There are old sayings of humans: “The value of a man is what he does with power.” And “Power is like a beast; either you tame it or become its food.” -- Anon Guest.
There is a third: Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. All are true simultaneously. Be wary of any Human leader who uses power like a flyswatter, but also of those who dispense their power with tweezers. There is a fourth: It is not how strong you are, but where and how you use that strength that matters.
In some cases, it would have been wise for leaders to know and understand every single one of these sayings. Money is power. Time is money. Imagine if power could be converted into actual hours and minutes of a lifespan. There would be no stopping the wrong kind of leader. Thankfully, the conversion is one way. Time is money. Money is power. There is no way to buy extra time, no matter how hard you try to cheat.
Presented for your approval... the wrong kind of leader... Past or present, it doesn't really matter. There are many, even in the future. Pick an era that suits you. The leader has, through assorted foul deeds, taken his position on an exalted seat. In a prized palace. Wearing the pinnacle of raiments as befit a head of... a city, a state, a nation, a world... take your pick. The blood on his hands is only visible to those who can see souls. The corruption of his heart is no longer visible, since he has arranged for the deaths of all his detractors. He has made it illegal for anyone else to strive for his position. His word is law. His reign is absolute. Nobody can come close enough to harm him and, thanks to a supremacy of weaponry, nobody dare try. Nevertheless...
Once upon a time... The leader in his glorious raiment and shining bright finds himself alone in his own palace. A restless night, an empty stomach, a passing fancy, a strange noise... something wakes him from the slumber of a leader and sets him wandering were nobody else is allowed to tread. On that path, he meets... a vision.
A poverty-stricken wretch, old and withered, starving, filthy, sick, and covered in sores. Out of place in the artificial paradise of the palace. Blind, rheumy eyes turn towards him. A skeletal finger points towards him. A voice issues forth from a cadaverous mouth, full of rotten teeth. "Memento quod sis mortalis."
Does he know what the words mean? Does he know enough of the culture around them to keep in mind the full context of their use? Does he know that those paraded in glory once/have/will had/have a slave perched by their ear to whisper those words? Or does he, in utter ignorance, try to strike the peasant figure down? It doesn't really matter.
He wakes, discovering that this was merely a dream. Yet the words stay with him like an echo that never fades. Memento quod sis mortalis... He ignores them, as he has ignored so many other warnings. Pushes them under with trivialities. With orders for his guard. With new laws to stop uprisings before they start. With stricter control on every living thing around him.
Yet, whenever there is a moment of quiet, he hears it. Memento quod sis mortalis...
Night after night, he dreams of the ugly beggar. Day after day, he hears the words.
All his power. All his might. All his laws. All the king's horses and all the king's men... None of them can stop those four words.
He demands music to drown them out. He demands distractions. He demands potions that will stop the dreams. Nothing works. If he is ignorant of the meaning, he asks it. He finds out.
They would give the worthy a parade, for all the people to see. No matter how high the worthy was, they had by their side the lowest of the low, to whisper in their ear...
Remember that you are mortal...
Does the race begin? Does he submit? Does he attempt to conquer Death itself? Does he dwindle into madness and witness someone else with blood on their hands and corruption in their heart take his throne, his raiment, and his palace? The story is already told, a thousand times or more. The story has yet to be told, until the end of time.
Power, like money, has to be spent. Time, like money, is always spent. Most importantly, nobody can beat the Reaper.
A life is spent. The worth of it is all in how that is done.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / McIninch]
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