Identity should not fear adaptation in response to outside forces, but should instead utilize its inherent power to engage the more virtuous, more powerful extremities of Being that may manipulate its structure and formulate a response to opposing outside forces.
These extremities, these conscious components whose presence remains intensely equal to ours have been, to our Ego, incoherently written into us, remaining just out of sight. Seen, they are, as irrelevant absentees within the Tyrant's narrow line of sight.
These unrealized components remain capable of positioning themselves at the vanguard of every conscious decision, in the event life requires more from us than the limited strength lying at our disposal. We find God here, enveloped in a single minded light that calms the torturous chaos. We likely find the presence of Satan here as well, stirring, preparing to envelop his hellish being around our inner mechanisms until our responses become tainted by his talons of unfathomable despair and rage.
Without the key of humility, accompanied by all passing knowledge and the parts of Being that have survived every event alongside us, we would find ourselves utilizing falsehoods, the comfort of denial and a perpetual filtering of reality in order to initiate the propagation of a faithless, limited perception that might delude the Tyrant in its reach of power and synthetic prosperity.
In extreme events, as expressed amidst the climax of the following fiction, one may level their existence so as not to conform to a more enriched Being, and to a comparatively higher structure of eloquence out of a simple fear of change.
The Ego, becoming self-destructive in its appetite for control, razes its vessel to the ground in terror of any existential alteration. Whilst in reality, such a change carries the potential of redesigning our Being into a stunning, powerful dynamic that could have vastly overshadowed the one we had existed within before.
What disastrous consequences the presumptive essence of the Ego could deliver to itself! How inwardly oppressive and fearful of change could the ungodly Tyrant become whilst indulging its own fantastical framework of delusions?
This story, a story that swiftly plummets into an imaginative insanity, centers around a young boy, Adam, living among England's White Cliffs of Dover. Massive, towering walls of rock they are, carving its position out of the sky, gleaming with radiating light when observed from the frothy sea of waves amidst the open expanse of ocean. The thin layer of grass spread across the top was Adam's backyard, where he often sat until his eyes became strained, having peered endlessly through the division between the infinite heavens and their boundless watery counterpart.
Adam had grown close to these harsh ramparts of rough, dense earth, and the accompanying shoreline made up of sharp rocks from the constant beating produced by the surging waves. The very moment the Spirit of Contemplation made itself known to him it enrolled him in a joyous awe of the Cliff's intense countenance, as it radiated from its immovable structure. The elevated stone clawed at his sense of self until he desired the integration of his mind into a substantially greater Being than the creature he persisted as now.
Away from the Cliffs, however, and further from the land he called Home, this compulsory need became distant, tucked away into the recesses of his mind. School had no provocative disposition by comparison, being a cement box of scrupulous order and automation, both directing his itinerary and undercutting his creativity. This educational gathering only drove him further from people, people incapable of taking into account the same earthly monuments that so humbled him, as not even his parents knew such an awe. Because of this, they were inattentive to, and therefore distant from the mental arena within which his religious stature developed.
He of course could socialize, could carry on in conversation given a common topic, could articulate his more complicated needs when deemed necessary. Outside the most basic interpersonal connections, however, he existed almost entirely under the comfortable guise of absentmindedness and its cloak of invisibility. Though he was tasked by his nature to persistently deny his despair, his ennui, a state most barely taste whilst unable to busy themselves with the day to day.
