Pitanje Odgovornosti, Odgovor Razuma

Napisao: HP; 03.11.2025. 

Pitanje za milijardu forinti: tko je izdao koga — Bog, bogovi čovjeka ili čovječanstvo Boga i bogove. Mentalni sklop koji je obuzet materijalnim iracionalizmom svoje najokorjelije dijelove našao je u velebnim gradovima koji su tog istog čovjeka ostavili negdje tamo dolje da pipa začuđeno bilo svoje pogubljene duše. Da gleda čuda od betona, čelika, željeza, kako se dižu i zaklanjaju mu vid, čineći ga neobično slijepim i vandalno otvorenim za prodaju svoje najvrijednije esencije — duše. Duše koja je produžetak kristalne rapsodije, svijesti i na koju se svijest oslanja kada joj je teško ili kada dnevni vidik baš nije najbolji.

Neprirodno građene i grube avetinjske zgrade pretvorile su tog našeg odabranika, čovjeka, u pretenzioznu kukavicu, serijsku varalicu i nadasve u vrlo poslušnog, dekadentnog roba koji nadasve iznad svega cijeni svoju kožu te mnoge varijacije sebičnog komfora. Koji je, u istinu, prekaljeni psihomatski korov oko njegovog otvorenog srca i korodirani, najteži uteg oko njegove duše, pa onda i njegova svijest samo luta i ne gradi, na užas njegove još zdrave svijesti, apsolutno ništa. Mada je sve oko njega tako veliko, tako voajerski progresivno, a tog našeg patuljka, patuljka u duši, nigdje nema — zagubio se nepropisno u bezbožnim analima entropijske iluzije, pa sada svi su mu za sve krivi, samo on, taj napaćeni jadnik, nije ništa krivo učinio. Taj izrazito zadirljivi, nesretni svijet rodio se oko njegovog snenog oka i prisilno ga zloupotrijebio da sada diše i plače u toj svirepoj aždaji sa 1000 glava, gdje je jedna glava gora i ružnija od druge.

Mentalitet roba, mentalitet kukavice i snaga pokislog djeteta njegov su najgori neprijatelj. Egregor od krvi i mesa u kojem sam sudjeluje i puni mu smušenu glavu suhoparnim glupostima, pa bi izgubljeni ađutanti te religije da mogu odnijeli i samog vraga na onaj drugi svijet, kako ljudi to slobodno kažu u narodu, jer ništa im nije teže nego gledati kako drugi manje vrijedni sada kradu od njih to grandiozno blago koje su stekli muljajući druge manje vrijedne spodobe u njihovim arogantnim očima.

Robovi su uglavnom vjerne, odane sluge, nečasne riječi i propalog životnog konteksta, za koji je religija pohlepnih stvorena samo s jednim zadatkom — da sa sobom ponese što više tih uprljanih duša, a svijet u kojem obitavaju učini još malčice gorim nego je bio prije same smrti našeg prije spomenutog vjernika ukopanog u krvave vreće pune novcem, žuljevitim lopatama tuđeg znoja.

No jesu li bogovi prije poklekli sami sebe i tog našeg kozmičkog putnika, ili ih taj čovjek, taj putnik, više nije želio ni vidjeti ni čuti i, sa dovoljno prosipanog vremena, jasni signali božjeg poretka postali su slijepa, nagluha, pesimistična jeka koja u samotnoj pohlepi, gorljivoj individualnosti nema nikakvog kordijalnog smisla. No, možemo li stvarno kriviti samo čovjeka? Možda su i sam Bog te i bogovi prelako pustili tog našeg avanturistički raspoloženog čovjeka u nepoznate vode, u kojima su vrlo dobro znali da neće naći spasonosni splav pun božje inspiracije, već samo okrilje mutno-duboke i neopisivo hladne, najcrnje vode. Možemo li sve svaliti na leđa najcrnjeg egregora, alienskog osvajača koji je ugodno sunce pretvorio u ledeni vjetar, prepun titrajuće, sveobuhvatne boli i vampirskog, nikad utaživog turobnog glada?

Svi su nekako zajedno odgovorni i jedino u uniji čovjeka i bogova te Boga mogu izaći iz ove ukaljane žabokrečine koja grli samo slijepe i gluhe aktere koji traže vrhovnog Boga prečesto tamo gdje ničega nema, tamo gdje ni uvenula trava ne želi da buja.

Svjetionik iz prošlosti na sreću svih involviranih aktera danas prefinjeno tinja u današnjosti, jer da je sve gotovo, kozmička priča epskih razmjera bila bi odavno završena, odavno više nijednog hvale vrijednog mozga ne bi tu bilo. Nedostatak godišnjih doba govori nam da je ljuti boj u svom najžešćem toku, u zenitu svoje militantne opsesije, gdje se svaki dan gube životi, a samo rijetki vide nebeske rijeke kako žarko i užurbano tinjaju i gore u nevidljivoj sferi raspamećenog te gladnog svetog plamena.

