The Binoculars

And so our eyes are closed, and we don’t see our reality. Worst of all, we don’t see ourselves. We’re like a lantern whose light embodies our urge to change the world: the bright beam grows larger with distance, but it scatters and becomes unconvincing. A soul filled with alkaline batteries demands light made of illusions—yet before death, the lantern turns toward you and shines so brightly that you drop your pack of ego, kneel down, and beg the fading eye to mark your life with at least a drop of meaning.