Post by Joshua, the Wayne on Jul 27, 2009 20:24:16 GMT -5
The views expressed in this piece are views I once had, months ago. My views so far have changed, though I keep this piece to remember who I once was--though now, I have found the Lonesome Road I must pass through to enter the Promised Land. And with that, I will end this note so you may read.
Can the sins of man be forgiven when his sins are the sins that he has asked to be forgiven of sin? Can man seek redemption even as redemption does not seek the man who seeks the hidden virtue?
Where is the path to take, the lonesome road, the road to home? Is it hidden by sin? Where does the sun rise and set when merely the sun does not rise nor set but humans merely rise and set each day and night under the same sun—both suns of day and of night.
Each morning man rises from bed and sets to rest not only himself, but his troubles as well. Mankind’s sins. The sins of man which make him man rather than make him perfect—for who if perfect man existed would be truly perfect as if sin were perfect? Is it a sin to wish forgiven the sin that was already forgiven, even as after sin is forgiven sin still unfortunately finds the sinful man’s unsinful soul and makes him sin again? Is it a sin to sin as so oft sin is sinfully the man's only human perfection? As sin is unavoidable, as sin is forgivable, as sin—no matter how many times sin is killed—still rebirths from the sin of man?
If man does sin, is man himself sin? Is man's sin truly that he seeks perfection rather than sinning? Is perfection a sin? Is the desire of being unsinful a sin—as unsinful desires do not deserve to be sinned, but to be praised—as who would rather sin than be rid of sin? But in all noble aspects, is it a sin to seek to be unsinful, which is perfect? As imperfect man can never be perfect, imperfect sin can never be unsinful.
A wise man said that man is the master of his fate. But is fate truly the master of man? Are we fated to be thrown into the burning crater of hell; are we fated to rise into pallor heaven?
What if heaven holds that which we do not seek? As imperfect man can never be made perfect, why then should imperfect men exist in perfect heaven? His sinful soul, his soiled spirit, his impure mind will not be the same—for how is imperfect man supposed to think perfectly?
Did he not sin more than once? Did his life not flood with sin? Then how come man wishes to be perfect? How come man is imperfect? Why cannot man be master of himself rather than mastered by those who are too bright or too dark that they would blind imperfect humans?
Both, both are blinding! The mighty light of God, the wretched black wings of Lucifer, each blinding to man's eye! How come man is blinded? Why must man be mastered by those who cannot be mastered? Why is man shrunk to such a miniscule measure of fealty? Men are pawns, tossed head-first onto a board and shoved side to side to collide with his fates rather than his fates collide with himself.
So as death, as perfect death, as the only freedom—the only relinquishing, redeeming, forgiving light—takes over, why do others judge the man? For when man is dead—who is to grab for him? Heaven and hell? Each wishes to have man! Is each so greedy as to take his peaceful soul and enslave it with virtues and pain?
Pain that rips the mind from its cradle! The screeching, writhing pain that stabs man through the throat! If man were to be angelic, what would eternal life reflect other than the forever-smiling faces of mirth? Life was never meant to be eternally joyous, life was meant to be painful just as much. And yet, as in hell, all that would keep man’s breaking, burning, bleeding body alive would be the pain—O’ that vile, wretched pain!
Each strips man of his humanity! Man is not meant to be ruled, man is not meant to rule, as each is a sin! 'Tis a sin to take a man and relinquish from his hands the only qualities that make him man—happiness, sorrow, pity, rage, pain, justice!! 'Tis a sin to take man's humanity and replace it with inhumanity!
'Tis a sin to take man's only measures of being human and replace them with... giddiness! Suffering! Laughter! Torture!
Which is right? Which is right, which is right, which is right! None, no, none are right, neither.
Neither is right.
So where does man find himself but in the hands of those who decide his fate? Where does man deserve to pray alone, not pray to others who in greed would take man his prayers and use them for good or evil, whichever is most sinfully unsinful? As when prayers are not always answered, when the only true virtuous prayers are mostly answered, when the most perfect, unsinful prayers are answered, so sins the man to sin again and again and again, condemning him for eternal judgment.
So sins the man.
So sins the man who wishes to be left alone, not be meddled by the colossal hands of holier beings, but to be himself. To find his home. His only promised land.
So where does man truly belong but where he is promised? True happiness? True—happiness?
As true happiness is not decided by those who would command what virtues are right and wrong, but decided is happiness by the mortal, the imperfect, the sinful man.
