The gods are atheists

The gods are atheists

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Enmeshed in a past full of environmental terrorism, we live in a tragic present that augurs lonely nights, for the dark future that curses the hearts of the loneliest.

Safe from the imperfect eternal rest, we are building the great self-destruction of Pachamama, with bricks that block the heavenly blue hope, and with bombs that tear the bloody red hecatomb.

It was a matter of time to cross the line of crime, perversion and ecocide. Every day Mother Nature showed us that we were fatally wrong, but the vehemence of a great divine sign on the horizon, could never bless the unfortunate passage of her mortal children.

Penetrating the jungle like real animals, we were gracing the beauty of sin, thinking that we would emerge unscathed from the southern storm. Torrential rains in the desert, rationalized the majestic human wisdom, but many more torrential rains in the same desert, drowned the delirious future of the most intelligent Human Beings.

Defeated in the pack of broken dreams, each specimen began to distrust its own species. Caught at dawn with the sun of ignorance, they woke up blind in the immensity of a cabalistic forest, where false promises embittered the sweet whim of existing here and now.

Germinating the seed of madness, men and women crawled naked in the sky, to drink the honey of the nightmare for those groans of pain, which sharpened the cries of suffering of the deer, the pig and the woodcutter.

For the love of life, our beloved Mother Earth removed the millenary blindfold, which hindered the walk of her unscrupulous earthly descendants. A new opportunity for change shone in El Ávila, while the good luck charms fell from the trees, and melancholy a sour destiny to travel at dawn.

Without deserving the sigh of glory, Human Beings found the freedom and happiness that lay in the iris of their souls. Feelings of mercy surfaced in desecrated graves, unaware of the frenetic barefoot ritual of Jungle Jitters.

Cunning paid homage to the worst of darkness, and the innocence of a holy spirit made the worst of its mistakes.

Discovering the eureka of the monumental paradise, Mother Earth revealed endless legendary treasures, including oceans of whales, velvet mangroves, dunes of sunflowers, rainbows of a thousand colors, jungles of stars, the scent of roses, hills of turpiales and springs of sage.

But the gloomy shadow of Humanity could only observe a flash of envy, a corpse dock, a xenophobic wallet, a fluorescent mirror, a rusty swastika, a soccer ball, an abandoned rat and a putrid silence.

By amplifying their glorious neurons, the Earthlings renounced the brilliance of the hive and beatified the twilight of triumph. Millions of coins bathed in gold, silver, and bronze, suddenly fell from the top of the redemptive throne. Between jumps, blows and shoves, the indomitable cavemen repeated the tragic scene of the ethnocide, which followed the altruistic footprint of its aboriginal visionaries.

Imprisoned in the pettiness of selfishness, the conquerors of the Amazon lost themselves in a festival of eroticism, which turned the compass in favor of taciturn desolation, and which set fire to the cracks of the most chaste Trinity.

Clouded by the allure of death, the renegades energized their defeats with a brawl of bones, symbolizing the atheistic fruit of a generation doomed.

Orchestrating the symphony of deep tremors, the weeds of aristocracy continued to grow in the valley of the sick. Good preludes mixed with bad omens, and cubs repented in the crooked stone caves.

Breaking the biological barriers, the survival of the strongest once again burst the lids of good sense. Each motherless man sought his own fortune, and each fatherless man sought his own way out. Both carved their merciless claws in the confines of a limestone rock, which would furiously sculpt the arrogant treason.

Fascinated by the popular clamor, the protagonists of the disaster fell asleep at sea, without the possibility of redemption, inflection and forgiveness. The legends that executed the path of the weakest, were tarnished with the dust of the classic war clothing.

They all took the bait, drew their weapons, and dug the hole of their existential crypts.

With the destruction of the virtuous landscapes, Mother Earth would once again dye the eyes of her mortal children in black, bandaging the misery and vetoing the fierceness of her antagonistic monsters.

Freed from promiscuous karma, once again the Human Beings crawled naked in the fullness of the firmament. Now they enjoyed spectacular bullfighting festivals on the cusp of the Roman foothills, where cretins waved the mischief of their last vocal chords, replicating the catastrophic sound of a premature goodbye.

Entranced by twelve strokes of euphoric eloquence, each psychopath sang his speech of immaculate respect for the environment, which was moistened by the gale of paper-covered coal, and which was greased by the conclave of sulfur in the Church chimney.

The mental slaves always applauded the Emperor's lies, and behind each praise, reverence and pantomime, a vagabond, two shoe shine and three AIDS were hidden, who were marginalized to beg, mop and infect their baseness, in the cemeteries forgotten by the rest of the communicants.

This is how the faithful ecclesiastical devotees became the main responsible for the current planetary hell.

Unable to appreciate the fire of reality that was dying in front of their eyes, the villagers suffered endless nights of loneliness, hunger and thirst, due to the unpunctual advent of cold storms, abrasive heat waves, plagues of industrial mosquitoes, typhoons of humiliation and bonfires of pesticides.

The saints in ties never interceded for the welfare of their parishioners, and with a beautiful smile in the oasis of their cheeks, they vomited suspiciously on the overwhelming pandemonium of the Earth.

Without the punishment of the gods, without the will of the creeds, and without the weeping of laments, supreme power fell into the hands of the best superstitions.

Selling at the best price won the ecological battle, and critical thinking was crucified in the arms of capitalism, consumerism, and idiotism. Few individuals survived the sexist avant-garde, which behind closed doors bought the feet of the poorest, and from the rooftop traded the filth of the richest.

The class struggle extinguished the roar of the paper tiger, and telling the history of civility from the origin of civilizations, forced to narrate the criminal stampede of the extinct human civilization.

Even a blind man could predict the global chaos of Pachamama, and even a blind person could hypnotize the eyes of the vile Modern Society. But it is very difficult to generate flashes of introspection, in a world where one learns with the whip of corruption, and is educated with the anti-values ​​of the mercenary.

For this reason, at every moment we steal the shelter of life from a wonderful fauna, which is left wandering in the streets of nowhere. The mercenaries always snatch the roof, the sustenance and the illusions of the angels, with a gigantic mining arch that magnifies the waves of the inevitable tsunami.

An idolized climate of environmental intolerance, which the extractivism and corporatism of the large transnational companies, is making profitable with the idolized organic money of the inorganic charlatans on duty.

It is true that planet Earth is our common home. A place that we must take care of as if it were our own home. Clean it, love it, organize it. But the healthy coexistence between the members of the holy family, became an ecologically impossible mission to achieve.

Insensitive enemies who share the same violence, in four damn walls lined with domestic garbage, carcinogenic electromagnetism, school bullying, conditioned hypocrisy, infertility in bed, cheap politicking and drippings of joys.

With effort, sacrifice and humility, perhaps one day we will regain our pacifist sight, which will subdue the pride of that proud blindfold. Maybe shaking our stumbling truck will give us the stinging conservation gaze. It is likely that the swarm of fireflies, ends up lighting the crucible of the waning moon.

We need the abyss tunnel to tire of repressing so much darkness. We need Environmental Education to defeat illiteracy. We need a miracle of citizen conscience.

But without a papyrus in the pocket, without wood in the graphite, and without a feather in the throat, it will be impossible to claim victory until the end of the Universe.

By Carlos Ruperto Fermín


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