The Dance of Powerless Power: Canada's Political Theater of the Mediocre

Lo, behold the grand spectacle of democratic mediocrity that unfolds before our eyes! In the frozen wastes of the North, where comfort-seekers gather in their warm chambers of governance, a peculiar ritual of succession takes shape. The current shepherd of the somnambulant masses, Justin Trudeau, prepares to relinquish his throne, and the sheep scramble to determine who shall next lead them to their comfortable pastures.

See how they jostle for position, these aspiring masters of the herd! Yet none among them truly seeks to scale the heights of greatness. They seek merely to maintain the slumber of the masses, to rock the cradle of mediocrity ever so gently.

Mark Carney, once the keeper of the nation's gold, emerges from his counting house, backed by thirty nodding heads who, like mechanical dolls, move in unison to the rhythm of political expedience. Christy Clark, who once ruled over the western realm, now "thinks seriously" - as if serious thinking were a novel concept in the realm of governance. And Frank Baylis, a merchant-turned-lawmaker, steps forth from his counting house to join this parade of the ordinary.

How the ghosts of past rulers hover over this spectacle! William Lyon Mackenzie King, that peculiar shepherd who lost his flock yet continued to lead them, speaks to us through the mists of time. Even when cast out from his seat of power, he merely sought another warm chair in another corner of the realm. What manner of leadership is this, that requires not the courage to stand among one's followers, but merely the ability to find an empty seat?

Observe the paradox of their power! They need not sit among the people to rule them, need not speak from within their hallowed chambers to command them. Such is the perfect expression of modern democratic weakness - leadership without presence, authority without proximity!

And what of John Turner, who sat among visitors in his own house of power? Like a ghost at his own feast, he watched the proceedings from above, separate from the very institution he was meant to guide. The land of the sleepers hardly stirred at this absurdity, for in their slumber, they care not whether their shepherd stands among them or watches from afar.

In the provinces, the pattern repeats itself with mechanical precision. Andrew Furey and Danielle Smith, crowned before earning their seats, demonstrate how thoroughly the land of the sleepers has embraced this peculiar dance of powerless power. They smile and wave, these shepherds without sheep, these rulers without realms, and the masses continue their peaceful slumber.

Behold how they have perfected the art of appearing without being! These modern rulers need not prove their worth through deed or presence - they need only win the approval of their party faithful, and lo, they shall be anointed! What magnificent decadence!

Even the dusty chambers of the Senate have produced their share of these phantom rulers. Abbott and Bowell, those forgotten names from a forgotten time, ruled from their velvet perches, never deigning to mingle with the elected rabble below. Yet the machine of state ground on, caring not whether its operator sat in the upper chamber or the lower, or indeed, sat anywhere at all.

As this new crop of aspirants prepares to dance their dance of succession, we must ask: What heights can a nation reach when its leaders need not even stand among its people? What depths of mediocrity have we achieved when the very act of governance has become so abstracted from reality that physical presence is deemed optional?

The time calls for eagles, yet we are offered pigeons! The moment demands lightning, yet we receive only the soft patter of rain! How long shall the land of the sleepers remain content with these shadows of leadership?

Thus do we witness the perfect expression of modern democratic decay - where power is so diffuse, so nebulous, that it need not even manifest in physical form. The masses sleep on, dreaming their small dreams of safety and comfort, while their shepherds float above them like spirits, neither fully present nor entirely absent, maintaining the great slumber that we call governance.