{Mercury} Catharsis
"Like an unchecked cancer, hate corrodes the personality and eats away its vital unity. Hate destroys a man's sense of values and his objectivity. It causes him to describe the beautiful as ugly and the ugly as beautiful, and to confuse the true with the false, and the false with the true."
- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
"It's not only necessary to know how to go about loving your enemies, but also to go down into the question of why we should love our enemies. I think the first reason that we should love our enemies, and I think this was at the very center of Jesus' thinking, is this: that hate for hate only intensifies the existence of hate and evil in the universe. If I hit you and you hit me and I hit you back and you hit me back and go on, you see, that goes on ad infinitum. It just never ends. Somewhere somebody must have a little sense, and that's the strong person. The strong person is the person who can cut off the chain of hate, the chain of evil."
- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
The painting was worthless. Yes, it could be called a masterwork, an unparalleled piece of craftsmanship... but it wasn't even worth the canvas it was painted on. It was another in a long string of slanders, another piece to add to a growing collection of faithlessness, of exclusivity, of hatred. Another painting of a kindred whose actions painted him unsavory - that made it worthless.
How much better is it to paint a man in a growing light than in a fading one? How much better is it to hope for change, and move for change, than to accept decay and embrace the worst qualities of a fundamentally human heart?
It was worth it, even when it taxed you to the limit of your will, even when it taxed you to the limits of your soul. It was worth it to remain hopeful.
But sometimes, it was just pointless. Sometimes giving of your flesh would only add to the pile of flesh, of soon-to-be-ashes, and change nothing. Sometimes it was pointless to fight the good fight, rather than wait the storm out in silence. There would be other battles to fight.
He reached out and splashed the can of turpentine over the canvas, watching the paint run down with the clear liquid, destroying the beauty he had wrought. Beneath the melting paint, a picture of Ruston was fading away. The picture he had envisioned, the future he had hoped for, had faded like a flower in winter. Soon enough, though, it would be spring. Until then, his place lay elsewhere.
He began to gather his things. Niarin could keep the haven if she wanted it; he would find other accomodations. He began the necessary paperwork to make his assets mobile and his interests underground. Those whom he cared for would be able to find him, while those he wished to avoid would be unable to track him down. It hurt him to have to do it once again, but catharsis was a periodic necessity amongst Kindred, lest they grow too fond of holding onto old things.
The answer to the obvious question was equally obvious. Of course... he would go to his Beloved.
- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
"It's not only necessary to know how to go about loving your enemies, but also to go down into the question of why we should love our enemies. I think the first reason that we should love our enemies, and I think this was at the very center of Jesus' thinking, is this: that hate for hate only intensifies the existence of hate and evil in the universe. If I hit you and you hit me and I hit you back and you hit me back and go on, you see, that goes on ad infinitum. It just never ends. Somewhere somebody must have a little sense, and that's the strong person. The strong person is the person who can cut off the chain of hate, the chain of evil."
- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
The painting was worthless. Yes, it could be called a masterwork, an unparalleled piece of craftsmanship... but it wasn't even worth the canvas it was painted on. It was another in a long string of slanders, another piece to add to a growing collection of faithlessness, of exclusivity, of hatred. Another painting of a kindred whose actions painted him unsavory - that made it worthless.
How much better is it to paint a man in a growing light than in a fading one? How much better is it to hope for change, and move for change, than to accept decay and embrace the worst qualities of a fundamentally human heart?
It was worth it, even when it taxed you to the limit of your will, even when it taxed you to the limits of your soul. It was worth it to remain hopeful.
But sometimes, it was just pointless. Sometimes giving of your flesh would only add to the pile of flesh, of soon-to-be-ashes, and change nothing. Sometimes it was pointless to fight the good fight, rather than wait the storm out in silence. There would be other battles to fight.
He reached out and splashed the can of turpentine over the canvas, watching the paint run down with the clear liquid, destroying the beauty he had wrought. Beneath the melting paint, a picture of Ruston was fading away. The picture he had envisioned, the future he had hoped for, had faded like a flower in winter. Soon enough, though, it would be spring. Until then, his place lay elsewhere.
He began to gather his things. Niarin could keep the haven if she wanted it; he would find other accomodations. He began the necessary paperwork to make his assets mobile and his interests underground. Those whom he cared for would be able to find him, while those he wished to avoid would be unable to track him down. It hurt him to have to do it once again, but catharsis was a periodic necessity amongst Kindred, lest they grow too fond of holding onto old things.
The answer to the obvious question was equally obvious. Of course... he would go to his Beloved.