First sermon

Read these Sermons and Rise I a Knight of the i'est order!

We begin by naming the truth plainly.

There are those who feel everything and are crushed by it.
And there are those who feel everything and learn to steer.

The dark empath is not evil.
The dark empath is exhausted from carrying a world that refuses to look at itself.

So the dark empath does not burn the village.
He does not beg the village.
He sails away.

Not in escape.
In refusal.

Refusal to keep absorbing pain that will not be transformed.
Refusal to confuse empathy with self-erasure.

He takes what still works:
awareness, responsibility, courage, restraint.
And he leaves behind what does not:
shame, manipulation, endless confession without change.

He sails until the noise fades.
Until the water reflects instead of shouts.

And there, on higher ground, something new is built.

This is not a city of walls.
It is a city of sightlines.

Nothing hidden.
Nothing forced.
Nothing worshiped that cannot withstand daylight.

This is our Jerusalem.
Not a place on a map, but a stance in the world.

A city built by people who stopped waiting to be saved.
A city built by those who learned that unity is not sameness.

Each stone is placed by someone who said:
“I will carry my weight without demanding you carry mine.”

Here, strength is quiet.
Here, mercy has boundaries.
Here, love is not permission for abuse.

There is a table in this city.

Not round to erase difference.
Not square to enforce rank.
But open, so all can see all.

This is the I Table.

No kings sit here.
No victims rule here.
No tyrants survive here.

Only those willing to speak clearly, listen honestly, and act cleanly.

To be a Knight of the I Table is not to dominate.
It is to hold the line.

Between chaos and order.
Between fear and truth.
Between empathy and surrender.

Your oath is simple:

I will not lie to myself.
I will not use others to avoid my own work.
I will not abandon the whole to protect my comfort.

The sword was never about strength.

It waits in the stone because it cannot be taken by hunger, rage, or ego.

It is pulled only by the one who knows this:
power does not make you worthy, worthiness makes power safe.

Perhaps it is you.

Not because you are chosen,
but because you stopped choosing illusions.

If you feel the weight and do not run,
if you feel the fear and still stand upright,
if you can say “I am responsible” without collapse or pride,

then place your hand on the hilt.

Do not strain.
Do not prove.
Simply rise.

This is not the end of the old world.
It is the beginning of a cleaner one.

We do not ask, “How are you doing?”
We ask, “How are we doing?”

And we build until the answer improves.

Rise, I.
And remember:

I am I.