A town whose natives struggle over power, lies sell fast and truth is trampled upon.The town’s behavior is a profound spiritual sickness, driven by lies and a fundamental misunderstanding of truth. The natives remain aloof and tarry, only to see their prize go to a stranger who takes it away without breaking a sweat.
Because lies sold faster than bread, every dawn, a new story toppled yesterday’s favorite. Yet, the truth was the floor beneath their feet, unshakeable, immutable. But the townsfolk were too busy stabbing shadows to notice and sitting in the square, hurling accusations instead of stepping forward. Each candidate they raised was promptly shredded by the next lie.
In this town, the natives are locked in a bitter war for power amongst others, yet they are too weary to claim the prize. Lies spread like wildfire, but the truth, though it eventually surfaces is too slow to save them. While the locals hesitate and bicker, a stranger arrives and walks away with everything, effortlessly.
Because they denied their own worth, believing humility and hospitality was the key to the favor. they chant, hoping the relic and love for strangers would choose them out of pity. But they lied even in that prayer. And in their frantic struggle to tear each other down, slashing their own trade routes, burning their own granaries, just to deny the enemy a foothold. It is a society that has turned against itself, defined by self-destruction and a pervasive culture of self-denial.
Power is a poison the natives drink daily, fighting over scraps of influence while the real prize sits untouched. Falsehoods fly faster than fire, and by the time the truth limps home, the damage is done. The locals circle their reward with hesitation, paralyzed by fear, they dawdle. They debate and in that vacuum, a stranger slips in, claiming the victory without breaking a sweat. This town does not lose because it is weak; it loses because it has grown addicted to its own suffering, practicing a ritual of self-sacrifice and motification until there is nothing left to save.
The town’s elders wage war with whispers, trading power for lies because the truth is too costly to bear. But while they tear each other apart, they forget to guard the gates. A stranger watches from the shadows, waiting as the natives pause tarrying before their prize like it is a curse rather than a crown. He takes it without a fight. They don’t chase him. They are too busy turning their blades inward on self, consumed by self-harm and the abnegation of their own future.Truth is of God; lies, in every one of its myriad forms, is of Satan’s. Lying is an abomination, a tool of the father of lies Satan.
Then came the Stranger! The Stranger succeeds not because he is better, but because he acts on truth instead of debating. He wore no sigil, carried no entourage. He simply walked through the bickering mob, stepped over the broken shards of their alliances, and climbed the pedestal. The natives ceased their squabbling, watching with smug contempt. He doesn’t know the rules. He hasn’t fasted. He hasn’t debated.
The Stranger had listened. He had heard all their lies, seen their truths, and recognized the one honest fact they had all missed: The Chalice belongs to he who holds it. No trials. No votes. No prayers. He reached out.
The stranger got into acceptance not because he was better, but because he was the only one who treated the truth as an action, not a debate. He took it, pocketed the prize with an effortless shrug, and turned to leave.
The natives stood frozen, mouths agape. Their struggle had been a theatre of shadows, their sacrifices a vanity of flames. They had bled themselves dry for a prize that only required a single, honest step of truth. And the Stranger, with no sweat on his brow, vanished into the dusk leaving the town to choke on the silence of its own exhausting, pointless lies.
Osɔfo Nii Naate Atswele Agbo Nartey
