The mystic tell us we can be free, because we are free; even as the oppressor snatches the bread from our mouths.
Even if they hurl our children into the flames.
Freedom is life, lived for itself, in and of its self.
Slavery is immersing oneself in the life of others, struggling against it, righting wrongs.
It depends on one’s idea of what life is, on the nature of the life one lives, on what one believes life to be.
A mental conception of life is the half-way house to stepping outside and abandoning it.
We see that, up to a point, or at any rate see the comfort of cultivating our own gardens of life.
And so, always, some of the priests, if not the mystics, end up supping with the lords, and finally the revolutionaries amongst us rise up and string up lords and priests alike from the trees or lampposts.
Then the revolutionaries introduce a new system to establish and dispense justice, and the tricoteuses, the Mothers of the Nation, sit at the base of the guillotines.
Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.
