Commentarius Perpetuus in "Uniqus Martyrium" Ad Recensionem

Things are turning; things are being said. There are always people to tell them. Beyond every imagined scene, we witness the same words being chewed over once again.

The age is being submerged in darkness by tyrants without principle. In this empire of shadows, the honour of reaching the stars by difficult roads becomes a sacred summons. You will see that what has been withheld from you is freely given to others; yet whoever finds paradise within also bears its consequence here, and its hell as well.

Grief will stir the bitter currents of the heart. You will keep time with despair; we will cry out for sorrowing souls in a singular martyrdom. But we must also know this: just as despondent souls need a despot to sustain and publicise their grief, the despot needs those souls to grow sorrowful in order to reach his aim.

In your communities of one, you will lose collective consciousness. You will mourn the dead and overlook those who live without love. And, as Descartes did not dare to say, while thinking, you will no longer be. Thought itself has lost all dignity of form: its sacred ceremony and grave gestures have been reduced to disgrace. No one now endures the older discipline of knowledge.

You will discover that absence has spread through all being. You will become a hesitant creature, inclined to abandon its own essence. You will be unable to embrace trees rooted in the earth, for the human being is irrational: even when knowing what is right, one remains capable of doing the opposite. In a life pursued with every urgency in search of cool serenity, you will do nothing but flee yourselves. We are free-spirited knights of lives chained to simplicity and solitude. We shall be buried in soil made powerful by the meaning of singular martyrdom. And you, carrying decaying souls in dead bodies—where will you be buried?

In every case, we shall die broken-hearted.

Homer said: “Striking his breast, he rebuked his heart with these words: Endure, my heart; you have endured worse before.” Now we cry out to you: understanding is the heart of the heart.

We are the very well in the recess: a plain well calling “I am here” into its own darkness when it no longer has the strength to plead. In solitude, we sense the hope of Joseph within us. Know that every creature is both an officer of fate and its vanquished. Centuries ago Jesus said: “Blessed are you who weep now, for you shall laugh.” And now, draw your swords against those occupied with void-born manipulation of consciousness in an interdimensional esoteric war. Ask yourselves what God intends by you. This is the old story of pilgrims crossing a desert without a guide toward the promised land, walking either into a deceptive mirage or a painful death by thirst. It always ends with the same cry: My God, why have You forsaken me?

Singular martyrdom is the mirageless desert of dead prayers. And some sacred prayers are martyred by the provocation of a womb-like fear of solitude.

It must not be forgotten: the desert upon which light descends is the coffin of the sole self and the very call to prayer of singular supplications. In this singularity you will discover the subjective definition of uniqueness and the conceptualisation born when being becomes other than the whole. Make the purpose attained by unique beings your own singular purpose.

Only when we dare to face our own faults and shortcomings can we judge the faults of others justly, and therefore temperately. As Matthew says: “You hypocrite, first take the beam out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye.” Those who distribute blame in the false idiom of an aestheticised provincialism, who invite the lightning of the Demiurge beneath their feet—let them recognise their measurelessness. “Do not judge, so that you may not be judged.” While the hypocritical flatterers who partake in their crimes execute their own souls, we shall gather in the agoras on every anniversary of Socrates’ death and weep to archaic laments.

There is an army appointed to God’s singular martyrdom. The captive titans of tyranny are calling out for freedom. Can you not hear them?