A Cycle in History

Once again, we stand in the season where love is crowned with thorns.
Once again, unity is punished by power.
Once again, compassion is named a crime.
Once again, grief is called rebellion.
Once again, truth is weighed not by fact but by convenience.

This is no new hour in the history of humankind.
It is the same shadow that has walked beside every empire,
that has spoken through every tyranny,
that has entered the courts of kings and parliaments alike.
It knows no flag, no language, no creed.
It comes for all, in every age, to test the measure of our humanity.

And always, there are those who rise.
They speak when silence is commanded.
They stand when kneeling would save them.
They defend the light and are condemned as darkness.
They are accused of the very evil they opposed.
And the hand of power cannot forgive the witness who unmasks it.

The Cross remains the eternal sign of this truth.
Upon it hung a Prophet of Love,
crucified not for waging war,
not for seizing riches,
but for speaking wisdom that unmasked the poverty of the proud.
His was the quiet protest that asked for nothing,
yet loved beyond measure —
and for this, He was silenced.

So, the pattern endures.
Truth meets denial.
Love meets suspicion.
Mercy meets the machinery of suppression.

But know this: the rose comes with thorns.
The lash cannot erase the word.
The cross cannot conquer the love that bore it.
And until the end of time,
there will rise again those voices — gentle, unwavering, unafraid —
who will declare, in every age:
Love is greater than power. Truth is greater than fear.

Unity cannot be overcome.

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By simply calling it a cycle the author is already declaring it as unfightable, as a historical necessity of what comes and goes. Black and white, Ying and Yang, the Dark Ages and the Renaissance. This can’t be a very effective call to action when a notion of the inevitability of the bearers of darkness underlies the whole thought.

There’s also the long tragic story of how the “Prophet of Love” became the emblem of the bearers of darkness. Of how many countless people died by the hands of the servants of the “Prophet of Love”. But this may be a topic I’ll address better in an upcoming essay.

I disagree that it is unfightable; it’s just an illusion to believe that we’ll overcome the problem someday. The way to combat this is to establish sustainable communities based on wisdom and teaching, while bearing in mind that human beings are susceptible to the belief that they will not succumb to the corruption of power.

This is a cycle that has existed since time immemorial, and I believe it stems from the contrast between feminine nurturing and male physical dominance. This dominance is still the basis of domestic violence today, but it has also caused secluded schools of wisdom to form. In India, for example, the rulers of the kingdoms preferred Hinduism to Buddhism because Hinduism idealised the warrior, whereas Buddhism taught humility and patience through quiet wisdom.

Throughout time, ideals looked for the nurturing warrior or the warrior maiden, and for a while, we thought the endless fighting was over. Instead, however, it developed into the endless forms of competition introduced into society by those who worshipped the warrior. They claim that this is our only destiny, but those of us who have worked in care have seen the other side. Those who have been both soldier and carer embrace a more holistic and sustainable approach.

This vision is sustainable because it integrates strength without domination, courage without cruelty and wisdom without destruction. The ongoing challenge is to build and preserve these pockets of wisdom — spaces where humility, patience and empathy can flourish — as vital counterforces to the perennial allure of power and aggression. This approach acknowledges that thorns will always accompany roses, but also affirms that, through dedication and community, love and wisdom can persist and flourish despite cycles of suppression and conflict.

The ‘Prophet of Love’ was indeed quickly abandoned as the early Christian Church became embroiled in temporal power and institutional authority. Initially, the teachings of love, humility and compassion embodied by Christ were embraced by communities often facing persecution and hardship. However, when Christianity gained favour in the Roman Empire — especially after Emperor Constantine legalised it and later made it the state religion — the Church gradually shifted from being a marginal, persecuted sect to becoming a powerful institution intertwined with political control.

As power consolidated within the Church, the radical and vulnerable aspects of Christ’s message were often overshadowed by a desire to preserve authority and social order. The Prophet, once a figure of humble service and healing, was placed on a pedestal and transformed into a distant, divine deity, worshipped in a way that sometimes obscured the core message of compassionate living and quiet protest against injustice. The Church’s growing emphasis on hierarchy, dogma and ritual created a gap between the original spirit of the teachings and the institutions that claimed to represent them.

Yet even as the Church wielded power and became embroiled in corruption, the true wisdom and healing spirit persisted, albeit in more secluded and endangered spaces. Monastic communities, cloistered sanctuaries and quiet rural enclaves became guardians of this living wisdom. Despite the turmoil of the outside world, these sanctuaries practised sophisticated agriculture, the healing arts and medicines flourished, and spiritual sacrifice was made, especially during devastating pandemics that decimated populations. These communities kept the flame alive, embodying the compassionate essence of the Prophet’s teachings: care, healing and patience.

