Friday, August 21, 2015


It is a curious thing, glory.
A station only attained through the crucible of suffering.

Few, if any, have endeavored to change this world without experiencing a baptism of suffering, a gauntlet of endless trials.

Those who do not endure are forgotten relatively quickly.

What is it about a glorious death which captivates us so?
Why is it that those who bring to us the profoundest sentiments are only celebrated after passing?

Glory, perhaps, is actually an exercise in faith. It is an ideal adopted, and nurtured under no other pretense than one is acting in the right. Those who undergo its fatigues to claim it as their own have no guarantee of its end result for, often, this cherished state is attained against the painful, grating friction of predominant thought.

So, then it is through faith in right which we are this glorified.

Put another way, glory, then is the right of the faithful.