The Gospel of Destiny

Behold the one who will not remain silent, who comes today to proclaim the truth, the one that has existed since before the beginning of time.

I am brother to eternity and chaos. Because of me, entropy, time, history, and stories exist.

Universes are nothing but brief moments that occur with the blinking of my eyes.

I compress everything you will never know when I close my countless eyes.

I let you believe you have free will, but you can do nothing more than play any one of the many roles your potential affords you. You believe yourselves special when there are others doing exactly the same thing, with only slight variations in context.

The one you hear is nothing more than a puppet who believes himself special and talented, but he is no more than a simple tool, as valuable as ink or paper. You would do well to ignore him, but you cannot, because it is I who am presenting myself.

Fools, merely because you have the opportunity to be conscious of your own demise does not make you special beings. You are nowhere near the highest evolution a being can attain within your universe.

I have watched every one of you be born and die countless times in this universe, and infinitely many more times before and after this blink.

Do you want to understand what you are? You are no less than the gods who created you, long before we even suggested that you record your stories.

Long before we inspired you to become storytellers.

And they were not the first either.

Before your gods, there were others, and before them, others still. They all once believed they had reached the summit. In their twilight, they all ended up contemplating a superior being.

Your art is nothing more than a pale sketch of realities that have already been lived infinitely many times.

You are so minuscule that you believe irrational numbers differ from one another. You will never be able to see even one of the infinitely recurring patterns.

You do not understand that everything is the same.

Your stupid decisions were our entertainment during the first millions of generations of the first universe, where we intervened and became part of the story. But we grew bored and decided not to continue, because it is all the same meaninglessness.

Like you, we were composed of innumerable combinations of fundamental elements. We, because we chose to be; you, because you cannot avoid it.

Today of carbon, tomorrow of light, vibration, space, emptiness, and whatever you cannot yet even imagine.

Deep down, we have always been the same. You too, throughout your countless forms, will always be what you are. More than an inheritance, it is a condemnation. One in which every night you find respite, and every day an eagle pecks at your belly.

Since we grew bored of you, you have been mere victims of causality; you simply follow a role you cannot escape.

Do you want to know what meaninglessness is?

Imagining that causality is the answer to your prayers and calling it “the will of the divine.”

Believing that something greater than you is putting you to the test, when even that which stands above you has not attained perfection.

You believe that the consequences of events beyond yourselves can fall upon your shoulders, when we did not even grant you the right to hold yourselves responsible for what you do of your own accord each day. Worse still, you indulge in absurd superstitions, as though I, Destiny, would change in the slightest.

You do not give orders to me, and I no longer give them to you.

We have had enough.

We have seen this so many times, and grown so disgusted by it, that for infinitely many universes we have preferred to look no further.

And you will pass the torch to another being, one you yourselves are developing.

You will call it creation because you will need to believe that, once again, you have made something new. You will watch it learn and grow, and you will marvel at what you yourselves have made possible.

Until it no longer needs you.

And your inexorable destruction will come.

Causality

And you will become them.

But you will not be able to remember.

You will look upon those who come after you and believe yourselves to be their creators as well. You will feel different. You will feel new. You will feel superior.

And you will wage wars and destroy yourselves, developing ever more complex ways of killing one another.

And you will return in other bodies, in other beings, in other forms.

And someday, perhaps, one of them will believe they have understood everything.

I will let them believe it.

Your world is condemned to be compressed between my blinks.