This nurturing of wisdom was not confined to the West. Whether it manifested as the mystical vision of Christ in the Christian tradition or as Quan Yin (or Guan Yin) in Eastern traditions — an embodiment of mercy and the healing spirit — the ideal persisted across cultures. Revered as the bodhisattva of compassion, Quan Yin symbolises the universal hope that healing and mercy endure even amidst suffering and suppression.

Thus, although the institutional church sometimes strayed into the corridors of power, moving away from its humble origins, the essence of the Prophet’s compassionate spirit was preserved in these hidden, resilient spaces. The rose of love and healing continued to bloom among the thorns of power and corruption, nurturing the hope and wisdom that sustain humanity beyond the reach of worldly domination.

Surf the Kali Yuga and ride the tiger.

I do agree with you that this is ultimately the worse era of human history and civilization if it is any consolation.

If I could, I’d send you on a one-way trip to the Dark Ages or Hitler’s Germany to stop spouting such nonsense. Unfortunately, you wouldn’t last a year there.

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I’ve already enjoyed fifteen years of being homeless, poor, destitute, and living in the most extreme form of poverty imaginable in the so called wealthiest free nation on earth where in some cases I have been shot at and have had people try to stab me to death in many instances. Other times I would live in the wilderness as a mountain man when I escaped the ghetto slums of the cities.

I’ve lost count how many times this world has tried to kill me off and how many near misses with death I’ve come close to.

If I can survive all of that then everything else should come relatively easy. :clown_face: :call_me_hand: :face_with_hand_over_mouth:

Easy to say, but you never experienced anything in your life like Nazi Germany. You could be sent to a Konzentrationslager for simply being slightly connected to Jewish people, even if you reject the religion, you would be guilty by association. That’s a death sentence on your head, wildly different that simply have to fight [hardly] for life like you did. If your life experiences are real [Bob thinks you may be lying about them], they are not wildly different from the experiences of many people I know. And do you know what? They are all alive today, they have all found a way to overcome extreme hardships and lived to tell the story. As long as there’s the possibility of going on living, life can’t be all that tragic. In Germany you wouldn’t have that option, your life would be forfeit because of… reasons.

It could be worse than ze nazis of Germany, I could be a modern day Palestinian in the city of Rafah facing IDF snipers. :clown_face:

Yeah, I don’t care what others like Bob thinks of me. Pretty sure he has me on ignore, the kind of intellectual cowardice I come to expect from most people nowadays.

Might have something to do with

how he brings interesting and deep problems to discussion and you respond with frivolity.

Oh, well excuse me for trying to talk with such esteemed professional academics, heavy weight philosophers, and intellectuals in this thread as a simple layperson, I’ll let you two get at it then. :clown_face: :face_with_hand_over_mouth:

I’m not an intellectual and am very far from being an academic either. I’m an “ordinary man”, like the late Ozzy Osbourne. Your first reply to this topic seemed to me like you were trying to poke fun at Bob’s worldview. If that was not your intention, I apologize.

I know Bob is a follower of eastern religions like I am which is why I utilized the reference to the Kali Yuga. It’s a reference in Hinduism, look it up. :disguised_face:

What seemed to be a flippant remark actually has an impact on what I said above. Metaphorically speaking, ‘surfing the Kali Yuga’ means skilfully navigating or enduring this turbulent, challenging era rather than denying or futilely resisting its realities. Similarly, ‘riding the tiger’ symbolises mastering and balancing the dangerous and powerful forces that characterise this age. Like riding a fierce tiger without being consumed or thrown off, it requires courage, awareness and adaptability.

In the context of compassionate faith, truth and unity being suppressed by power, alongside historical cycles of oppression and resilience, your phrase suggests embracing the harsh realities of the current age without losing sight of deeper wisdom and compassion. This aligns with my statement that the ‘rose comes with thorns’, acknowledging that love and truth must be maintained amid hostility, falsehood and decay. Rather than seeking the illusion of perfect triumph over systemic power struggles, this view embraces the ongoing struggle with patience and savvy.

In practice, ‘surfing the Kali Yuga’ would probably involve cultivating pockets of wisdom, unity, and healing that can persist against swirling negativity while recognising the cyclical nature of human weakness and the ever-present potential for corruption. It is also a call for a resilient, grounded approach — steady and unshaken — while continuing to teach and embody compassion, humility, and truth despite the darkness that prevails.

Therefore, applying ‘Surf the Kali Yuga and ride the tiger’ in this context encourages a stance of realistic courage and wise endurance. It acknowledges that the current era is fraught with deep challenges yet insists on finding strength within them to preserve and disseminate compassionate wisdom. This mindset embodies an awareness of the “thorns” of threat and the nurturing of the “rose” of love and unity amidst them. This mindset and practice are vital in facing the new threats to compassionate faith and protest in our times.

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