On Greatness
You may have become used to being told that you are special. You were told by the masters of what some now call the 'first dynasty' that you are the wolf among the sheep. You have been told that the ratio of the gifted to the non-gifted is 1 to 50,000, and that the ratio of those who recognise their gifts to those who are merely in the crowd is 1 to 5,000,000. How you lapped it up. Oh, well done, you.
I have no interest in telling you that you are special. I am not here to tell you that you are gifted. I am not here to tell you that you are a wolf. Everything you have done, everything you will do is nothing in the face of the endless darkness that surrounds you. In the face of everything that will be known, you are nothing. In the face of the extent of the universe, everything that will be known is nothing.
The mind goes. Beauty fades. Bones disintegrate. Everything shrivels. Everything dries out and crumbles.
To even think that you are great belies how short sighted you are.
You are dust. Dust that is capable of loving and hating. And that is enough.