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The feeling of destroying the capacity for inward peace, an insane dance |
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with the angels of innocence admist thorns and in frenzy, the warmth of |
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a divine blessing, a daringness which prevailed over any imaginable fear |
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hovering on the brink of a voluntary act of contrition, but soon all pales |
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besides the cry this shattering truth wrests from all fellow men, there is |
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more to it than suffering and sounds of suffering, it is a process that only |
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the extinction of a divine sould could terminate. The eye can outstare neither |
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the sun, nor death... if I sought God it was in delirium and in the delight of |
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temptation. |
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The idea of Salvation comes, I believe, from the one whom suffering breaks |
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apart. He who masters it, on the contrary, needs to be broken, to proceed |
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on the path towards the rupture. |
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Nothing of what man can know, to this end, could be evaded without |
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degradation, without sin, - is it no burdento bear the repellent scars of |
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abandon, of election? - it leaves but a state of supplication and deserted |
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expanses, an absorption into despair. The existence of things cannot enclose |
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the death which it brings to me; the existence is itself projected into my |
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death, and it is my death which encloses it. Am I deranged? Over and above |
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quietism! Nurtured by the multitude of man's misfortunes, a thousand halos |
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like torches in the night of the spirit, a thousand traps, pitfalls of brimstone |
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and the empty sky, prostrated face against the earth in frantic laughter... |
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I was beyond withstanding my own ignominy. I invoked it and blessed it. |
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I progressed even further into vileness and degradation. Am I resurging, |
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intact, out of infamy? |
