When people talk about ending world suffering they almost always mean their own suffering. They mean to say they wish everybody would stop suffering so they didn’t have to think about it. They want to absolve them selves of the guilt of existing, of responsibility to do something, of the overwhelming task of mending every pain everywhere all at once, spinning plates. If only some spirit bomb would detonate and obliterate all the suffering. If only some plague would come and infect, killing off every bit of discomfort in the world. You can’t ask them if this is what they mean by the way, about their own suffering. You’ll offend and face backlash and persecution for even having the thought, for having their feelings as a thought, for bringing their truth to light. Logic will be their last stand, speaking of some science of empathy, harping on ethics, gesturing towards some grand unity, the world mother. They are still sucklings. They will exhaust every formation and all the artillery and they may even win, though not in total defeat but upon strategic retreat. Do not waste your time. What is it that pains them so to admit that the suffering of others is a thorn in their side- better a burr in their sock, a loose hair in their collar, really the sound of somebody chewing just too loud.
They despise human suffering. They despise humans for suffering. It must be eradicated. So at what measure is this accomplished? Pointing to the future, to innovations far off if ever, to education programs that would require complete subjugation and brain wash, to technologies that would demand suffering to even create, they point towards dreams and things never seen in response to a condition that existed before sight.
They know the answer looms as a shadow over all their suggestions and they obscure it or deny. It is the actor of their own secret willing, King Arthur with the sword from the stone, the only ox powerful enough to til this compacted stoney field, authoritarian mobilization. It is forced order and it awaits a command, for what tactic would one prefer? We’re ending food shortage, property and territory dispute, mistreatment of groups, mental illness, general violence, loneliness. We can try “stand in single file and await your rations” wherein the rations are so optimal that the human desire for more and greater will be filled, fat and happy. Reclined and retired in the oppression of satiation no one could have the drive to take from or strike at another, or much else. That will free up any suffering at the hands of policing too. As for mental sufferings, from a hat, let's say jealousy of another’s good looks, an envy. Shall we apply horse blinds? Veiled population? End human face to face interaction all together? Or do we open the skull, maybe infiltrate with chemicals and reorganize the human brain, make it something else, the brain of something else. To end human suffering must we end humanity all together? Or is this desire to annihilate all suffering a desire to annihilate the self, ones own existence, perverted through suckling, latched to teet and drawn towards return to the womb?
In reflection of this impossibility one fractures into shards, sorting the contradictions in to combusted compartments. Contained without give to the gravity of whichsoever lunar dilemma, with an emotional ocean free of tide, of swell and recede, the inner pacifist and authoritarian moons can never know of the other and never cross. When bisected so, or trisected and onward, so many looking glasses appear, like snow globes with the world in variants. Consider the loser geek’s fascination with a Rick and Marvel Morty multiverse. Anyway, it can be quite sexy to see the total hero, elevated in justice against an innocent world in gratitude, to be noble of purpose and cause with dedicated focus toward a supreme moral good- and totally unfuckable, unreachable, and hotter still in this vacuum of possibility. In clashing chorus the wound music boxes of multiple snow globes pluck out unreconcilable notes. One toe taps as the other foot swings out of time and the mind whirls chasing melodies stacked and mixed as the shards collect to face each other in a hall of mirrors closing in, carnival calliope in disarray. It’s messy.
It’s tantalizing to reach for ideals such as peace, equality and charity, but it is a blow against one’s unity with the world to bestow in to any of these ideals the energy of obsessive earthly conquest. Tantalus brought his son Pelops, sacrificed and boiled as stew, to a banquet of the Gods to test their omniscience, foolishly. In his eternal punishment Tantalus stands in a pool of water where branches of a fruit tree hang just above. Whenever Tantalus bends to drink of the water, the water recedes from him, and when Tantalus reaches up for the fruit they retract, and so exists Tantalus never having either again.
One only adds turmoil to the monument of worldly suffering when one’s bone snapping contortion of perception, boiled Pelops, a lie before the pillars of reality, this implication that what is perceived as world suffering can and should be done away with, proves to be a rupture in the fabric of life.