| Author | Message | ||
     Verdad |
Not trying to offend anyone's sensibilities, just putting some thoughts down... In times past, there were gods a many throughout the World. While uncommon, one in particular brought forth a son into the World. The son, while ferocious in nature like his father, turned out quite different than the patriarch. These differences caused the other gods, to include the father, to look at the son in an odd way, for the son was truly unlike any god who had lived before. However, although different as he was, the father was content to let his son act on his passions. After all, he was proud of his son. Once, a tendency of the gods was to look towards the future; the son not only looked towards the future, but also around it; through it. The son was an Innovator; his ideas revolutionary. While standing on the shoulders on gods, he nonetheless to their works and gave them new dimension. In time, the son developed a following of his own; one not so intent on obeying the father’s laws. The followers of the son latched on to the ideas of the son. An eclectic order, they soon, too, were looked at by others in an odd way. Arching eyebrows and guffaws aplenty. This did not faze the followers though. They took pride in the fact they were seen as different – indeed, they were different. For years, the son continued to provide the world with the fruits of his labor and intellect. And the world rejoiced. And so it should have continued. Regrettably however, ultimately the father became resentful of the son. He looked at the son’s works, and the followers of the son, with disdain. While the father would embrace and encourage the son early in life, he now began to withdraw, withholding the encouragement so eagerly sought when the son was young. The son realized this, but did not understand. Why was his father behaving in this manner? Did the son not follow the same path, albeit not the same footsteps, as the father? In vain, the son put forth further efforts and energy into his works. Though it was fruitless. In the end the end, the father condemned his son to exile. The father, under the guise of weariness and poor health, told the son he could no longer spend energy on him and must focus on himself. The pride that once cascaded from the father was now gone, a well gone dry. The son, despondent but not defeated, conceded to his father’s will. Bidding farewell to his faithful, the son departed, his whereabouts and deeds unknown. Leaving in his wake his followers who stand vigilant and ready for his return, when that day arrives. | ||
| Electraglider_1997 |
Es verdad. |
