72. Toy fighting back
By divine revelation, the only way to overcome Nimrod is to stab a serum of bitterness into his heart. This would mean having to get up close and personal, and perchance, taken prisoner to his realm. Nimrod’s a boy. Everything’s just fun to him, all play and no work; he does not comprehend the concept of suffering. Nimrod is pure. You can say he is absent of sin, he is innocent; all he does is intuitive and natural. It’s congenital to his species.
Adults cannot match the spotlessness of a child. We carry too much burden, weights heaped on our back as we journey through eternity. Loads we gather by unwanted experiences, crippled and retarded by the stresses of living. Encumbered. There is truth in the proverb about receiving the kingdom of god as a little one, as a pampered little one to be precise, one not thrown headfirst into the mire of adulthood; one eternally naive.
“So what I’m trying to say is that Nimrod’s a green prick,” complains Jai-I, “thinks I’m one of his toys; some touch-screen character he can box around.
“But I won’t go down that easily,” he concludes, standing ground.
This is a classic case of the toy fighting back. Jai-I had to rewire, rethink, relearn. In order to defeat higher evolution, albeit one who is preadolescent, Jai-I had to graze humility and accept the scheme of things. Why his father had allowed this disgrace is anyone’s guess. Trekz assumes pride, arrogance and rebellion at its nuclei; but surely, regardless the level of association Nimrod has with Leper and the Gunk, Jahr is allied to that neighbouring multiverse, thus he could have easily chastised Nimrod boy and ended Jai-I’s dishonour. But he didn’t. Instead he allowed it to ensue, and he allowed Jai-I to suffer. And suffer terribly, at that; made vagabond, torn from his empire, death of most of his subjects, and the supplanting of the mind by a rabid disease which is nothing more than a game for a kid!? My educated opinion is that it’s all a ploy. It is part of Jahr’s way to make his son embrace destiny. How else can you explain Jai-I in JC’s ward? And the coincidence of me, his pal, present as well? “Those conniving gods are up to no good. That would be Vesper’s conclusion,” I said aloud.
Vesper, always the wiser, always the independent spirit, always believing in conspiracy theories; perhaps this boils down to bad childhood. He and older brother Lucipher, the perpetual scapegoats for mischief caused, even if the tomfoolery is, at instances, executed by another of the heavenly family. Peculiar then that they adopted the symbol of the goat, or rather, the cloven-hoofed, horned beast with the goatee was purposefully slapped upon them. By whom? No one knows. Truths hidden under layers and layers of myths poured over centuries after centuries - similar to creation, the forming of the Earth’s crust plates, the genealogy of planets, a mystery - that only fables remain, and there no longer exists a history anyone can really claim.
A school of thought suggests we’re all one big, unhappy family. Every creature is related; but brothers don’t get along, sisters yell each other bitches, and parents are up to no good brainwashing offspring, not to mention rebellious teenage divinities. If this is so, then Vesper is an unfavoured son. The opposite end of Jai-I, a bastard indiscipline, unguided, one left to fend for his own survival, which he had done not too bad a job for himself.
Interesting that Jai-I and Vesper hang out. I sincerely hope there are no hidden agendas, that they are truly friends, beings at extreme ends of the spectrum chilling and lounging in bromance; for at this very moment, Vesper is standing on a seaweed coloured rock greeting Jai-I and I.