Eschatology triumphs. And the reason for this is….Justice. Balance. We die because Shame overtakes us, shame at our own failure, shame at the gravity of our own sins.
We fly; we dream; we are children forsaking nets and cardigan dress and the fortune of rural conceptions, in heaven. Nothing holds us back, presses us near the ground. All of our ambitions leave us free to float, free to expect, free to imagine. But then the hammer comes down. Saturn returns with a vengeance: a long face, black clothing, intermediate obligations to turn the world inside out, for the sake of Sin and from sin’s calumnious bravura.
The Ego, the Hero, is a horrible soul. The Eagle, our Helio, builds his cities and his networks, and his trade centers, and his railroads and his shipyards and his airports, without thought to anyone but himself, loyal to none but to his own dream of Progress. All the shadows suffer, dragged along, forced into slavery to help build up this dream. Yes, the Invader is never far from his dreams. The Dark Invader is always coming back to consume the masterpiece, to slip inside of Rome inside a wooden crate or calf or horseshoe-shaped container and torch the dreary city while all the pale saints are resting in bed.
The Shadow is a soulless creature, a friend of the Devil, an enemy of progress, wealth, education, redemption. The Shadow is a soulless soldier, a part of the war-lord group, tribal, on the verge of starvation, hideous in his ritual atrocities, human sacrifices, blank minds in eternal brusque stand-still non-animations, living for fire and blood and especially for the blood of the Hero, the blood of the Aryan Helio, who moves from place to place, building up wealth, and enslaving the locals through technology.
Eschatology returns, triumphing over time. The Hero is wounded; and the Town loses its source of energy. Then the Invaders from the hills descend on the town and manifest Progress’s Primary Fear in the form of the Scythe, the Crescent Moon. Then all hell breaks loose.
1 August 2009