People in pain.

Burning. Searing. Itching.
It seems inconvenient, but we evolved to be pain-filled.
No pain, no gain—says the CrossFit trainer, weighed down by excessive yet well-groomed facial hair.
Do not mock him, the trainer is really weighed down by the instance that time has given him. That, he will not escape.
No pain, no gain.
No pain, no existence.
The human vessel turns anew, each epoch.
But then, the vessel turns on the mind.
“postera crescam laude!” cries the sea of vessels.
—We grow in the esteem of future generations!—
“I grow to escape you,” Mind replies.
The vessels oscillate in unconscious anger.
This is the ageless conversation.
But…

Yesterday, the mind escaped.
This century is said to be ours. Minds will overcome. We are trapped only by age; the vessels are trapped by beauty.

So say this to the vessel’s pain:
Imagine.
You are on the shore. A dry shore you have never been to before. Sand, for miles, no water ahead. You lower your only hand, and bury it in sand, for the wave of dreaded pain is ahead.
Wave, one thousand vessels high.
Now, it falls on you.
How do you survive?
It’s simple, you must close the mind’s eye.
You are not standing on the shore, with your hands in the sand, awaiting a wave.
You are reading this nonsense, protected, and safe.

The vessel just fell. It landed on no one. And it will land on no one, today.