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The lyre has been left outside by the musician who plays in the forest,
now it plays a ghostly chain of notes as the wind blows across its strings,

Waves gently reach the shore,
as a scientist is reduced to a child gathering shells on a beach,
just mere shells washed up from the vast, infinite sea of knowledge,

The mountains stand proudly,
and many artists have wandered that way,
failing to capture the immutable forms of the eternally beautiful snow capped peaks,

An enchanting flower unfurls its petals,
as a poem unfurls its lines,

and the whole universe is contained within everything,
inside every tree are mysterious woods on which hundreds of stories of lost children and talking animals can be written,

all of us are capable of of wondering about the starry heavens above us,
being outraged by injustice because of the moral law within us,

History is just the journey of the collective human spirit,
evil ideas were conceived but they did not know the power we have, the strength we have to survive,
and as the hatred grew stronger so did our resistance,
we learned to stand up for Truth,
that Good and Evil aren't subjective,
they are innate knowledge,
which is why those who stand silent in the face of Evil are part of the Evil themselves!

Within every culture the World Spirit reflects itself,
in the hearts of the nomadic and the settled,
all cultural groups of the human race know what is wrong,
and they punish wrongdoers,
they must punish the evil members of their own culture most severely,
to keep pure their nation and their descendants,
for no nation can be great until it acknowledges its flaws and rights its past wrongs,
takes responsibility,

The World Spirit does not freeze to death in the Arctic, nor dehydrate in the Sahara desert,
it lives everywhere humans live,
manifesting itself in tribes and nation-states,

It beckons us to stick to our internal moral law,
even if you stand alone, you must stand!
Forgive but do not forget! Do not be weak!

and if you feel powerless,
and melancholic,
if they silence you or if you see others oppressed and feel guilty for being free yet being useless,
if you feel yourself being driven to madness by pondering the world's condition,
then let wanderlust be your source of healing,
and travel far from the eyes of humans,
and listen to birdsong,
and dress as nomads do,
and listen to waterfalls,
and see that even in that atmosphere of divine sublimity,
predators still hunt prey and natural selection occurs,

Lean over the clear pool of water not yet polluted by your kind,
and see through to the bottom,
to the fish,

Now your hands have made a ripple,
and to the edges of the water it will spread,
and to the ends of the earth your good deeds will spread,
your name shall not be forgotten,
and the evil will forever tremble at the sound of your name as it rings throughout the ages.
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