The Beginning (Part III)

[size=75]You might want read part 1+2 first! :wink:[/size]

The Beginning
(Part III)
By
Pax Vitae

As one who capitalises on deceit and deception it has always amazed me how much there is and how little I’ve had to do with its creation; and being so closely associated with this subject must mean I know a thing or two; well I have to admit that even the world has taught me many tricks. Take the creatures She made, so many of them. Her imagination has often left me dumbfounded, some small, others large, yet at the core of all of them is the use of deception to gain their advantage. At times, to me, it seems as if all life is just a deception, and all of nature was designed to deceive, the butterfly, the chameleon… Man.

You use clever words to fool those who will listen and convince yourself of one’s own importance, when in actuality you’re no better then the next, trying to capitalise on the foolishness others. Deceit, just another name for profit in most peoples’ vocabulary. Can you not see, that this world was designed on the principle that we feed off others to survive? Man arrogantly thinks himself the top of the food chain, but I solemnly tell you, it’s really Her, God! She feeds off the false flattery of those in so much pain they look to Her for help, but in the end, just end up as another meal.

I watched many of your pointless lives play out in front of me, each as meaningless as the next. Yet for some reason, all seem to believe they are fated to have a “Greater” purpose, as if some special gift to this world. This ludicrous idea used to bring me such delight, until I bored of your idiotic delusions. What indignity, the way in which you embrace your passions and forlorn your reason, blinded by your own melancholy dramas where as protagonist, you are both the hero and the nemesis. Yet you only associate with one of your characters, the Hero, however your own venom; that part of the soul which you deny, is somehow me? Do not deny yourself brother, embrace what it is to be human, part God, part Demon, but always pathetic.

Can you see your likeness in the image of your own child? Is their joy not your joy, and their sorrow also yours. Is She not apart of you, like She was part of me! I too am made in Her image, am I as flawed as She is? Are you? The wise tell us, “That any flaw in the mould will be found in the cast.” Will the shoddy craftsman or woman, blame their tools or will they admit there own inadequacies? A child will cry until a parent picks them up, but if the child is never lifted it will soon stop crying, and will never cry out again. For it knows know one is listing. There is no more abusive parent then God in all her glory. Like a diva who’s fame has gone to her head and forgets about the little people, the ones who love her more then their own worthless lives. I am a zealot for her love, I need her more then I need anything else, like so many others, but I am no longer a jealous lover; time has taught me generosity. I’ve come to realise that I should have lived a life that I can look back on without regret. But this epiphany has come to late for me. Maybe its time for the loin to lay down with the lamb, seek forgiveness and say sorry. But how can I when she no longer listens?

I’ve loved and hated, lived many lifetimes worth of both. But now as time passes, there’s nothing left for me to experience. I call to Her like a wounded soul, yet She never replies. I’ve reached the point were life is like a fire that has exhausted its fuel, all the pleasures have passed away, like I now wish to, but can’t, as I must always be. I no longer dream, as my reality of unending life is a nightmare which I can never escape. I aspire for salvation from my own mind and all my thoughts, to find that tranquillity of silence, where the dead sleep. All has become pain, what was once a happy memory now only brings untold sadness, as I know that joy can never again be experienced. And all the evil I have created torments me, more then the poor souls I inflected it upon. Finally when both the happy and evil memories bring you pain life just becomes a constant barrage, an unrelenting onslaught of agony. The most I can hope, if you could even call it hope, is that of apathy. I long to no longer care and live in the moment, trying not to think about anything, while letting the clock tick away till the end of time and I dream of death, but live the never-ending nightmare of immortality.