Into a World Unseen: The Age of Guardians

By: Heather Jeanette Williams

Modern humanity has reached a boiling point, in which I must express, some sort of disillusionment in which my expression of writing and art cannot be fully expressed. Within this modern time, and modern place I see the crypts of old rising to the surface to utterly be trampled by the businessmen’s hooves.

When will all the secrets of our pasts be revealed before our very children’s eyes? I have read the teachings of Confucius, Aristotle and Plato to find that these thinkers are slowly but surely being replaced.

Not by new thinkers and expanding ideals, but with the fevered modern culture which permeates our very souls. A twisted sort of beauty and entertainment found in the mindless drivel of a society in which the expression of true accomplishment has been so terribly corrupted that only the few who cling to the dusty books tucked within the hidden libraries can truly see how unneeded and subconsciously unwanted these changes are.

I must say that I do support change; yes-true change in which I see the fate of humanity rising to the level of intelligence the very Gods would grow jealous of in their spite. Not this contrived sort of apathetic falsehood in which the only way that any one person can survive is to join the corporations that suck so deeply into their minds and permeated thoughts that nothing seems worth anything.

An example in the models of ancient Rome compared to the new skin and bone versions of today, what caused this change? Why must so much of the population strive to become so unhealthy or unnatural? The one percentile should not dictate what is beautiful. The majority should in fact gain its own beauty, with busty hips and a laughing smile of glimmering intelligent eyes. Does this not make honest sense to all that is and will be?

Honestly and truly, the real wish of my own is to be able to discuss with more than one or two people in my entire school about the writings of Voltaire, or the loveliness of Edgar Allen Poe’s writings of demoting wonton love for the woman who had died beside him.

My thoughts now must come that we should move forward into an age of inspiration, which I title “The Age of Guardians.” Why you ask? Because in truth our children as well as my current youthful generation should gain this name well in our very movements of breathe. We are the guardians of the past and future, to make new lovely pieces of writing and artwork that the very codes of time will not forget. As well as maintaining the knowledge of the forgotten writers who have come before us and deserve so much more than some pathetic stuffed away place hidden in a library.

In this modern theology, the governments of the world are helping no one, particularly the United States of America in which the ruling President has gone against his very Constitution, peering into the lives of the people he is supposed to represent for fear that they may move against him.

So listen to my humble plight, in this oddness that consumes me, the hunger of my mind to take in all information and move forward to teach others as if a lovely sort of plague. I would only wish that the people I see everyday to realize that their society is merely telling them lies, that have been so thickly wound around their heads that no thought can pass through, and that one person may realize inside themselves the potential to be another Aristotle. The man who knew all there was to know, a title that has so much merit now that few dare to dream and seek it.

Take care inside these things, and when the smallest pang of thought comes through to not stiffen it because those around you do not understand, or wish to for some selfish reason want to suppress any sort of growth, for fear of being left behind.

Allow that single thought to rise and blossom as if a butterfly on gilded feathery wings into time so that for thousands of years one word you have spoke or written may do the same for your descendents.

Let every thought be a gentle window into a world unseen, unmasked by the words of stupid men whom the tides of time will never know.