Power's Oblivion

Why do we fear fading into oblivion? Is it that there is something within us past nerve, bone, and sinew? Past consciousness and an insatiable appetite for pleasures of the tongue brought to the stomach? Food for thought all traveling to an empty chasm permeating the intestines.

Is it for character or morality where these constructs are in place only to keep us sane? Or is it for shame and guilt that contribute to our disingenuous forms of generosity? Endlessly striving to eclipse the clutches of death. “For maybe if I play this role, and play it well– surely I can escape it.” “Not too cold, for we wouldn’t want to appear disinterested in the collective mission, and not too hot for it would be unwise to outshine the master.”

The truth about power is it’s paradoxical. Slippery in nature with an inability to be surmised in just forty-eight laws. A book of games, shall we play? One move for strategy, two for efficacy, and three to position the high ground for moral nobility. All tactics are blindly thrown out the window once first blood is drawn. Fists clenching, feet tapping, seats shifting as piece by piece falls in pursuit of the same outcome, control. “Control what you can control.” To the one who penned that quote, I envy. Wise words from someone not living on a floating terraformed rock circling through the cosmos around a blistering star. God understood divine order when charting our placement. Not too cold, not too hot. “And God saw that it was good.” But within the realm of power and the ambitions of men, the idea of good has never been enough.

Power is a double-edged sword that reflects our deepest desires while exposing our inescapable fears. She is a resounding gong whose call permeates across generations. She is a vice grip, an alluring siren that echoes from the coastlines to pioneers in rouge vessels sent to carry out the will of religion, the will of the flesh, the will of cultural relevance.

No matter, we are all human, and yet to be human is to stave off death, perilously clinging to life. Eat, sleep, drink, accumulate, hoard, plot, plant, consummate, steal, lie, cheat, defecate. Holding on to whatever control we have eases us peacefully into the night. A lover, a scripture, a brother, a friend, a bottle, a blunt to burn till the end as bridges collapse and we awaken to the nightmare of our folly. A spoonful of sugar coats the bitter tonic that kills off the ego only for another to bloom. A three-headed hydra packaged in self-help propaganda, business dealings, and incentivized courses wrapped in the gall of political correctness. Is this cycle meant to continue, are we destined to dance to the lyres of fate? To march in stride to the beat of our think tanks, legacies, and communal rituals. Or is it to realize that apart from creation we never knew our creator or perhaps do not recognize his face? What if we are the true descendants of Babylon? To be born in a society of faith and beliefs from all walks of life and the clarity to see; that the gods in this land are many, but none are truly free.