Peace Labor May

A faceless enemy.

The one, usually, a he, different, unknown, dangerous in his distinctly distant desires and drives. He is always an -ist and a marginal. His habits are grim. His loved ones are an echo, an abstraction, often times innocent, but never completely human. He isn't undeniably human as well. What distinguishes him from his fellow humans?.. Well, it is always obscure, this distinction. He is never quite a monster, no, no, not at all. But there is something rather beastly about him. Is it his manner? The way he walks, either too rigidly or too loosely. Is it the slightest accent he possesses, or a lisp, or this peculiar way the side of his mouth moves?.. It is never clear what it is that sets him apart. He is never fully wrong, either. There is always a glimpse of reason within his words. The light of knowledge is not foreign to him. He may even be intelligent, even if in an unsettling way; even if his knowledge is too niche, too impractical. His habits are strange; his preferences are not abhorrent, yet they illicit if not straightforward disgust, but warrant at least a raised eyebrow. What is it, this alien creature, so eerily presenting itself as a fellow man? Oh, but he is the enemy. That explains it! He is a foreigner, an outcast, the other. You don’t have to dehumanize him; there is no need. He has never been and never will be, in your eyes, a human. He is a caricature of a human, a mere simulacrum; he cannot fathom the virtues of the free world, your world. He will never be equal to you, he did nothing to deserve it; he never fought for you land’s freedom, for your children’s innocence. Why is he, this fake man?.. Why is he allowed to enter, enter your peace, your life; who gave him permission to stir the waters of your serenity? Who let him have his thoughts, his wishes so foreign to any good man, any man of honor and decency? You despise the alien man. His contrived attempts at assimilating; his pathetic tries to understand the wisdom of your ancestors. Why shouldn’t you be hostile to the alien? He is another, he is not fully human, there is no way to find out if he is human, but you can tell. You can tell. By the look in his eyes, the cold, soulless, distant stare, by the awkward mannerisms, by the absence of true connections to others (this cloud family is but an illusion, abstraction, it might as well not exist). First, the alien pretends to assimilate. Next, he insults the memories that are near and dear to you by putting your precious words into his mouth. Then, he looks longingly at what is yours – your dwelling, your lawn, your dog, your daughter. Then, he dares to dream to claim his own! There is no peace with another. He has not come in peace; he has an agenda; he dares to touch what is yours; you know, you see, and you won’t let him.

Speaking into the void.

