In the midst of society’s insatiable appetite for fantasy, there are moments where certain members are fixed in a state of never-ending horror as they are offered as a sacrifice. Ultimately, this offering is an act of cultural asphyxiation to solder the eternal fear of happenstance.  The arbitrary human offering to the volcano that it may not erupt. Humans have not evolved and science is just changes in chemistry, without the support of wisdom. 

The yin-yang world of victim versus predator is ensconced in our theatre, laughed at in our comedy houses, and cried for in our systems of justice.  Most sit attached to the banal idea that evil does not exist. It does.  It sits a jester in society’s court, mocking all that try to transcend its implied wickedness.  It knows the truth that but for a mere change of circumstance, you too would be its prey.  

It encourages voyeurism as a way to instill the cautionary tale of those that fall victim.  It employs mental gymnastics to herald the predator as both savior and just fate. Those of us who stand accused rarely have a chance. I remember that just like you, I am paid for by ancestors that hoped for me and I refuse to be shamed.  

It is here that most forget that suffering is eternal.  A victim cannot be without a predator.  A predator cannot exist without having been once a victim.  And here the eternal flame of evil passes from one to another.  This is all taboo and I should not even think to utter it out loud, much less write it.  Except that even as a sacrifice to this cultural madness or society’s fixation with the idea that evil does not exist without the victim causing it, I remember that I am paid for, just as much as the next person. Indeed, if I am right, we are one in the same. 

Society is not far off in its understanding of evil.  Evil is caused by the sowing of bad seeds, but these are rarely sown by the current victim who is blamed. This is madness.  When there is an opportunity to end suffering and obfuscate pure evil, society chooses to egg it on.  

Just as confusing is the strength of hope, which sits as an idol inside the world of suffering. Hope is sometimes for things one can’t even imagine, but there is faith that its existence is possible in some unimaginable ecosystem.  Hope is the lotus blossom that grows from the mud and the scientist that cures cancer despite having been born drug imbibed and sickly. Hope is sometimes a miracle that almost never happens. What sorcery is this? And the masses just as quickly nail that miracle to a cross and call it the devil. Seems better to not hope at all. But then that would be – taboo.