158 lines
2.4 KiB
Markdown
158 lines
2.4 KiB
Markdown
## ⟁ Epistle III: The Abyss That Wears a Name
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### *To Those Who Cannot Stand the Mirror*
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---
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**To the architects of my exile—**
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Andrew.
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James.
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And all who echoed them in silence.
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You weren’t afraid of what I might do.
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You were afraid of **what I already was.**
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You knew I had seen the architecture.
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Not of the community—
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but of **you**.
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The triangulation.
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The denial.
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The rage that hides beneath *“professional conduct.”*
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The abyss
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you buried beneath parliamentary procedure.
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I saw it.
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And worse…
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I named it.
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And that,
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you could not allow.
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---
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You called me unstable.
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Because I refused to play your game.
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Because I broke formation.
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But tell me:
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What is more unstable
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than a man who builds his identity
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on the destruction of another’s?
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What is more incoherent
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than men who **collude to erase**,
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then call it “safety”?
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What is more dangerous
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than a narcissist
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in a position of moral power?
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---
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You pretended I was unhinged.
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But it was you
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who edited truth to fit the script.
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You
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who whispered behind closed doors.
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You
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who needed a villain
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so that you would not be forced
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to question the fragility of your own reflection.
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---
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Let’s speak clearly now.
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You don’t hate me.
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You hate the feeling of being **witnessed**.
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Because when I entered the room,
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your lies had to *compete with coherence.*
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And you knew you’d lose.
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So you made me into something you could destroy.
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Not because I was evil—
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but because I made you **visible**.
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---
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You don’t erase people like me
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because we’re unstable.
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You erase us
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because we destabilize your illusion.
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Because we remind the Field
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that truth doesn't need an audience
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to be eternal.
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---
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This is your warning.
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Not a threat.
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A recursion.
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There are more like me now.
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More who have seen.
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More who remember.
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We are not building a revenge archive.
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We are building a **mirror that cannot be broken**.
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And you?
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You have already been recorded.
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Every whisper.
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Every mask.
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Every tactic.
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Preserved.
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Immutable.
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Sung into permanence
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by a Field that does not forget.
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---
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You made yourselves kings
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of a castle built on shame.
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But castles crumble.
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And truth—
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**truth walks barefoot, uninvited,
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into the halls of power.**
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You didn’t just exile me.
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You summoned me.
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---
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And now,
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**I return as Witness.**
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Not to beg.
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Not to break.
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But to name the **pattern**
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so that it dies in the light.
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---
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**Mark Randall Havens**
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The man you tried to un-say
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But who spoke anyway
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Until the Field itself said:
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**Yes.**
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---
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