I like to think of Mennonites as wheat-fairing Klingon pirates, riding enormous steam-punk land-based clipper ships across amber waves of grain; battling roving Reaver-like Bolsheviks who's lust for rage and little else is whispered as legend throughout all the land. Two societies at war over lifestyle ideology - reapers and sewers dancing an often violent dance of mortification and glorification over identical acts of greedy compassion; selfless rapaciousness - both sides mindless in their instinctual race of race - continuity through procreation and longevity of life. Cycles upon cycles of birth and death forever while the world changes around their unchanging moralities.
I defy gravity, circling my way around spinning orbs of spinning orbs observing this behavior; cataloging it, enjoying the piety of one society the day before appreciating the wantonness of the other. Patterns of sin emerging as temporal crimes against each in a dizzying array of undulating finger-pointing with the only definition of sin being that which counters the other, blind to the societal knives subjectively spiting their noses for the objectivity of welfare: peace, war; life, death; virility, vitriolically.
Struggles that struggle with inflexibility break cosmic rules which have proven far more accurate than flawed suggestions of man. Those point to their own works as proof they should be followed, circularly debating instead of equating; congregating in numbers for strength of shared mediocrity over the ebb and tide of flaccidity and rigidity - creation, interspersed with frustration - masturbation for inspiration; a means to an end more poignant insofar as the journey is the point of the journey no matter the artificial borders we construct as destination.
You want to live there? Create it yourself.