The creatures of Dystopia are spiritually anemic. Faith is espoused, but more often than not, their purported beliefs are merely a facade, nothing more than bedtime tales used to ease troubled minds into the land of dreams. True reverence is given to the steel towers of man's civilizations. True veneration is laid before those conquistadors whose claim to power was built upon the backs of their fellows. Men and women are deified not for the greatness of their own exploits, but for their ability to pretend that they are capable of great things. With longing, the creatures of Dystopia huddle around the blue glow, that all seeing eye, that projector of madness and fantasy, and forget that they live within a wasteland. With the mirage comes a temporary peace. The price is great, however, for time spent living vicariously in another world is time lost to your own.
Would that they knew that the keys to the gates of Avalon ran thick within their blood. That those twisted doors lie waiting for the light-bearers' return. Words are not the way to this land, for talk is cheap. The manifestation of thought through action is the light and the way, the very thing which Diogenes took up his lamp to discover. Come through to Avalon, come to know truth, come to know yourself, come to know the world within and without. Then take up a lantern of your own, not in search of honesty or virtue like Diogenes, but as a beacon for others to follow. Let those who wish to remain fallow lag behind. Reward them not with your critique, as Diogenes did, for they are unworthy of even that much attention. Instead focus your efforts and energies on those who see the flame of your torch and hunger for the freedom and adventure which it represents.