The man’s death is his own, so shall his feet walk and trip and bleed along the road to his desires. The road to true happiness. The lonesome road where only man himself can walk alone to find what is truly centered within his heart.
Thus shall he find the promised land.
As so shall I.
Can the sins of man be forgiven when his sins are the sins that he has asked to be forgiven of sin? Can man seek redemption even as redemption does not seek the man who seeks the hidden virtue?
Where is the path to take, the lonesome road, the road to home? Is it hidden by sin? Where does the sun rise and set when merely the sun does not rise nor set but humans merely rise and set each day and night under the same sun—both suns of day and of night.
Each morning man rises from bed and sets to rest not only himself, but his troubles as well. Mankind’s sins. The sins of man which make him man rather than make him perfect—for who if perfect man existed would be truly perfect as if sin were perfect? Is it a sin to wish forgiven the sin that was already forgiven, even as after sin is forgiven sin still unfortunately finds the sinful man’s unsinful soul and makes him sin again? Is it a sin to sin as so oft sin is sinfully the man's only human perfection? As sin is unavoidable, as sin is forgivable, as sin—no matter how many times sin is killed—still rebirths from the sin of man?
If man does sin, is man himself sin? Is man's sin truly that he seeks perfection rather than sinning? Is perfection a sin? Is the desire of being unsinful a sin—as unsinful desires do not deserve to be sinned, but to be praised—as who would rather sin than be rid of sin? But in all noble aspects, is it a sin to seek to be unsinful, which is perfect? As imperfect man can never be perfect, imperfect sin can never be unsinful.
A wise man said that man is the master of his fate. But is fate truly the master of man? Are we fated to be thrown into the burning crater of hell; are we fated to rise into pallor heaven?
What if heaven holds that which we do not seek? As imperfect man can never be made perfect, why then should imperfect men exist in perfect heaven? His sinful soul, his soiled spirit, his impure mind will not be the same—for how is imperfect man supposed to think perfectly?
Did he not sin more than once? Did his life not flood with sin? Then how come man wishes to be perfect? How come man is imperfect? Why cannot man be master of himself rather than mastered by those who are too bright or too dark that they would blind imperfect humans?
Both, both are blinding! The mighty light of God, the wretched black wings of Lucifer, each blinding to man's eye! How come man is blinded? Why must man be mastered by those who cannot be mastered? Why is man shrunk to such a miniscule measure of fealty? Men are pawns, tossed head-first onto a board and shoved side to side to collide with his fates rather than his fates collide with himself.
So as death, as perfect death, as the only freedom—the only relinquishing, redeeming, forgiving light—takes over, why do others judge the man? For when man is dead—who is to grab for him? Heaven and hell? Each wishes to have man! Is each so greedy as to take his peaceful soul and enslave it with virtues and pain?
Pain that rips the mind from its cradle! The screeching, writhing pain that stabs man through the throat! If man were to be angelic, what would eternal life reflect other than the forever-smiling faces of mirth? Life was never meant to be eternally joyous, life was meant to be painful just as much. And yet, as in hell, all that would keep man’s breaking, burning, bleeding body alive would be the pain—O’ that vile, wretched pain!
Each strips man of his humanity! Man is not meant to be ruled, man is not meant to rule, as each is a sin! 'Tis a sin to take a man and relinquish from his hands the only qualities that make him man—happiness, sorrow, pity, rage, pain, justice!! 'Tis a sin to take man's humanity and replace it with inhumanity!
'Tis a sin to take man's only measures of being human and replace them with... giddiness! Suffering! Laughter! Torture!
Which is right? Which is right, which is right, which is right! None, no, none are right, neither.
Neither is right.
So where does man find himself but in the hands of those who decide his fate? Where does man deserve to pray alone, not pray to others who in greed would take man his prayers and use them for good or evil, whichever is most sinfully unsinful? As when prayers are not always answered, when the only true virtuous prayers are mostly answered, when the most perfect, unsinful prayers are answered, so sins the man to sin again and again and again, condemning him for eternal judgment.
So sins the man.
So sins the man who wishes to be left alone, not be meddled by the colossal hands of holier beings, but to be himself. To find his home. His only promised land.
So where does man truly belong but where he is promised? True happiness? True—happiness?
As true happiness is not decided by those who would command what virtues are right and wrong, but decided is happiness by the mortal, the imperfect, the sinful man.
The man’s death is his own, so shall his feet walk and trip and bleed along the road to his desires. The road to true happiness. The lonesome road where only man himself can walk alone to find what is truly centered within his heart.
Thus shall he find the promised land.
As so shall I.
~Joshua Wayne