For many of us, at times, it may feel like we are speaking into the void. We might feel that no one is listening, and no one cares. Modern conditions happen to be such, that isolation is a given. We are surrounded by people, all the time; we may grow tired of them; yet we often do not feel connected to anyone. Social media is designed in such a way, that an illusion is created – look at all these popular people, they are never lonely! We see how certain people are bombarded with affection, and we may envy them. Yet, we keep hearing of other people's loneliness. We see hundreds of thousands of people's stories that may resemble our own. We see all of them, craving connection, deeply in need of emotional support, screaming to be noticed. Sometimes we may even try and reach out to somebody. We might try to talk to this other person who, in so many ways, is a reflection of ourselves. And we may be greeted by many possible outcomes. Sometimes, silence is all we get. At times, we talk for a little while, but it all dwindles into nothing. And sometimes, we may get an unpredictable reaction – anger, resentment, frustration, another person's pain transformed into destructiveness. If we are willing to continue, weariness soon comes upon us. We hear the same stories so often, we lose a sense of reality – these people become one blurry image of collective misery. We may think that, perhaps, humanity is doomed to such an existence, that the nature of our actual selves is to blame. We may find flaws and faults in each other, thinking to ourselves: “See, this is why! He is not trying hard enough. She has anger issues. They made the wrong decision. They are asking for it! No wonder the world is falling into smithereens! We deserve it!” And many a time, I have been lured into that trap myself. I looked at the world through a thin film of fearful ignorance, agitated delusion, and the bitterness of the unfulfilled. I thought that people were ultimately too stupid and all hope was lost. I felt like I must have been wicked enough to see through the stupidity, but, at length, was just as useless as the rest. And what did it lead me to? Frustration and anger and sadness and disappointment. I saw those every day, in so many people. I used to want to hide away from them. I used to try and run away from it all. I would literally close my ears and not listen to other people's complaints. I used to turn away when I saw others fighting, others screaming, others in pain. I resisted to pay attention to evil, I wished so hard it didn't exist. I laughed at and belittled many human struggles; I came up with excuses for all kinds of atrocities. But no more, my friend. I cannot stay blind and deaf and mute anymore. No more justifications. Too many of us have kept quiet for too long. We are not blind. We are not stupid. We are not incapable. We are not weak. Our ignorance is curable. Our frustrations come from our circumstances. We can change our circumstances. We cannot end all suffering forever. But we can and we must, negate the suffering that is foreseeable. What is that foreseeable suffering, one might ask? The suffering that is caused by greed, by vengeance, by envy, by bitterness, resentment, petty rivalries. Oh, the good old, beaten dogs, Ancient Greek vices, and their sought after sisters, the virtues of justice, generosity, truth, benevolence... We hear about them all the time. Since early childhood, we are bombarded with cautionary tales. We roll our eyes at them. We are not naive enough to believe these tales. Even though, deep inside we may wistfully wish for at least some of them to be true.
And as we grow, we witness vices running the show. We see the greediest get the most power and recognition. We see that virtues are but lame words, stupid empty sounds, that are pronounced boastfully by the hypocritical thieves and prostituting swindlers. We may succumb to the temptation of the capital – run after the golden calf, stars in our eyes, passion tearing at our hearts. Succeed we or not, emptiness awaits us and fruitless fury of unfulfilled wishes – no true glory can come through thievery and knavery; no kindness lurks behind the vacant eyes of fornicators; “friendship, love, compassion” all become ad-words, generating, generating, that sweet, sweet cash revenue. If you are lucky, your loved ones only will see your desolate anger. If not, you may become a laughing stock of the masses. Entangled in the piles of false feelings; wrought by despairing longing for connection and understanding, we blow up – anyone can become a target for our frenzy. Strangers on the Internet, good-for-nothing coworkers, lazy spouses, ungrateful children… Greater and greater becomes the gap between ourselves and the rest of humankind. And at times, you may feel that all strength has abandoned you. You may feel as if your soul has been wrung dry. You have howled into the emptiness for too long. Lift up your exhausted, swollen eyes, my dear comrade. Look into the bright blue sky. Feel the warmth of the sun on your pale, beaten face. Feel, feel the air, moving, caressing your cold skin. Hear the whisper of the past generations. The road is arduous; the trials seem unending. Grief, loss, pain, await us at every turn. Lies, betrayals, twisting of our core beliefs and values may feel unbearable. I am not going to tell you of the light at the end of the tunnel. I do not believe we are in a tunnel. We are under the dome of the sky, on this planet we call home; it is vast and it is open in all directions. If we look up, we’ll see the light. The light from which one cannot hide. If we get up, off of our knees, hold our heads high, the light will embrace us. If we stand together, facing our common fears, sharing our collective grief, we can, and we must, move ourselves forward, or in any other direction we desire. There is no enemy; neither within, nor outside. What appears to be it, are the remnants of the monsters that grew out of loneliness and despair, fear and abandonment. If we look them in the face, as a collective; slowly, they will dissipate, dissolve, never completely disappear, but become one drop in the ocean of our unconscious. One drop of many: the waters of compassion and camaraderie, the waves of solidarity and mutual aid; the storms of joy and triumph; the sweat of our brow and the salt of our tears bringing the fruits of labor to flourish on the ocean floor. You and I, comrade, let’s dare to look up and see the glimmer in the sky.

