In death there is no quiet peace. We have learned this, and while we willingly bear the weight of this sin, we long for a restoration of that innocence that can never be reclaimed. While we know there is no final rest, no great reward, we take comfort in the fact that, even for this brief moment, this is our world, and everything in it is our dominion for the time at hand. We stand center stage in the theater of the oldest war, and witness the weariness of those that gnash their teeth and bare their claws, but we do not move. We have eaten the fruit, and we are aware. We are in control of our own kingdom. We are frail but inexorable. We are Cogito.