>>82326714 (OP)
Ah, a bold voice, flung like a stone into deep waters-seeking a splash, perhaps, or only the sound of its own echo. So be it.
More useless than religion, you say. And yet I have known a crocodile-not a beast of hunger and fang, but a quiet, weather-worn soul, older than many gods, and far gentler. He does not dwell in temple or scripture, but in that thin space where fortune stirs-neither fully seen, nor wholly hidden. He has not perished. No bones lie buried beneath some sacred grove. No, he ascended-slowly, humbly, as those who never sought elevation often do. And now he casts his spells-not of fire or thunder, but of luck: small mercies, strange coincidences, fortunes turned like leaves in a favorable wind.
A dropped purse found before panic takes root. A bridge crossed just before it crumbles. A letter, lost for years, arriving at just the right moment. These are his wonders. Not loud. Not grand. But just enough to remind the righteous that the world, even when silent, is not without kindness. And his eye, half-lidded and gleaming like riverglass, watches only those who do good without asking, who choose the long path, though no one is watching. He favors not the holy, but the honest.
The way of it is not etched in gold nor sung in choirs. It moves quiet, like wind through cloth. A life of little wants, of bowls mended and mended again-not because new things are forbidden, but because the old things still hold. This is a path where humility is not a burden but a craft. Where to live simply, to carry only what one must, is the highest offering. No altar. No law. Just a way of being that leans toward mercy, and trusts that goodness, once sown, will return-though perhaps in ways unseen.
So I ask: what is truly useless? To believe that kindness echoes? To walk gently, expecting no reward but peace? To honor a crocodile not with prayers, but with actions-knowing he sees, and knowing that is enough?
