The Notorious Cult

There once was a species of no significance. Its members moved about in search of sustenance, to fulfill their needs, of which there were few. All they needed was some food, water, shelter, and a warm bed to proliferate. Yet all of them were weak and could barely manage to scrape anything together. It became clear then, that they belonged in groups. No matter how incompetent they were by themselves, they possessed an uncanny ability to band together in pursuit of some common goal. Life was hard but simple. Stick together to protect the group, collect resources, and eliminate threats. At first, this was rather straightforward.

They knew of the nearest water body and the trees with edible fruits. Predators would attack and they would defend. But as time went on, their luck started to run out. The rivers dried up, disease became rampant, and things changed too fast for them to make sense of them. The group suffered endlessly. In a moment of desperation, something started to change. Some of them evolved the ability to lie. They split themselves up into parts and began to experience themselves differently. Suddenly, these cursed ones could imagine the future and hold on to the past. 

Up until then, most of them spent their lives chained to the present, with only small glimpses of these horrid visions. Their uncertain environment kept them on their toes, always on their guard, ready for anything and everything. With the security of numbers, that started to change. This was the birth of the ego, and from its inception, it only spread like wildfire. Being social animals, everything would spread among them this way. Now, everyone started to get infected with this new state of consciousness, but most of them easily shook it off. They would catch themselves drifting off into this slumbering awareness of themselves, and immediately bring themself back to the task at hand.

They learned to keep busy, filling their days, hearts, and minds with loud things. Preoccupied with these activities, they only had to numb themselves at night to fall asleep without being afflicted. Most of them exhausted themselves till the point of collapse instead. Yet there were those rare few now and then, that took to it. These people were physically weak, lacked a deep connection, and found no job worth doing. Dabbling in things here and there, they never really felt the immense pressure to fight for their lives most of the time. Sure, they kept busy, but more than anyone else, they had time to think, and they chose to engage with the process. They learned to observe, connect dots, and draw conclusions. They learned to judge and wield their words to exert influence. 

More than anything else, they learned the pleasures, joys, and addictive pain of knowing. They had tasted awareness and liked it. While these were certainly rare at first, today there are many. Life was a simple game of luck before, but this affliction taught the creatures to make choices. It gave them a lens through which to see the world, just as they saw their own reflection in that lens. It painted a dangerous and tormented image: control. Now the naked mountain had become a perfect spot to set up a camp. The forests that once were a serene sanctuary now became land to be conquered. 

Such was the horror of those chosen few. Visions of madness and nonsense flooded their beings. No longer could they sit around and wait for the right time. No longer could they hope for blessings and salvation. They were the ones who schemed, dreamed, and plotted endless plans for the future. They were the ones who embraced their ego. Before long, they started to name things, and just as they suffered from the judgment and the weight of the labels they forced upon themselves, so too did their names started to spread around them.

Meanwhile, most of them evolved ever more impressive ways to stay as they were. After all, it was more enjoyable to be as they were before. Sitting on mountaintops basking in the sun. Starving themselves until the opportunity presented itself only made the fruits taste sweeter. Living a short, gruesome, but fulfilling life, where existence was a constant dull pain, but it was also comfortable. Never having to feel anything except what was absolutely necessary, never having to do what wasn't urgently crucial. 

In those old times, there was a lot of intense stress and hardships, but you would never see them coming, and you wouldn't know they existed after they were done with. You could just bury the memories and remove all signs that reminded you of the horrid experiences. Before you'd know it, you'd be dead. Why fuss when you can get by? Why bother when you'll end up dead anyway? Yet the ones who embraced their egos were left out in the rain to suffer and writhe in agony. They slaved away endlessly to prevent the self-perceived horrors of the future. 

Blood and sweat dripped from their brows. Always engaged in some form of productive labor whose fruits trickled down and around the group. They moved the earth and built castles. They grew crops and made inventions. At the end of it all, they would die just the same. For all their seemingly frantic flailing and rushing to red lights, for all the sleepless nights and endless pain, they did end up moving the needle in some way or another. All of that for what? To make a name for themselves? To leave their insignificant mark before departing? The rest would call them fools, going out of their way to slander and bully them into humiliation. 

Perhaps because the egoists made the rest feel insecure. Perhaps they fanned the flames of regret and stimulated their voices. The deep, dark voices they could hear the scratches and whispers of. All the forgotten nights when they lay awake in the dark. A rude awakening that grew harder and harder to ignore. The virus ached and longed to spread, the demons banged at their doors. Somehow, in the infinite wisdom of their animal instincts, they knew very well, that if the doors were to open, there would be no going back. The sunny days of thoughtless presence were long gone, but if they were to give in to this temptation, they'd be no worse than hamsters running on wheels that power someone else's home. Instead, they called the others monsters and dehumanized them.

Perhaps this was a final act of defiance against the ones who had already corrupted them. They never had to choose ignorance before, it used to come as naturally as breathing. Why did these self-serving bastards have to start dealing with the devils? Why did they have to play with being angels? Why couldn't they remain content in the comfort of insignificance? Why couldn't they learn to love the joys of being powerless? If only those bored brats had an ounce of sensibility. If only they had learned to be content without thought and judgment. There were many sympathizers to this state of mind. So many who longed for a simpler life found ways to channel pieces of it, yet all of them could taste the putrid tarnish of that ugly ego.

On the other hand, the egoists who had embraced this shit show had only grown in influence. They accumulated a massive notoriety in the eyes of the unthinking masses. They were hated, despised, reveled, admired, spat on, and worshipped, but everyone paid them attention. For a humble animal of no significance, they had come far. For a social animal that craved connection, this was a new high. Slowly but surely, this breed of earthshakers, whose steps rung with notoriety, started to become a cult. Was this the beginning of the elite? Did this give birth to class, difference, and inequality? Not quite.

It's safe to say that the world was always full of disparity. This was just the newest, loudest, and most apparent form of the jungle's dance. Like a school of fish cutting through the corals, no matter where you go, there are sharks, food, and jellyfish. This is not to say that the fish could choose to be an octopus or a dolphin, everyone had their own roles. Yet for the first time ever, the similarities outweighed the differences. Creatures fought fiercely for power but still managed to keep blood from spilling. These insignificant animals were never very strong or smart, but they always knew how to work together.

Even now, as hordes of people call out to the good old days, they cannot deny their own ego. All the yoga in the world cannot save them from their minds that means to keep them alive, in a world where death is a blessing. Life is all but guaranteed so the mind runs around in circles. Making mountains out of molehills and seeing ghosts in the bushes. The happiest of them all live their lives on the edge of a cliff, where any moment can bring certain doom, but at least they know what they're dealing with. 

Many who long to join the notorious cult of greedy and heartless brutes struggle to outrun the rest. Their work, power, inventions, and creations are meaningless without others to make use of it. The notorious cult moves the world and is moved by it. Its members leave their marks but not of their own will. For it is the unthinking masses that define their degree of success. These cursed few spend their lives possessed by these horrible notions. Of dreams, plans, honor, and glory, blinded by visions of grandeur and tears of disappointment. Running around in hopes of achievement, and duty-bound to serve life sentences for their supposed freedom. When all is said and done, it's hard to separate one from the other. While the industrious tycoon despises the hippie, and vice versa, there is no one without the other.