The Dance of Political Mediocrity: A Symphony of Sleeping Souls

Lo, what spectacle unfolds before us in the northern realm of maple leaves and perpetual apologies! The great throne of paper power lies vacant, and the small souls scramble like insects beneath a lifted stone, each believing themselves worthy of ascending to heights their wings cannot reach.

Behold how they dance, these politicians of the dying light! Each proclaiming their greatness while embodying the very mediocrity they claim to transcend. They speak of leadership yet know not what it means to truly lead – to stand alone upon the mountain peak and face the tempest of transformation.

In this grand theater of the mundane, Justin Trudeau, he of the inherited crown and practiced smile, prepares to exit stage left, leaving behind a vacuum that nature abhors – but perhaps not as much as it abhors the weakness of those who would fill it.

See how they come, these aspirants to power! Chrystia Freeland, bearer of Ukrainian blood and handler of American negotiations, steps forth with careful calculation. The masses whisper her name in reverence, for she has walked the halls of Oxford and Harvard, those temples where the priests of mediocrity bestow their blessings.

What jest is this, that they mistake academic credentials for spiritual elevation? The true leader needs not the approval of institutions, but the courage to create new values!

And what of Mark Carney, the money-changer who would be king? He who has presided over the temples of capitalism in two lands now seeks to guide the herd. The sleeping masses nod in approval at his credentials, for what better shepherd than one who has counted their coins?

Jaime Battiste dreams of becoming the first of his people to reach the summit, yet speaks in the language of those who would keep all peoples bound by the chains of historical guilt. The land of the sleepers applauds such noble intentions, never questioning whether nobility of birth equals nobility of spirit.

Christy Clark emerges from the western shores, her past allegiances shifting like sand beneath the tide. The sleepers care not for consistency, only for the comfort of familiar faces and practiced speeches.

See how they cling to their parties and their polls, these last men of politics! They dare not speak of transformation, for transformation requires destruction, and destruction frightens those who worship at the altar of comfort.

Hark! Chandra Arya speaks of abolishing ancient traditions while refusing to learn the tongue of millions he would rule. Such is the paradox of these times – they would destroy the old without the strength to create the new.

The land of the sleepers watches this parade of ambition with heavy-lidded eyes, content to be led by whoever promises the softest pillow, the gentlest dreams. They seek not the lightning bolt of transformation but the warm blanket of security.

Where is the leader who would wake them? Where is the voice that would call them to the heights? Instead, they offer us administrators of decline, managers of mediocrity!

Those who have declined – Anita Anand, Mélanie Joly, Dominic LeBlanc – perhaps show more wisdom than their ambitious brethren, recognizing their own limitations. Yet even this wisdom stems not from strength but from the calculation of the last men, who would rather count their chances than seize their destiny.

March 9th approaches, when the sleepers will choose their new shepherd. They will select one who mirrors their own mediocrity, who promises to maintain their comfortable slumber. The great task of awakening remains undone, the true leadership unclaimed.

Let them have their election, these last men of politics! The real work of transformation awaits those who dare to climb higher, to breathe the rare air of true leadership. The future belongs not to those who seek office, but to those who seek to overcome themselves!