I dream of wandering on the golden shores of Ophir endlessly towards the magnificent towers of Babel in hopes of finding the sanctity of self.
I am not disillusioned by the war machines in the sky striking fierce lightning on those swimming towards the shores looking for the same sanctity. Nor do I confront the invisible hand in the sky picking at me individually to place me back in the cage at the beginning of the shores.
Neither am I distracted by the barriers set up on the beach to reassure that this sanctity is only for those worthy enough to reach it.
I look back on the path and see soulless bodies and regret.
I ignore the vast land expanding infinitely towards another horizon, where the holy nuances of Babel are not the answer, but rather the process preceding it. The self is only as powerful as the collective – the collective strives from the power of self and builds towers collectively for the individual to find sanctity in the heavens ignoring only the interfering views and actions of the manifested god(s).