Congratulivings, ye Childer of Akenhatunwake! Methinks, somewinklings among yee fancy as Muslimans, Chrishtians, Judeites, or whosoevers, but beknowst to me deep drown heart, ye’ve the mark of Akenhatunwake, the godslayer, the divershatter. Olden fascishism, like rivers deep in Erin’s heart. This mono-theosing, wiping away pantheons, not just bidding gods goodnight, but muting Mother Nature herself, springing forth those religiosities that scorn earthly respirations, dreaming instead of endlesseverafter in some hearafterly Happymorrowland. But, hold! Worsened tales to tell! This pinning of spiritualities to stonewalled temples, churchly chambers, mosqued domains, or timetied events like yulemas or moonfasting – it separates soulfolk from the naturae spiritus, the daily dawning divine. No fabula this, but truthick fact! Behaviours do shine a tad brighter in sanctly sites, during yuletides or crescentmorns. Seems heartwarm, till ye glimpse it’s but a petticoat ruffian offering roses for Val’s day, thinking it cloaks the harmhands he dealt his dame. Before ye were branded by faithnames, born of here-or-theres, ye were mere seed and shell, poised to bloom fully human, unburdened by Akenhatunwake’s shadow. Akenhatdream, your binding chain.