Blood on the Altar of the Self
Once upon a time, they laid the infant on a stone slab, arms raised to the sky, begging the gods for rain, for favor, for deliverance. The drums pounded to drown out the screams. The priests said it was necessary — the crops had failed, the people were hungry, and the gods demanded something pure.
It was barbaric.
It was vile.
It was human history.
And it never ended.
We just changed the altar.
Today, the stone is polished tile. The priest wears scrubs. The god isn’t Baal or Moloch — it’s “me.”
My body.
My choice.
My future.
My peace.
My prosperity.
My career.
My timeline.
My clean slate.
Same logic. Same blood.
We didn’t abolish child sacrifice.
We internalized it.
We made it sacred to the self.
We no longer claim to serve a deity above. We serve the god within — and that god is insatiable.
We are told this is progress.
That we've become enlightened.
That we have rights.
But ask yourself — is it really “freedom” when it comes at the cost of annihilating your own seed?
Is it empowerment to declare the most innocent among us as disposable?
Is it compassion to normalize this under the banner of health?
Or are we just better at hiding the ritual behind softer words and cleaner rooms?
We once sacrificed for fear of nature’s wrath.
Now we sacrifice so we don’t have to cancel a vacation.
We shame the ancients for tossing infants into fire.
But we cheer when modernity tosses them into trash bins — with applause.
We weep over ancient barbarism, then post a TikTok celebrating the freedom to kill.
We build shrines to self-preservation,
and call it justice
.
We call it healthcare.
We call it choice.
We call it rights.
But the truth is more ancient than language:
We still kill our children for the hope of a better life.
Now, look in the mirror.
Strip away the slogans.
Silence the politics.
Ask yourself —
DO YOU CONDONE CHILD SACRIFICE?
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