on common envy against race of immortals

it is so common to embrace envy against the race of immortals,
out of jealousy, and projection of our own wishes against their nature,
just because we are mortals, and are insufficient in our life's tenancy,
and range of experience we can possess,
that there is a trend of making a cant to denigrate their reputation, it so dominates the type of literature we have it is becoming an obsession.

in our envious way we imagine there is a song, a narrative or a purpose for any phenomenon of nature, like for that of a bird, a river, an orchard,
or a piece of bread with a cup of wine.
and that they must all convey the universal tragic, the universal pain, the universal meaninglessness. the existential problems. 
it is generating opinions against phenomena we do not like as we have no power against or do not understand, 
very sad thing, this envy itself is, for we do not know anything beyond sadness and forever living the battle against sadness is possible.

And against immortals, we imagine them beset with an outrageous number of woes;
this we did out of the need to humanize them, for we cannot live with the truth that, there could be a universe wherein there is no humanity,
and there could be a kind of existence without worry or suffering, and is content with itself; for we are not like so, and are not content.

for we are like so if we live a long life, we imagine them to be like so too,
the "imagination" we did from exactly the lack of it…
the "creativity" we found in our deficiency to create anything that is not self-implied.  
that we did all the philosophisings and lyricizings to hide what is beyond, instead of searching for the place beyond, what our perception, morality and humanity could see.

----we imagine that it is hard to find for immortals constant partners sharing their immortality,
we imagine them to be only able to live unchaste, devoid of romantic fulfilment.
because we know that divorce exists in our species.

----and because we lose erotic appeals and drives of lively energy in a long life, we imagine them to be a race that although could live on everlastingly,
the virtue of their manhood and feminine beauty must be in gradual wane and decline all the time,
and endless aging causes them similar sufferings like it is so in mortals.
(to imagine the ageless Jupiter,
to be an old man with no power to erect
in the morn; and his thunderous roars,
are feeble protests of a cuckoldom against the unfaithful wife of divine state Juno,
cheating on him once again out of a whim with a young leman,
instead of the reverse…
is that not humane of us to imagine it to be like so, the jealous and ugly mortals?
but even if it is in its original conception, did we not only hide
the Jupiter's secret cuckoldom from our mouths?
that which is being threatened: the potent, wise, invincible godhood in men?)

----because we are constantly suffering under any sort of oppression and power struggles,
we imagine them to be under some sort of universal power's oppression and to constantly struggle for power likewise,
and there is a reason for their coming to existence.
thus we have invented stories of cosmogeny, so many wonder-lies we tell ourselves that we could subsist like so because we have become sufficient enough in history.

---we imagine them to be bored, for we find the small world we are in and the much too long life for it, to be boring all the time.
for there is nothing decadent enough to do on Saturdays, we invented the boredom of gods.
the devil that dwells in the empty churches, and the filled churchyards.

yet at the end, what could our feeble imaginations do to the truth behind those immortals?
could our imagining their non-existing pains and troubles bring those to them in the actual?
could an elegiac note about the bird's death in unrequited love with the heaven stop a hawk taking flight?
(in truth What he the hawk seeks, I say,
should be laid bare and known to Man at all?
that whether there is a fire in him, the heaven-tearing bird with his cold talons.
driving him hotter than the razor-like inferno of love?)

what is in our power to say "Nay, this could not be"?
or "Yea, this should be like so"?
the world flows on without care of what language we use for flowers,
what moral we designate the stars,
and what purpose there is for each creature's death.

therefore I say that immortal youkais of the mountains,
and Princess Kaguya born of the shades of bamboos,
and root-eating wyrms below bog-hugged Yggdrasil,
Peter, disciple of the great horned God Pan in his uncreated island,
will take all flight now----
with wings of misty water and wings of aether and wings of sound,
with the dust of faries…
towards the dark canvass of night, where candlelight of lunar and other heavens reaches not,
regardless of whether I dictate that they must do so,
and whereto they must all go.

--
thus we shall become all that is humane,
but all that is inhumane will not become us.
For a garden is a barrier we have erected against
the despicable natural world, that derides us, bereaves us, reduces us;
and could only befriend us, when we go before a beautiful stallion,
with a horse-crop.
this is a shallow paradise, the only one we have, for it is called Universe.