humanity’s Piaculum
by Jonathan Quince
Saturday, October 22, 2005 14:40:29
It is not without some small churning of grief in my heart that I come, today, to reissue and renew the call for humanity’s piaculum to be sent forth unto me. Such times are upon us of change and decision that further delays may gravely impact upon the world’s future course: Promises made must be kept for promises given, and failings further do indubitably endanger the hope that a new era offers for humankind.
An epoch is come of decay, stench, and filth. In the midst of civil decline, I stand firm in declaring that a return to barbarism of times past is not an option. The choice, thence and henceforth, is binary: Either we rise and bring humanity to a new course of growth in purity, or we exit o’er the downfall in total of the thusly-failed human experiment. Portents of doom match those of hope step for step; be the race won, we rejoice, yet be it lost, I wash my hands and move out, sad but sure, to worthier waters and more-rewarding projects.
The call, then, is clear: Corruption must be vanquished. The future of humankind on the outside shall be firmly matched to the future of humankind’s heart; and if erasure of corruption within thus requires the extinguishment of future’s history without, then so be it. No longer shall savages of the soul, lowsome beings, be let to masquerade in the glorious achievement that is the human form. If human potential cannot be saved, then neither shall human existence.
And the call, as so stated, must start with the individual. Units of purity are amassed soul by soul, heart by heart, mind by mind; only so much may be accomplished in the crowd when faces that promise cover hearts wrought with lies. The individual, indeed, is unitary in origin and nature: Such is a fact hugged tight to the purpose, the potential, for which this experiment was indeed begun.
So, show me one: Let us start now with one. An ordinary human, neither god nor goddess, who glimmers as a bright spark amongst the masses of seething rot—so shall be the spark that is the start of salvation. Shewn to me and yielded to my hand, let this one be my hope, be my guide, be example and paragon as proof positive that perhaps yet there is hope for the others, the all.
Yet e’en as I impose this simple demand, I realize how difficult it is. Yea, whereas the ancients, in corruption, worshipped gods who demanded sacrifice of human life unto death: I say with contempt for them, death is easy, death is cheap. And cheapness shall fill the place for aught in my search for death to be vanquished. Life, and righteous living—this is the new demand of new gods, a new order, a new sacrifice.
Grief is a heavy burden indeed; yet sleep eternal is an escape from the purpose for which human seed were sewn on this Earth. Show, give unto me that soul strong enough to hold the burden of joy—joy so pure and joy so demanding, it is a rare element to shine scarcer than gold. And give me such in a human, one to become one womb for all man’s future hope.
Show me one so beautiful; give me one so pure. Let me weep in joy as I embrace her and take her to my hand. I shall take her and shape her and make her in the image of her highest potential. And by eyes so bright and a mind thus steady, I shall ordain her to a new purpose additional to herself in sich: To use her, to show the gods that human purity exists, to trade the sight of her visage for a future of human hope.
Time’s march is nay but inexorable as ever it was. The gods are waiting, their hearts heavy and patience weary. I warn ye, tarry not.