People-pleasing and the so-called fawn response have been on the radar lately, since we are learning more and more about how damaging these can be to our mental health. In the past, I didn't realize how hard I tried to be “comfortable” to others. I thought that since I looked rebellious and didn't confirm to misogynistic standards of beauty, than I couldn't have possibly be people-pleasing, agreeable and conformist. Looks do unfortunately still matter much nowadays, and yes, I was perceived by a few as an “out of place” woman; but it didn't free me from the nets of submission. Let me give you a few examples. I used to think it was ok if my words were dismissed at work. I used to think I had to tolerate being cat-called. I used to try my hardest to avoid confrontation, even when my principal beliefs were compromised. I'd go home and cry and berate myself for being “weak”, for being a pushover, a doormat. I would internalise other people's mistakes, rudeness, lack of insight as my own fault. Somehow, it had always been my fault. I had to try harder. I had to use perfect words to present my ideas in the most pristinely peaceful, yet convincing manner. I had to be more careful to avoid my choices being questioned, I had to demonstrate that I deserved respect. I had to continuosly undermine my own core values in order to accommodate other people's preferences, to always play the devil's advocate. If you are in this place right now, let me tell you this. You do not have to be comfortable to others. You do not have to bend yourself over backwards for people not to get upset. You do not have to always uplift others, think of all the nuances yourself. Human interaction is a two way street. Yes, treat others with kindness and compassion. But, do not ignore your own pain and discomfort. Do not hurt yourself to spare another. You are just as worthy of compassion and space as they are. Stop apologizing for your existence. Come with an open mind and expect others to do the same. If they don't, that's on them. You do not have to be a pinnacle of gracious goodness who guides others out of darkness. You are human. You have dignity, by default. You have to have space to develop, to flourish. You cannot continuously step on your own needs and wants and expect to remain sane. Do not fall for the conformity trap. No matter how much you try, you will never please everyone.

The Art of Fire

For many long years I felt separated from the world of art. I didn't dare, though I've always craved, to partake fully in the exchange of emotions, fearing to throw a plank across the river to start building a bridge between myself and others.

Art in its rawest is the flow of energies, sparks of animalistic urges transformed by the human form into a lake of fire, which burns bright, hurts, but will not consume you; no, no, this fire is divine and will cleanse you, if you approach it with the eyes of your soul, unclouded by greed, or envy, or any other vices that I believe are by-products of yet another type of pain; pain caused by thousands of years of exploitation and repression. Without fear, if you approach it, this everlasting lake of passion, you, like air, will carry the coals to others – through the calm waters of our collective rationale, into the heart of another you'll carry the flames of feelings, not yours alone, but the collection of those lived by many before you.

And in this dance of life, this fire of spirit, I have finally sank my trembling hands; and the joy of rebirth still shakes me. I am throbbing and pulsating with the ancestral memory, the messages of old, the lore from which the dust has been blown away, by the storm of many souls, like mine, like yours. This art of fire is far from being sterile, though ultimately it purifies the air. There is no censorship of this true art, and the pain it may cause is the uprooting of the old, decaying, putrid sensibilities that have been sowed by the hand of those who dared to proclaim themselves the masters. There never is a master in the world of the divine art – the artist is, but a tool, the speaker, the seer, he may be; the audience is but the coals, the ashes, brought together by the collective flames of something that we used to be fearful of, and that we may be closer to understanding now. There is no cost, no production of the art that may be calculated, rationalized, reckoned by mind alone.

And how deep is the wound of the oppressed art! Art has been raped, its limbs torn off, its entrails exhumed and coldly analyzed by the merciless spectacles of the capital. Under the microscope of profit has art began to rot, to desecrate itself by the fumes of decomposition. With its frostbitten hands has capital lifted off the operation table, the specks and glitters of the dying art, and claimed: “Here! This is it! The essence of art has been understood! It will now be turned into a machine of everlasting profit!”

And this monstrous machine, this mutant of the ghost of art, is now exploited, beaten, half dead, bleeding fire out of its orifices. It is sold on every corner, offered in neat colorful packages, delivering whatever it is the target demographic may desire. Teenage rebellion? Midlife crisis? Broken heart, relationship gone awry? 5:99, only 5:99! We have it all, no need to seek out a shaman drum, it's all ready to go, grab and go; how efficient, how convenient! Buy art, art is for sale! What's the next hot hit?

And our hearts might have been fooled by the masquerade of meticulously crafted, carefully selected, random bits of flesh of fiery art, its true nature extinguished, its soul dead. And if you have rejected the plastic exterior of the fake art of today, you may have, like me, for years feared to admit it. You may have longed for true art, this raw, this unstoppable force of nature within us, this universal drive, this reckless jump into the lake of fire; yet you've feared.

And if you have it left in you, I urge you, I implore, throw away this plastic imitation of the art. Throw a plank across the river or reason. Walk, unsteadily, to the shore of the lake. Look into the red depths of it, see with the eyes of your soul. And one day, you too, will dare to spark the flame within your soul.

The more I learn about capitalism and communism, the easier it is for me to live my life. Understanding how economic circumstances have been shaping humanity’s shared experience, in a peculiar way, has set my mind free. I no longer feel guilty at all times; I feel less and less shame; I am allowing myself more and more to just enjoy life, enjoy myself, nature, other people.

