We the Hollow Men, we the stuffed men, are as neutered Christians. Have we become empty suits? Leaning together in our meetings, is our gentle speech meaningless? Like the wind passing the dried grass. Have we become a paralyzed form within the gospel of Christ? A paralyzed force. Gesture without motion.
We speak of the virtue of the gospel and then tuck it away. Shape without form, shade without colour. We believe in the celestial law, but sanction the telestial and give it life. We're the broken column the sun shines upon. Instead of suits, we should properly adorn ourselves as the scarecrow, the hollowed man, the stuffed man with clothes of crowskin, rat's coat and staves. Behaving only as the wind behaves.
When the men that are professed followers of Christ reach that unseen kingdom, in that final meeting. This is the dead land, the cactus land, when all our professed knowledge of the restored celestial law we kept hidden from others and were ashamed of the patriarchal order and became the hollow men allowing for a matriarchal society (Isaiah 3:12) and joined with the world in preaching humanism instead of the laws of God. Here our works are a stone image under the twinkling of a fading star. Our prayers fall upon broken stone.
In deaths twilight kingdom, we shall gather together as a valley of dying stars. A hollow valley, for hollow men, stuffed men. When we meet for the last time in deaths kingdom we shall grope together, with no speech, sharing the hope of only empty men.
There we will dance around the dried cactus eternally stuck between the idea and reality, between the motion and the act - for this is our inherited kingdom. Men lost between the conception and the creation, between the emotion and the response - falls our shadow and eternity is very long.
This is how our time in this world ends, as stuffed men, hollowed men, men of empty suits. We stand for nothing and allow everything, the world does not go out in a bang, but a whimper.