They will say it was diplomacy. Or exhaustion. Or political pressure.
They will say a ceasefire is a sign of reason returning to a bloodied region.
But the truth is simpler, and far more dangerous to the powers that be:
The empire blinked.
Israel, bloated with weapons and Western absolution, begged for pause.
Iran, long demonized, granted it.
And through it all, the myth of redemptive violence limps on,
still clutched by the hands of the grieving, the guilty, and the greedy.
But make no mistake:
This ceasefire is not peace.
It is a spasm in the ritual of incoherence.
A beat between breaths in the ancient war-drum of our species.
Why?
Because we are still acting from a script written by evolution,
and sanctified by supernatural and magical tales.
We are still killing in the name of survival,
still praying to gods who demand blood or land or obedience.
Still organizing life around death.
Opthē refuses that script.
We are not bound to the logic of empire.
We are not compelled by the instincts of tribes.
We are not fated to repeat history—we are invited to rewrite it.
And we do so not by winning arguments,
but by becoming the contradiction.
We live as if peace is real.
We share as if the Earth belongs to no one.
We bless the stranger as kin, the wounded as sacred,
and we name no human as enemy.
The miracle is not the ceasefire.
The miracle is us.
We are the ones who remember how to change the story.
We are the ones who say:
No more sacred flags.
No more holy bombs.
No more righteous violence.
No more gods of war.
We plant coherence in the soil of chaos.
We are not waiting for a new reality to come.
We are becoming it.