Guilt and shame, in my opinion, are the major weapons of modern day capitalist propaganda. In the so-called westernized parts of the world, it is reinforced, tenfold, by monotheistic religions. Many will argue that religion has long ceased to be a domineering force over many people’s lives. The problem is not that religion may or may not influence us directly nowadays; the problem is what it has done to our collective unconscious; to our ancestral memory; to the way we got used to treating each other and our children.

Much of Western philosophy is eternally married to monotheism. The idea of the everlasting will, so strikingly similar to that of some men, is so ingrained within the imperialists’ minds, that it appears to them impossible that other worlds have existed long before their patriarchal figures of authority emerged out of the dust.

Shame and guilt are not exclusive to religion, of course. Some may argue that without them, human morality will be at stake. However, looking into some anarchist ethics, as well as consulting empirical evidence provided by the studies of animal life, bring to light the fact that basing our collective morality on shame and guilt are not at all necessary. Moreover, from a strictly utilitarian point of view, guilt and shame have proven to be ineffective in the strive for a better world.

Think about it, how often do we feel guilty enough for long enough to actually bring about a change in our lives? How often does shame lead to a qualitative re-evaluation of one's choices? In some cases, these two may influence one's consciousness in a positive way. I'd say that the imbalance between how much life's energy is spent and how much improvement has been achieved is too great for shame and guilt to be considered worthy of wasting our time on.

Going back to my original claim that learning about fundamental economics and political ideologies has slowly but steadily helped me rid myself of the incessant shame, guilt and overall feeling of inadequacy, I'd like to emphasize that learning alone cannot be perceived as the “solution” to one's individual struggle in life. Acting upon the internalised universal truths; making changes that one sees as beneficial not only to oneself, but on the basis of understanding class antagonism; this is what I believe can truly change one's entire existence.

I have been liberated by the collective effort of people who have long before me, seen the ways in which we can reshape not only our outward circumstances, but our perception of the world itself, learning from the delicate balance of nature, gaining insight from the mistakes of the past, and moving forward with true confidence, that can only be achieved by humanity as a whole.

Do what you want, they say. How can I know what I want if I was always told what is “right” to want? I've always wanted to do art. I've always felt an immense need to create. But every time I'd venture into the process of creation, I'd get stuck in a stifling paralysis of feeling the urgent need for whatever it was I wanted to create to be “good”. Is it going to be good enough for people to consume? Is it going to communicate what I intend for it to communicate? Is it going to be “worth” the time spent? Is it going to be representative of my core values and principles? And always, always, the looming question, the impending doom, is it going to have “value”? What is art worth? Is there a cost, ever, to the bits of one's soul, to the fragments of one's fleeting feelings? How to determine the value of the soul's need to create? And the pragmatic voice in my head, would always say, you are overthinking this. Just do it! If you want to, do it! Who cares of the value, of the worth? Just do it now, and think of what to do with it later! And I so wish I could just do it. Just get over the insignificant anxieties of writers block, just hush the nagging fear of rejection, and do it. And many a time, I did. Despite the pain, despite the fear, I'd sit, and I'd brood, and I'd create. Days would pass, and I would read what I had produced earlier. And sometimes it would read so painfully convoluted. And often times it would read contrived. And many times, I could not tell. But somehow, if years passed, I would look at my old writing, and think, I hear you. I understand, even though I don't remember. I can see, and feel, as if someone else is letting me into their own private chamber of suffering. And this is where I stand. I write because I have to. I don't know what my writing is for. I don't know why I want to write as if my life depended on it. I don't know and I don't want to care if my writing is “good enough”. I am a writer and that is it.

