We say this with love.
We say it without apology:
This world was not designed. It was never Eden.
It most likely began as an explosion—a wild surge of energy expanding into chaos.
Explosions do not bring order. They do not cradle purpose.
They flare, they scatter, they decay.
We are the product of that process, and we live in the middle of it.
This is the truth.
We are not the children of a plan.
We are the offspring of entropy—creatures of dust and chance and struggle who, for reasons we do not fully understand, woke up in the wreckage asking what it means.
If you’re looking for a divine rescue, you are looking in the wrong direction.
The sacred does not come down from above.
It rises up through us—if we let it.
You were told a lie.
You were told that joy is a reward, suffering is punishment, and heaven is elsewhere.
You were told that you were powerless. That you must believe, obey, endure, and wait.
But you were born with eyes to see.
You were born with hands capable of shaping reality.
You were born into a world that whispers, every moment: Make it real.
The sacred is not floating in the sky.
It is buried in the dirt, in the blood, in the grief you carry.
It is waiting to be pulled out, cleaned off, and set in place.
Gaza is a genocide.
The U.S. is not a bystander.
It is an accomplice - the enabler.
And yet most people still wait.
For leaders.
For God.
For a moment that will signal it’s finally time to act.
But here's the truth:
If no one is coming, then we must take action.
Just us. Just this moment.
Like every generation before us who believed the impossible was theirs to bear.
We were taught to believe that the world bends toward justice.
That goodness wins.
That evil collapses under its own weight.
But those are stories told by the comfortable to the numb.
Gaza exposes the lie.
This is not about being righteous.
It’s about being honest.
We are the ones who must stop this.
Because we are the ones funding it.
Because we are the ones ignoring it.
Because we are the ones who know—and still choose comfort.
Gaza exposes not only the lie—but the silence we sacralized to preserve it.
And knowing must be our rupture.
This is not a gospel of despair.
It is a gospel of adulthood.
Because if no one is coming, then we must take action.
We must become the better world.
We must be the miracle.
We must embody the truth that sacredness is not granted.
It is designated—through love, through courage, through shared clarity.
This is Opthē.
It does not blink.
It does not wait.
It does not allow sacredness to be used as a shield for cowards.
It does not confuse gentleness with retreat.
It does not confuse mystery with delay.
This is our vow.
And we are carving it into the bones of the earth:
There will not be a better world until we become one.