The Knowledge of Gods

Humanity, like so many ants following a scented path directed towards riches beyond. All people working for their own betterment, yet as a whole the populations somehow ebbs and flows together like one surging mass alive. I see it in the faces of those passed by in terminals, faces blend, and what is registered is a spot of blonde here, grey touching the scalp, brown, black, red, yellow. The Distinguished debonair, briefcase in hand, business in the mind, together with the haggard, worn and unsuccessful. All of them so easily melt in to one, yet behind the mask and pretense if each, lies that awakening of intelligence seen in wise eyes. Everyone a story, everyone a unique history explaining the evolution of mankind. How easily the soul of the individual is cast aside in the observation of the whole.

I peer down from sky's above, as a god in his heaven. Gashes across the earth plainly seen as the industry of the most diligent and persistent creature forces the land to their own control. With what would you compare such a great creation? Who can imagine a more adaptive creature? A land dweller desiring the sea, so he took it. He envied the birds so he flew. He saw the frozen uninhabitable land and he killed to make it his. He saw the stamina of the deer, so he ran it down. He became jealous of the maintains so he climbed. He became angry with nature so he destroyed. Yet turns to look and desires to save, thinking himself the redeemer of creation. With armies he conquers, with fire he burns, with unity he builds, with power he rules.

And yet, in all this glory of man, he holds one flaw, a scar which no other earthly being is set to bear, one flaw above all else...He believes. Since time of recognition man sat and looked up and understanding dawned and songs if worship ascended. How great a burden has been placed on the intellect of man. Shall we not be considered gods simply to be worthy of it? What was holiest of all has breathed it's first breath through the thought of autonomy. What holy rituals must we invent, what sacred games must we play to fill the longing of the human mind? We are the creators of the creators, how great of a deception we must needs believe in order to set ourselves free of the problem our invention has created. Long have we sought to rid ourselves of our ability, to kill the god of our mind. Oh, god is alive, and remains alive and we made it so, yet nonexistence still smothers. The deep blackness of nothing looms. The despair of humanity is palpable, how shall we rid ourselves of our burdened brilliance? Look deep into the eyes of the individual and peer into the soul of man, is not infinity housed there? The knowledge of gods.