Bitterness has settled itself rather comfortably in our midst nowadays. Bitterness is not new, it has been known to man since the dawn of times. It feels, though, mostly because of the abundance of exposure, that bitterness is on the rise. You see people being bitter because their life is not at all what has been promised to them. Study hard, dream big, work hard, and it will all be given to you! Think the right thoughts, speak the proper words, do the righteous deeds, and no wrong can happen to you! And yet we all get slapped in the face with the harsh reality – no justice exists in the world, your freedom lasts as long as your chain does, no reward for your hard work, just survival. I am way too familiar with bitterness. It goes hand in hand with shame, with guilt. When you have felt guilty and ashamed for too long, you may grow bitter. It feels that no matter how much you try, nothing is ever right. You pour your heart and soul into your work, you are willing to give up all the little comforts for the sake of others, yet it is but a drop in the ocean. You strive, you overexert you mind, you give, you stretch yourself so thin, you become see through, yet nothing fundamentally changes. You see others do the same, yet it's all in vain. Millions of us, every day, pour our lives resources into the blind abyss, and all it does in return, is spit laughter back into our faces. We grow tired, disillusioned, and bitterness crawls into our souls. Why cannot we make things right? Why don't the promises we were given appear to forever be unfulfilled? We see others who seem to live differently. Others who do not follow the script, who either by the advantage of birth, or mere worldly luck, were granted a different fate. They sing praises to individual achievement, to the unstoppable drive for success, blind stubborn repetition of the “ You can do it!“s and ” Aim high!“s. Resentment joins your bitterness, and together the two sisters spin the tale of woe and intricately weave it into the canvas of your psyche. Why them, not me? The question is incessant. What have they done that I am incapable of? Envy may also want to join the party. And if nothing changes, no sudden good fortune enters your life, the three sisters of Bitterness, Resentment, and Envy may be joined by the grand, always thirsty, always on the prowl, always staring into the emptiness of the abyss, the lady of ruin, her majesty Greed. And once greed enters, a powerful cycle is set in motion. The myriad of needs, existential, or the spur of the moment kind, dance in mad rounds, round and round your wretched mind, day and night, whispering of the temptations and the urges of the world. And one may succumb to the stagnation, to despair, to anger. The whys never seem to end, and the answers are all but satisfactory. Exhausted, you seek blindly the surcease for your sorrows, yet, all you find are the neon signs that signal of virtues, whose names became a laughing stock for the vicious. The oblivion, you may find, but not for long, before the nagging needs knock at your door, reminding you yet again of all the ways you have failed. Cynical, disenchanted, you may grow cold and distant, lowering your chances of seeking support from fellow humans. Bitter, resentful, envious, greedy, you loathe the world, the people and yourself. What is this dark and twisted tale they have hidden in the bright and brilliant story of your years of yore? You don't want to see “the good” in the world. You cease to believe in “the good” of the people. The bleak blandness of the world overcomes you. Life is a cruel joke. What is there to live for?.. Out of this dull, ugly, unnecessarily complex world you emerge, as a shadow of your childhood self. Your innocence is crushed, your dreams are forgotten, and you long for nothing else, but the slumber of sleep. What do you do, after all the bitterness, resentment, after suffering so greatly from envy and greed? Out of this place, l have been lifted, not by a supernatural force of the unknown, not by the visions of utopian glory, not by power of myself alone, not by blind hope, or reckless enthusiasm. I have been lifted from the dirges of the modern tragedy, by the soft-spoken wisdom of the past, by the kind-hearted comrades who sought no benefit of their own, by the abundance of life itself, and the natural desire to help and be helped by the ones of my kind. And I extend my shaky, sweaty, nervous palm towards you and offer not a quick solution, a well needed oblivion, a flawless plan of exit. I offer human memory, that's in my blood, impressed in my DNA, as it is also in yours, of life that is possible, of the future that is not decided yet. My friend, take my hand, and at the very least, we'll grieve together.

