My Writings

The Dream

I built for myself a dream. A nugget of want at first, unrealized, formless. A new-born hope, besieged immediately by the evil of my low nature. Through its beautiful promise, I wanted to rule, I sought to be worshipped.

Whatever form it takes, the ego is equally repulsive. And how many opportunities to feed it – a desire to rule, to be loved, to be great. Name and fame. Then – the lower vices, women, food, and drink. But also to be seen as pure, to appear humble, to seem infallible. And the greatest of them all – to be god.

The weakling within is ever-present, scheming, thirsty for the next cheap thrill. To fall on the ground and convulse in excess, its squeals disgustingly. I looked at that pitiful display and I saw a broken child, sobbing, begging to be acknowledged.

The who the Lord did not bless. Look at me, he screams. Accept me or I will continue to hurt myself. The more you look away from me, the closer to your ear my screams will be. I want to be hit hard in the gut, and, unable to draw breath, to lay in the mud awhile. Give me more time. I want more time. I want more.

So I looked him in the eye. And I let him sit on my throne – it was what he wanted, to let him see how small he was. Yes, come, I will give you a beating. You have come asking for it, why now do you hesitate? There is a price to pay.

Do you see that it is far greater than you imagined?

The bridge to perfection is built by sacrifice. And yet, it is nothing compared to the cost of weakness.

Do you see now?

I see.

We shall see.


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