He came from the stormy ocean. Thunder and lightning his allies. In his cloak of fog, with his musical voice, the Spirit of the Storm proclaimed:
You have fled from the mouths of beasts into the cages of the schools.
You make slaves out of children to cure them from being beasts. But your medicine is itself an illness to be overcome. You tame your children with sticks and carrots, and yet what type of beast can arise from such treatment but one whose eyes are ever searching for the next master who holds pain and pleasure in his hand.
In trying to escape barbarity, you have made compliance and conformity your idols. Now all are timid and scared.
Each is fearful of what the neighbor thinks of them, and the fear of being called a slur terrifies them to the bones. The slaves are wary of the eyes of their neighbors, lest they shift upon them with disapproval. For with just those evil eyes, the slaves can be outcast.
Isolation is the greatest fear of the slave. Isolation is to be excluded from the world of sticks and carrots. Isolation is to no longer know who you are- for what are you without approval from your superiors and peers?
The teachers themselves are mere slaves driving slaves. They are no more free than the children they mold in their image. Chained prisoners chaining the next generation to anxiety.
The parents, too are slaves driving slaves. They are no more free than the children they mold in their image.
Have you not seen how parents will labor to purchase fabrics of the latest fashion, the ghoul of rejection pursuing them if they fail? For the parents fear more than all else the chorus declaring “You are weird! You are abnormal!”
Have you not seen how parents will give their children poison screens, the ghoul of rejection pursuing them if they fail? For the parents fear more than all else the chorus declaring “You are weird! You are abnormal!”
Those strange children who cannot bear the fetters flee this prison. But all that's left to run to is the wilderness and they become parasites, reckless beings amongst automaton masses. They become the lowest muck; the prostitutes, the drug dealers, the criminals. They cannot create. Pity them.
And so I call to you and declare that no more shall you chain your children. Rather vigor and strength shall be your target, your children your arrow, and your love your bow.
With a love of flourishing and accomplishment, you will erase the words of ‘normal’ and ‘weird’ from your books, and release the true good and bad from being their hostages. You will feed your children encouragement and faith in their power, and with their overflowing power they will learn from your example to empower others. And so the seeds you plant will rise to mighty trees and give fruit, and those trees will disperse their seeds all over the earth, and create a luscious and beautiful paradise.
Do not hold your child back, rather call out to him, “Go on, and be greater than my mind can fathom. Take all my virtues and cherish them, but do not dare to leave them as they are, but add more and intensify the good you have received.” See if your child will not in love call his children with your name.
Your children will mock those who would rule them with remarks of approval and dismay. They will laugh and pity them from afar, then with soft steps approach these failed tyrants and appeal to what good is accessible in their hearts. “Come walk with us a little, for the ills of yours cannot harm us, but our light and health may spread to you, so that you may dance and play with us.”