The blood moon hangs in the sky to remind all star gazers of the danger that is wandering. Blood covers the doors to remind those who enter of the terror that must be brought upon them. Oh, how The Great I Am desires to forgive! I trust that He does. Exasperation is a thief - my energy being stolen for the sake of passion. It's the only passion that so obviously violates me, or at least, where I sense the actuality of the violation. And violation is ugly, but I won't hide the ugliness, because one day I won't even consider hiding. It's futile.
How can they think that the world is beautiful? It's a perverted obsession with aesthetics. You praise your wandering, yet you can't admit that your quest has no end. Oh, the vanity! You aren't even on a quest, you just pretend that you are! You're lazing in l'obscurité.
These days have been silent. My visions of the holy have vanished. I seem to be the most apparent thing to myself when others aren't distracting me. I feel sad when I see strangers walking by. We relate, but we deny any relation.
O Lord, how can I speak with grace in the presence of demons? Is it your will for me to speak of evil in the same way that I speak of good? May these words not choke the faith that I do have.
I can't seem to help but fear this state that I am writing in. With emotional pain comes physical pain - can I just have the first one? I don't know why physical pain seems so much more gruesome than other types of pain, but it does.
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