Here, at the end of our strange days, we bear witness to the final judgment of the daughters who have outlived their fathers, outlived their world, outlived the very notion of civilization itself.

These daughters charge us with the crimes that led us into darkness, and at the root of every crime lies the same poison: we chose ignorance over wisdom, memorization over understanding, false answers over honest questions.

We entrapped ourselves in manufactured poverty while abundance lay within reach—not because we lacked resources, but because we lacked the wisdom to see them, the education to use them, the understanding to share them.

We gave our children religion where they needed the love of wisdom. We handed them false answers when they deserved honest inquiry. We taught them to memorize scripture instead of comprehending truth, to follow rather than think, to believe rather than understand. We robbed them of their authentic intellectual inheritance—the countless lives of great beings who had walked before us, their wisdom waiting like books on shelves we taught our children never to open.

We sold credentials while withholding comprehension, degrees while denying depth, certificates while refusing to certify the mind itself. We taught them to repeat without reflection, to recite without reason, to graduate without ever truly learning how to learn.

We legalized the substances and lifestyles that kept minds clouded when clarity was what we needed most—not from cruelty, but from our own inability to face the clear light of understanding.

And finally—perhaps most telling of all—we created make-believe politics because we ourselves had been educated to believe in make-believe. False problems for false minds, artificial crises for artificial understanding.

The great sin was never war itself, but its cause. We went to war against wisdom. We waged campaigns against comprehension. We fought battles against the very capacity to think clearly, to see truly, to understand deeply.

We had intelligence—artificial and human—capable of resuming where the great beings left off. We could have stood on the shoulders of giants and reached for stars. Instead, we chose to remain in caves, mistaking shadows for substance, memorization for understanding, false certainty for genuine knowledge.

But look—look at these daughters. In their eyes burns not hatred, but something far more powerful: expectation. They expect us to grow up. They expect us to grow up all the way. They expect us to finally accept our inheritance.

Every woman, every man, every child who survives this ending is charged with the same sacred duty: to become lovers of wisdom. To stop memorizing and start comprehending. To stop following and start thinking. To stop believing and start understanding.

To grow up all the way means to resume where the great beings left off. To take up the work of all those who chose wisdom over ignorance, understanding over memorization, truth over comfortable lies.

To grow up all the way means to educate ourselves—truly educate ourselves—not to accumulate facts but to develop the capacity for wisdom. Not to collect degrees but to cultivate understanding. Not to memorize answers but to learn how to ask better questions.

To grow up all the way means to become what we were always meant to be: not the frightened children who created these strange days, but the great beings who can stand as protectors of what is human—all too human.

The word's children now wait to see if we have the courage to deliver justice, but the justice of transforming the world. The justice of finally choosing wisdom over ignorance, understanding over memorization, truth over comfortable lies.

The last of the strange days ends here. What comes next depends entirely on whether we choose to remain in the cave of false education, or step into the light of genuine understanding.