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On this particular page of tomorrow’s history, ideal conditions only half be, and sadly, I’ll never see the places my dreams see. My mortal deficiencies prevent me from sitting with Guru Gobind’s Warrior-Poets and Plato’s Philosopher-Kings.
Nothing is gained by wanting social change. In today’s day and age, against the grain, the trolls of suffering and pain become friends and enemies. But what else am I to do? It’s the furthermost purpose. Besides, I’m forever built like this. It’s in my cultural genetics—genes designed behind a veil of ignorance and given by the Khalsa’s consciousness. One ally and it’s the Universe. Check the history, an anomaly. Starry-eyed and standing. I ask—is anyone else with eyes starry?
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