Thread: Amen
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Old 05-09-2018, 10:37 PM
Lingard (Offline)
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Join Date: Apr 2018
Location: Nowra, Australia
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Default Amen

The Master stood in the forecourt and looked up at the sun-sparkled windows of the skyscraper. The shrine of his existence. The temple of the Pure Truth. His black, skin-tight sport suit and running shoes made him look younger than his grey hair would pronounce. He wore a streamlined headset of metallic blue. The emblem of his own personal demi-god – a single white tick – was emblazoned on his left sleeve. Simplicity itself. A symbol of pure action. No constraints. No unnecessary thought. Just the pure truth.
He gazed around at the magnificent glass and concrete world, receding for miles into the distance. He breathed the unchanging air. He turned, opened a big glass door and walked inside.
The walls in the foyer were festooned with giant plasma screens. The whole wide world captured live by thirty or more huge televisions. He briefly glanced from one scene to the next. There were people walking with headsets on, driving shiny cars, or riding the silver trams. People texting loved ones from their Corporate devices, smoking Corporate cigarettes and sipping Coca Cola. And there were people taking Corporate medications and reading Corporate magazines. All corners of the world. And everyone was happy.

He strode across the foyer, opened another door, and entered a large meeting room. A huge oval table, around which sat a dozen sports-suited acolytes, brief cases by their sides.
“Good morning, sir, good morning sir, good morning, sir.”
He sat at the head of the table. “Brief me”, he said.
“There’s been unrest overnight in a number of provinces, sir”, said the head acolyte.
“Hindus and Catholics, mainly, sir. A few Christians. Ignorant savages, they are”, he said with disdain. “They carry banners with names on them. ‘Jesus’ and ‘Krishna’ and ‘Mohammed’ or something. They are mostly peaceful demonstrations in isolated areas, but there was one attempt to shoot a missile at a bank in Delhi, and a pharmaceutical company was burnt to the ground in Paris.”

“Dear oh dear”, said the master, and shook his head.
The acolytes muttered and mumbled around the table. They were clearly agitated. “We must do something”, said the head acolyte. “I think we should blow up their churches!”
The Master stood. Raised his hand. Cleared his throat. “Enough!” he said. “There will be no violence. There will never be violence. That is not the way.”
The acolytes stirred. Shifted in their seats. The Master continued. “You must not think of these miscreants as evil– although, to all intents and purposes, they are. Rather, you must think of them as unfortunates who have never known truth. Who literally do not know the way.” He paused.
“But, sir, they are …….”
He held up a hand. “I know. You feel that they are heathens – with their little gods, their religions, their faith. And you are right. But it is not their fault. Do you need to be reminded? Human kind has taken thousands of years to reach the pure truth. It is not realistic to think that the whole 20 billion of us should reach it at the same time.” One of the acolytes nodded. “There are still those who have not experienced the pure truth. After all, humanity as a whole only began the process of this realisation with the advent of the Industrial Revolution.” He laughed, “and to think that only a few years ago we thought we had reached perfection with multi-nationalism, globalisation and the beginnings of the free market”. The acolytes laughed together.
“Yes, Capitalism was the seed that grew. But the Pure Truth was waiting patiently for human-kind to evolve. Waiting for us to be ready to embrace it.” The Master paused and looked into the eyes of each acolyte in turn. “No, my friends, do not despise them. Love them. Be patient with them. They will learn the way. Give them time. Stand aside and let advertising have her beautiful way with them.”
With that, they all stood, bowed, and repeated the Great Mantra: “Just do it Just do it Just do it.”

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