Once upon a time there was Tradition.
In this little town called Tradition, there were laws. They were laws placed down by the forefathers and foremothers that guided the dear children into narrow channels of thought. Laws that said “No! Never! Thou shalt!”.
There were always the laws on what not to do, where not to go, how not to be. Never had the inhabitants of Tradition thought of what to do with themselves, but rather instead they were too caught up in what not to do with themselves.
Oh the minds of the inhabitants of Tradition! Why were they so reluctant to see the morning sun? Why were they so unafraid of suffering and unnecessary turmoil?
I think, it is because they knew not how to live their lives. They only knew how not to live it.
So, of course, when one dreamer woke up and asked himself what he truly wanted, what it truly was to be, what the laws were there for, and if he could live his life beyond “you shall not”, of course the inhabitants of Tradition made him an idol. Of course they did this only after he was safely put away in the ground.
In Tradition, there is an illusion. There is the illusion of freedom, first and foremost. You’re free, but only if you live in Tradition, by Tradition, with Tradition, under Tradition. Only the birds could be above Tradition. The laws set parameters, the parameters set Tradition.
The people created gods who created the world which created the people. In this circle, they trap themselves with belief. There is never just the river which provides for the town. There is never just the garden which feeds the people. There are names and names give people false hope of control. They call the river Arthus and thus they feel secure. They call the garden Lopitat and thus feel as tenders to the fruit they eat.
Pride comes from that for which you work. But pride leaves you beaming and drunk of your own self. It clouds the people of Tradition like Irish fog. The rabbits that had lived in the garden before it was Lopitat are now thence treated as trespassers and are killed or run out. The wasps, which had built their nests before human was even building its loincloth, are now thence burned with fire (a discovery humanity treats as, due to pride, an invention).
In Tradition, with the river and the garden, the people drowned themselves with drinking. They suffocated and choked themselves with eating. The sky was heavy for he who came about to question beyond the words “thou shall” and “thou shall not”.