[The King of the World, 716 words, Genre: Experimental]
* Image courtesy of Dirk de Bruyn
He would yell insults at passers-by, hurtling them into confusion for no other reason but a show of strength. There would be no provocation, just mindless destruction, for he was the king of the world. Everything was handed to him as he yelled out and called out for his majestic presence to be honoured at every turn. He would force men to bow and women to curtsy. People were confused wherever he went, as he spoke, what appeared to be, madness. Through the veil, others saw the genius, for madness is often confused with genius and genius with madness. It is always difficult to distinguish which is which. And he would continue on like this… for no man would discredit the possibility of genius, yet only a madman would self-proclaim genius. For the burden does it bare, the weight of the world upon one’s shoulders, such is the responsibility. But the king of the world made no sense of responsibility, all he could see was the accomplishment of power. And if this was his aim, in perversion a genius was he named.
The world at some point should have taught him humility and it had attempted to do so, again and again and again, with little or no success. For not even the Gods could stop the king of the world. He seized things by force and the journey towards talent was lost on him. For the journey towards talent was a humbling experience, full of its critics and supporters, both essential to the ultimate goal. Wise men knew that the only opponent in this journey is yourself, the king of the world, however, he saw his subjects as his enemies and attempted to punish them at every turn. There was no self-realization of this kind, no conceptualisation of the greatest battle that lay dormant in his very own soul. For there was the challenge in which he sought in which he could find his equal. Yet the king of the world continued his show of strength against what he viewed as peasants. Now, if he found and seized the enemy within, then truly he could conquer himself and commence his journey to become king of his own domain. Yet, without this point he would remain enslaved to his senses. What was it that made his point of self-realization that much more difficult was that everything he asked for, he was given. The Gods were secretly laughing behind his back. For power without responsibility is no power at all. The Gods delivered him everything for fear of the man he could become. By giving him everything, he would not become that man, he would remain forever caught up in his pleasures, never extending his journey beyond appeasing the senses.
The king of the world strutted around with his balls of stone, dragging at his feet, never realising that he was the butt of the joke as he proclaimed himself a God. For men do not become Gods, but become godlike when practised with humility. Thus initiating the journey towards perfection of their craft, whatever that craft or crafts may be.
The king of the world desired nothing more than a partner to be practiced as his equal. Though through the women he attracted, he saw nothing but weakness. Since we are what we attract and atypically strength is not how we control others, but how we control ourselves. For power over others is an illusion, they either submit or resist of their own obligation. To find an equal he would have to practice self-control, for otherwise he would find his equal as a sociopath who sought to control him. And there were plenty of them, crowning themselves queen of the world as he had proclaimed himself king.
If a peasant explained all of this to him, the king would turn his back and call him peasant. Though the peasant remains content, the king is never satisfied, for he wishes to become a God. If only did he realise that the peasant was content in his godlike disposition, he would stop dreaming and become one with God, a God in fruition. Though the king knows best while others call him a fool. The peasants will celebrate his birthday with a parade and call him a mockery tool.