Ovih dana temperatura u našoj zemlji bila je preko 20 stupnjeva; po godišnjem dobu i priloženom datumu trebala je naša dična zemlja biti okovana bijelim jezicima prohladnog snijega, tek dijelovi Dalmacije bi nekad bili jasno objašnjivi iznimci — blizina mora, Mediteran etc. Ali nije. E, što je razlog te prirodne zabune?

Je li se čovjek i njegova svijest konačno budi zajedno sa svojim starim bogovima ili je to tek neka jalova, neslana šala tzv. globalnih elita koje su eto malo za promjenu poželjeli više sunca na praznik svih svetaca....

A billion–forint question: who betrayed whom — God, the gods betrayed man, or mankind betrayed God and the gods? A mental construct consumed by material irrationalism has found its hardest, most rigid parts in magnificent cities, which left that same man somewhere down there, groping in astonishment for the pulse of his lost soul. To stare at wonders of concrete, steel, iron rising and blocking his view, making him unusually blind and vandalistically open to selling his most valuable essence — the soul. A soul that is an extension of crystal rhapsody, of consciousness — and on which the consciousness leans when it is burdened, or when the daily horizon is not its clearest.

Unnaturally built and rough ghostly structures turned this chosen one, man, into a pretentious coward, a serial cheater, and above all, a very obedient, decadent slave who values his skin above all, and many variations of selfish comfort. Who is, in truth, a hardened psychopathic weed around his open heart and a corroded, heaviest weight around his soul — so that his consciousness only wanders and builds absolutely nothing, much to the horror of what remains of his still–healthy mind. Although everything around him is so big, so voyeuristically progressive, there is no trace of that dwarf — dwarf in the soul — anywhere; he has lost himself improperly in the godless annals of entropic illusion, and now all are guilty for everything, except him — that pitiful sufferer who has done nothing wrong.

That extremely intrusive, unhappy world was born around his sleepy eye and forcibly abused it, so now he breathes and cries inside that cruel dragon with a thousand heads, where each head is worse and uglier than the other.

Slave mentality, coward mentality, and the strength of a drenched child are his worst enemies. An egregore of flesh and blood, in which he personally participates, fills his confused head with dull stupidity, and those lost adjutants of that religion, if they could, would carry even the devil himself to the other world — as they say in the folk tongue — because nothing is harder for them than watching others, less worthy in their arrogant eyes, now stealing that grand treasure they “earned” by cheating other, “lesser” beings.

Slaves are usually loyal, obedient servants, dishonorable words and a failed context of life for which the religion of the greedy was created with only one mission — to carry with it as many dirty souls as possible and make the world they live in slightly worse than it was before the death of our earlier mentioned believer, buried in bloody sacks full of money and blistered shovels of someone else’s sweat.

But did the gods first succumb themselves and lose that cosmic traveler, or did that man — that traveler — no longer want to see or hear them? And with enough wasted time, the once–clear signals of divine order became a blind, deaf, pessimistic echo which, in solitary greed and fiery individuality, has no cordial meaning. Can we truly blame only man? Maybe even God and the gods themselves let this adventurously–inclined man too easily into unknown waters, fully knowing he would not find a salvation raft full of divine inspiration, but only the embrace of murky–deep and unspeakably cold, black water. Can we throw it all on the back of the darkest egregore, the alien conqueror who turned pleasant sun into icy wind, full of pulsating, all–embracing pain and vampiric, never–satisfied sorrowful hunger?

All are somehow together responsible, and only in the union of man and gods and God can we rise from this sullied swamp that embraces only blind and deaf actors who search for the supreme God too often where there is nothing — where not even wilted grass wishes to grow.

A lighthouse from the past, to the fortune of all involved, gently flickers even today in the present, for if everything were over, this cosmic tale of epic proportion would have ended long ago — and long ago no worthy mind would remain. Lack of seasons tells us the fierce battle is at its most violent peak — in the zenith of militant obsession — where lives are lost daily, and only rare souls see heavenly rivers burning and glowing intensely, rushing in the invisible sphere of maddened and hungry sacred flame.

These days the temperature in our land passed 20 degrees Celsius( 68 degrees Fahrenheit.); by the season and by the date, our proud land should be wrapped in white tongues of cold snow, with only certain Dalmatian parts being, in the past, explainable exceptions — closeness to the sea, the Mediterranean, etc. But no — and what is the reason for this natural,unatural confusion?

Is man and his consciousness finally waking together with his old gods, or is this just some barren, tasteless joke of so–called global elites, who for a change desired more sun on All Saints’ Day?