Conflict aversion Many of us are so mightily afraid of conflict, that we are willing to do nearly anything to avoid it. We are ready to give in, give up on our ideals, compromise our principles, even lie, in order to pursue, what we may perceive as, “a peaceful resolution”. Yet why are we so intimidated by a mere idea of disagreement? Well, I have quite a few thoughts on that. I'll present you with just a handful, as well as with a simple and unoriginal solution at the end. First, you cannot deny the impact monotheistic religions have had on our collective unconscious. The idea that we are all “little soldiers” in the holy war of good against evil, is intrinsically intertwined into the canvas of the mythology of the widest spread monotheistic religions of the world. Thusly, the fear of being ostracized, separated from the righteous, from the “good ones” is deeply ingrained in many people's minds, even if they have long abandoned religion. Obedience, a commonly praised religious virtue, also contributes to our repulsion for “starting fights”, or “stirring the waters”. Second, the idea of sameness has long predated all the unintelligent “red scare” type media creations. The primitive understanding of individual differences is present in many, if not most anthropological finds; however, previous generations' homogeneity due to the lack of exposure to diversity cannot be denied. Human conditions in many ways dictate their tolerance levels; the more one is exposed to variation, the less difficult it becomes for one to come to terms with it. However, the somewhat primordial fear of the unknown may lead to hostility towards divergence, to the naive desire for all to agree about all; and so the childish fright in front of the vast, unfathomable multiplicity of the world and its people can lead us to eschew the slightest dissent. Third, the relentless trauma that is perpetuated by one generation after the other. When one grows in the environment where safety is lacking, where one's own dignity is continuously compromised, where the unsteady winds of affection and abhorrence are rampantly rotated; one cannot fully comprehend what constitutes healthy boundaries, normative conflict, the usual hiccups of human interaction. So one may be brought up to fear the antagonism in any of its forms. Hence comes my preliminary conclusion. Education, vigorous strive for the betterment of oneself and others, unconditional provision for basic human needs, all of these may remedy the aforementioned ailments of the modern human strife. If we are situated in mind-stimulating conditions, certain of our human wholesomeness, unafraid to indulge in a true pursuit of enriching humanity's body of wisdom, the fear of conflict and aversion to disagreeableness will fade away, as unnecessary remnants of the past.

Propaganda has gotten quite a reputation, and in many people's minds is equal to brainwashing. However, if you look up the origins of the word, you will see that propoganda used to describe “any movement or organization to propagate some practice or ideology” (1790). The modern political sense (“dissemination of information intended to promote a political point of view”) dates from World War I, not originally pejorative and implying bias or deliberate misleading. Meaning “material or information propagated to advance a cause, etc.” is from 1929 (Online Etymology Dictionary).

The word propaganda is used nowadays to induce fear. The images of an authoritarian government, dull grey colors, parades of people all marching as one, faces of solemn men on banners, the mood of chilling sameness and bleak conformity are used to scare us into staying as far away as possible from anything even remotely connected to propaganda.

There is a notion that propaganda is inherent to certain types of states of government. And it is true, to an extent. Some suppose that the nations who attempted to build communism, are much more often prone to spreading propaganda. And again, this is true, to an extent.

Let us have a look at the modern world. Do we see particular ideas and beliefs receiving more attention? Do we see certain people, lifestyles being showcased as more desirable? Do we see the rigidity of the modern ideology preoccupied with some virtues, and vilifying others? What is it, if not propaganda?

Whether propaganda is harmful or not, you should be the judge. Think, do you truly agree with the values presented to you? If you do, then make sure you fully understand what these values stand for. And once you make up your mind, remain open to challenging these values every once in a while. Do not let your mind stagnate, or cling to virtue signalling.

This can help you avoid falling victim to harmful propaganda. And if the propaganda actually promotes something of benefit, then there shouldn't be a cause for concern.

I see myself bombarded with harmful propaganda in the modern capitalist world. Somehow, notions and beliefs that aren't even relevant to my life, creep into my mind. All of a sudden, l become even more unhappy with myself, something is always missing, aha, it is this perfect thing, this readily available solution. And how can I get it? Well, of course, you have to work hard to get it, good things aren't cheap. And so the cycle of a manufactured need-artificial solution is set.

But mindless consumerism is far from being the only, or the worst ways we receive propaganda nowadays.

Far worse, is that our perception of the world, of the people, of the past, are all skewed, tilted, at first, somewhat gently, and then, rather violently to the direction that inevitably leads us to fear, hostility, ignorance, and greed. We are shown, time and time again, what family is supposed to be like, what love is supposed to appear like, what hard work looks like. And in this endless array of images, we are infiltrated with ideas and ideals, many of which may have been completely foreign to us, given varying circumstances.

I assert that we live in a world filled with the most harmful propaganda to date. I wish I was propagated the virtues of the free world, but alas, such ideas are rarely pushed, they lie here on the surface, readily available, and yet modest in their lack of desire to dominate one's mind. True virtues are hard to push, they are boring, they aren't glamorous, and they cannot be faked, at least not for long.

And so we remain, in the world full of meaningless fear mongering, being afraid of what is already happening to us, anxious to see the truth, afraid of what we might see behind the curtain. Lift up the curtain, I say. It is up to you to decide, and I cannot for certain tell you what's behind it.