To the victor goes the spoils.
That is what they say, is it not? Winner takes all? This is of course all well and good until you realize that which matters most in life in not something that can be won in war, and that which can’t be won in war most don’t truly want anyway. So in truth, wars, like most things in life are mere distraction. Nothing more.
So why is there so much conflict for simple distraction? Why do people and institutions and nations arm themselves with weapons and with words and prepare themselves to die for the prizes of war?
Because distraction is the prize.
Forget land, forget treasure, forget prestige and political power. Wars are fought and won, soldiers and citizens fight and die for one man’s right to have their version of the story true, regardless of what the truth may actually be.
They fight for the right to distract from the Truth.
To change it.
Remember that. All wars are fought to change truth. In remembering that, if you remember nothing else, you will immediately come to understand more fully the futility of war that only poets and madmen have been able to just barely grasp. The Truth cannot, cannot be changed. Only obscured.
At the risk of undermining The Truth that I am seek convey in this tale, I must state honestly that I am penning this from the throne of a vast kingdom the expanse of which can only be encompassed by the imagination. I, however, do not sit on this throne because of war that I won. Rather, I occupy this space because of a war that someone else lost. Who, or how or why is for a later time, as it is integral to the forthcoming tale. But I can, I must, impress on you that the distinction that I have made is an important one. I did not win – I was victorious.
What, then, is the difference between the two? Well, that will all become apparent as the story unfolds. And it unfolds expertly, I must say, thanks to the abundant skill and efforts of who you will soon come to know as the narrator of this story. Though told many times before, none have been honest enough about themselves to be trusted with the truth, including myself. For you see, even I am given to moments of vanity, moments where I feel compelled to live up to my reputation, so to speak.
What my reputation is, precisely, will also become apparent down the line.
Despite the fact that the voice that you will hear in the pages that will at some juncture follow belongs to another, make no mistake on this: The events recounted in this tale happened exactly as they are stated. There are, of course some minor alterations – simply because some of this tale is a bit abstract to comprehend, which is to say that there are quite simply some things that cannot be conveyed in words.
My dear author, however, seems to have an uncanny knack for detailing such things not by translation but careful allusion. So, although she may draw a parallel or two, employ a metaphor, or rearrange the telling of certain events for the sake of understanding, the essence remains wholly intact. This is story is in all ways MY story, my truth.
It is purely by coincidence that my truth and THE Truth happen to be one in the same…