There's this thing that resounds against my skull: this hateful pendulum that says over and over that you can't do it. The voice hates me, but it's as much a part of me as anything else. I want to listen to it so much more than I want to ignore it.
The voice, I think, is what people always used to think Satan probably was.
Now, in my life, with the accumulated knowledge we have, a person like myself can gather that Satan is something, someone, that might deserve sympathy. After all, even if Satan is something outside ourselves, Satan is also something INside ourselves. So we sympathize with Satan, in a hope that there is a part of ourselves that is redeemable.
Hate is a part of the human condition. People want to accept love without hate, despite the fact that so very many people think their the same emotion, expressed in a different way. Hate is love, love is hate, but we want them to be mutually exclusive.
Even if they are two different things, it seems like they are, in some way, inseperable.
There's this idea of quantum intanglement, that once two things are bound, on the atomic level, they become literally inseperable. Look it up, maybe I'm badly misinformed. Do the better math.
Hate against ourselves, versus hate against others. We focus it one place or another. Is Satan real? Is Satan this thing that bound itself to us at some point in the human history that we discovered? The evolutionary tangle that we keep trying to unravel? Satan is breathing down our necks, while god keeps whispering in our ears.
And yet, we're the humans in the middle of it all. We're the ones that keep trying to make our way. Our brains keep working, figuring things out, making our lives harder even on ourselves, while our lips grind against the vibrations that tell the story, the simple little symbols that create the world around us, and we frame the world the way we want to see it.
So many of us will die, will give up our lives to this imagination that exists outside the world we really want, that's just barely outside our grip. It's so close, so easy to grab, but so many of us never will, won't even bother to try and see it, because it's so hard, for so long. If we just held it, just jumped through the flash and crash of what happened around it, we would all come out the other side. Wouldn't we?
I imagine sometimes that I have died a hundred times, already, and that this is Hell, and Heaven, that their the same thing, and that we all had the wrong idea, and we're so confused that trying to make it make sense in words just comes out like this, like a jumble, like no sense, like fragments, like little things. Dead is alive, alive is dead, and it never stops, we have no idea, and it makes perfect sense.
The voice, I think, is what people always used to think Satan probably was.
Now, in my life, with the accumulated knowledge we have, a person like myself can gather that Satan is something, someone, that might deserve sympathy. After all, even if Satan is something outside ourselves, Satan is also something INside ourselves. So we sympathize with Satan, in a hope that there is a part of ourselves that is redeemable.
Hate is a part of the human condition. People want to accept love without hate, despite the fact that so very many people think their the same emotion, expressed in a different way. Hate is love, love is hate, but we want them to be mutually exclusive.
Even if they are two different things, it seems like they are, in some way, inseperable.
There's this idea of quantum intanglement, that once two things are bound, on the atomic level, they become literally inseperable. Look it up, maybe I'm badly misinformed. Do the better math.
Hate against ourselves, versus hate against others. We focus it one place or another. Is Satan real? Is Satan this thing that bound itself to us at some point in the human history that we discovered? The evolutionary tangle that we keep trying to unravel? Satan is breathing down our necks, while god keeps whispering in our ears.
And yet, we're the humans in the middle of it all. We're the ones that keep trying to make our way. Our brains keep working, figuring things out, making our lives harder even on ourselves, while our lips grind against the vibrations that tell the story, the simple little symbols that create the world around us, and we frame the world the way we want to see it.
So many of us will die, will give up our lives to this imagination that exists outside the world we really want, that's just barely outside our grip. It's so close, so easy to grab, but so many of us never will, won't even bother to try and see it, because it's so hard, for so long. If we just held it, just jumped through the flash and crash of what happened around it, we would all come out the other side. Wouldn't we?
I imagine sometimes that I have died a hundred times, already, and that this is Hell, and Heaven, that their the same thing, and that we all had the wrong idea, and we're so confused that trying to make it make sense in words just comes out like this, like a jumble, like no sense, like fragments, like little things. Dead is alive, alive is dead, and it never stops, we have no idea, and it makes perfect sense.