We poisoned ourselves. I was complicit in it but we all had our part to play. Grief, anger, ego, curiosity, four ingredients we all brought into our group. Useful in small amounts. Dangerous when concentrated. Lethal when there's enough for you all to drown in it. I'm sorry for what I've done. Helping you doesn't make up for any of it, my death doesn't roll back the clock. It was never a punishment for me if I was going to instrumentalize it.
I don't have an answer for the four of you. They stole my papers away when I died and even if you had them, I don't know if you have the time you need to delve into them, create another way. I don't have a solution going forward for what this world needs and what it should be like. I always agreed it should never be like this, but I'm a historian, not a philosopher or ethicist or strategist.
What I do have to offer is the last word. They thought they quieted me, and I'm glad you never told them otherwise. That is, of course, assuming you get these messages or theirs. I can feel my control slipping; I hope it goes somewhere useful.
The best way to offset a poison like this isn't just to purge it; that's often too late. The best solution is dilution. Broaden your horizons. Be in the world. Think, question, reason, accept when you're wrong. Grow. You're never too old to grow or change. Take it from the dead woman, hypocritical as this advice may be coming from a scholarly shut-in. Grow, learn, love. Bolster the self and it will endure until your dying breath and beyond.
Good luck. I believe in you. I always believed from the start.
https://thecoffin.club