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The Great Weapon   

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Richard Lala March 2026 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the years before the times were told, there was a weapon made of the Sun. ​​

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The “heavenly” lens was supposedly designed to enhance crop growth. A massive lens that followed the sun’s path from what we call modern day Mongolia in the East to Nevada in the West. The whole world knew peace then, a shared ‘Terrainianism’, where all life was treasured and respected…from the ancient scorpion to the notorious black widow. Their nipping stings might well hurt, but their venom had no effect when met with the medical advancements of Earth’s civilisation in harmony. There was no notion of profit from aid in those days, life was life and all were cherished vibration, expressions of the very land they lived on. 

 

But where there is harmony there is disharmony; you can not have Yin without Yang, there can be no light without darkness, no rest without action…and unrest had been festering in the darkest pockets of the complacent civilisation. Twisted minds poisoned by the terrible thoughts they harboured. You see, too much peace can corrupt the susceptible; those poor souls raised wrong, neglected and left to be manipulated by the misguidance of the miserable. 

 

The wise men [Wizards] advised that, theoretically, there can be no good without bad, no balance without imbalance, no push without pull, no fall without flight, but they were scoffed as fools by the not so bright. Mocked as “panic-merchants” and “celibacy hermits”, lost to annihilation spirals of self destruction, condemned by the narrow-minded, and tarnished, defamed with lurid names and unsavoury, undeserved reputations. The mentality-stunted will try by whatever means to drag down the golden worthy to the lowly, putrid depths beneath them. 

 

You see, when times are good no one wants to admit the inevitable; the Winter blows follows the Harvest, and while cider-drunk rejoicing celebrates full bellies, the balance of nature is a harmony through the Spring and Autumn gateways, between Summer and Winter, feast and famine. Teaching us that we can’t properly appreciate unless we’ve gone without; that is why we celebrate the good times, ignoring the threat of unavoidable loss. ‘Prepare for the inevitable,’ the wizards said, but the dreamers would not listen. They could not bear for their ideological stance to be jeopardised or rocked in any way with information not agreed by a unified council of deluded hoodwinkers, fat-bellied on their illustrious lies. Same-track-minded as lemmings, they buried their heads in pleasure and left their ostrich-tails bare to what was coming. 

 

The plan was bold. ‘The best laid plans always are,’ declared the ‘weres’ [men], down in the secret rooms, too deep and far for the uninitiated to slip a listen. ‘We could have fruit the whole year through!’ Cheered the ‘wifs’ [women]. Little did they know that on the very council where the (supposedly) most trusted and self-appointed perched on seats of officialdom, lurked jealous cruelty, ruthless individuals with envy enough to eat the world into starvation. 

 

The huge disc was forged with gold and glass, so light it defied the electromagnetic pull the modernists might call, ‘Gravity’. The Solar Lens, nicknamed, “God’s Monocle”, floated in the sunlight, pulled by the heat. Warnings of “uncontrollable power” were declared by the wise, but those wizards were mocked like the theorising stone-gazers of today. Whenever a wise councillor asked, how such a device could be controlled, they were met with bewilderment. ‘Why would you ever want to stop it?’ Said their fellow councillors, doeeyed with secret long forgotten hypnotic sorcery. Many, harping obstinance, were dragged, stripped bare, into the town squares for public flogging, as horrified citizens looked on in disbelief at how their once peace-loving establishments seemed to be betraying the very notions they had once taken for granted common sense. But the fear of joining the humiliated, tied to poles in the town square, kept all in a lip-perched stare, eaten from within by the shame that they did nothing, kowtowed to the fascist face of rising totalitarian dictatorship. 

 

By the time the lens began its scorching, it was instantly too late. Far from fruitful, the hideous lens laser-burned the entire land. Like ants beneath a magnifying glass the people fled in terror to evade the scouring trail. The earth’s surface was decimated, turning rivers to ash and land to sand, melting buildings and forests in its fiery glare. The giants, for such things harmoniously existed then, tried as best they could to reach it and change it, but the lens’ power was such they were cast to stone, petrified into mountain ranges where they fell. 

 

Round and round the sun lens scorched a devastating trail across the land, boiling the oceans to steam, which in turn caused such devastating floods that society, as it was known, was entirely lost and eventually had to start again. Finally, the few surviving weres and wifs, hiding in the highest of mountain caves, for generations of lost years, tentatively left the darkened holes when the cursed lens eventually, thankfully, burnt itself out. 

 

It doesn’t take much to lose everything, but once the knowledge is gone, is it ever possible to regain it? Only now, as we view ancient artefacts with fresh eyes, do we see cymatic sound frequencies and sacred geometry carved into the very temple rock. Could we allow ourselves to imagine the people of the ancient world having natural technology? Were they harnessing the power of the ether? Did they burn themselves out, or were they betrayed by greedy unscrupulous villainy? Conned and killed, warred away and poisoned? Whatever happened, the knowledge was lost…lost and stolen hidden away. 

 

Imagine surviving a cataclysm, with all the knowledge you once held firmly, now gone, lost and blown away with the forgotten pages of history? The observer might well be drawn towards thoughts of the Great Library of Alexandria, pillaged and burned, setting humanity back by an estimated 2000 years. They say knowledge is power. But those who steal and covet that knowledge are not using it to restore Utopia. 

 

We remain gardeners without a garden, hitched to the drudgery of employment’s wagon, shackles so heavy we can barely stand to bear it, let alone escape it, advance through it, navigate its distracting force, or stand up to it’s deceptive face. Crushing cogs of a conveyor belt, never knowing what the other hand is doing. 

 

Hidden knowledge helps no one…for hidden things can never be truly celebrated. So whether they’re brightening or dimming the sun for whatever means they promise, we can be sure in the balance of nature, that any disruption is met by an equal and devastating resistance. 

 

Instead of being satisfied with the balanced scales, they wanted more. Don’t they always. Maybe when they’re done playing with the Sun, they’ll focus on the mirror in the sky, and tinker with the rain and do it all again, never really knowing the reasons why.