For too many years, you’ve pursued illusions that were supposed to be made real after one more glass of beer, one more cigarette. Brilliance was going to be imparted upon you. You had fantasies of becoming godlike in your knowledge and ability to manipulate space and time with your mind. You strove for an easy method, a less painless one to get the knowledge of books into your head. Maybe some combination of brain-energizing natural supplements from the health food store, coupled with a dash of fifteen minutes’ worth of “power meditation.”
What really matters is nothing less than death itself. It will come your way one day, and that day may be today. That’s right, you may have a nasty botulism growing in you from those raw oysters you ate, or be the unlucky fellow who slips in the bathtub and puts the shower lever through his temple. Get real, my friend. You don’t have any time at all to mess around with goofing off and pretending you’re immortal, or even fooling yourself into thinking you still have twice your life yet to live (which isn’t much).
You have often wondered why the visitors you once had all but stopped coming the night after your little brother died. Were you too scared to face the spirit world now that you knew all-too-well what death was about? Or had the recent loss of your virginity taken away your ability to communicate with the world beyond?
Perhaps the more satisfying answer was that you were simply disgusted with being shown only glimpses and hints of things that existed beyond your physical reach. Truth should be hard, Truth should include hunger and Truth shouldn’t shy away from the agonizing pain of losing someone who shouldn’t have left. All the bullshit, new-agey, mystical garbage just couldn’t add up: you were supposed to be okay with death because nobody ever dies, but this was some hollow comfort in the face of what you were left with–a block of granite in a lonely cemetery far from where you were to live out the rest of your life.
But, this life is so full of bullshit, too. Take football. God, you can’t walk past any two grown men who aren’t having a discussion about football. A game. A game they might have bet money on, but who cares whether they did or not? They talk about football with a passion you might expect to be reserved for a new scientific discovery, or the birth of a newborn child. An artificial, empty, meaningless game consumes them. Because, without it, they would have to face just how empty their lives are, and they’d probably want to unleash their pent up fighting spirit on some poor shrimpy nerd of a guy who doesn’t look or talk like a real man does.
Your best friend from college, who is stuck in a state of perpetual goth/industrial arrested development, despises football and thinks he’s keeping it real. He reports out his obsessions–random, obscure techno-noise experimental bands whose new album releases cause him to sound just like these animated fools getting excited over a new star quarterback. Artificial crap that’s going to be considered quaint and foolish by future generations who want to device their own artificial garbage to amuse themselves.
You certainly don’t need to stop and think about what you do for a living–helping companies generate leads to sell software that helps other companies improve their processes. All a bunch of artificial maneuvering to keep the still-bloated economy from popping again and deflating to be something much worse than it was at the end of 2008. All of you pretending that your leads at the end of the day are helping someone increase their revenue and make more money, and give you more money, and someone is hopefully going to be convinced in a few months to keep you hired so you can keep bullshitting your way through another day.
And, the money itself doesn’t matter, and neither does the peace of mind and satisfaction that comes with not being a moocher off the government. It’s the last hope, the final dream, that you’re laying the foundation for a family–that at least you’ll make something matter with the DNA you pass on, and the knowledge and wisdom you will struggle to impart upon little beings that have their own minds so that they can hopefully not be quite the foolish asshole you were when you were eighteen, and actually open their mathematics books and do their homework so they can make something great of themselves, that they can be the kind of young men your father had hoped you and your little brother would become.
That’s probably all that matters. And, at the end of two decades of this struggle, when they are far from perfect, and nowhere near the supergeniuses you’d longed for them to be, they are at least gainfully employed and don’t completely hate you, so that they’ll make some small efforts to take care of you when you’re nothing but rotting flesh and groans, slipping away into the horrific darkness and ever doubtful that Jesus has forgiven you of all your sins, and that perhaps you were never among the elect to begin with–you were just a passthrough soul, a light made to energize a body long enough to move the DNA along, and now you can sleep forever in the heat of fire and blackness of the Void.
Though that may even be a most exquisite amount of wishful thinking, and certainly there is no guarantee that you have two decades left, or that your swimmers are any good for when the time comes that your wife is ready to stop taking birth control and give family-making a shot.
So, you can’t rely on that.
You have to look elsewhere for the time being at what really matters, and mostly, you should be striving to clear your brain of the lingering stupidity that rocked it for so many years and turned a young man of promise into an old fool of whimpering hopes within the span of two decades. You have to look long and hard at whatever’s left glancing about inside your head, and decide once and for all if your mind is a portal to a higher dimension, a passageway that is accessible to a true, greater reality that is sanctioned by the Lord, and isn’t just some random collection of pseudo-memories that the serpent leaves inside every child’s gray matter in case they grow up to be adults who go looking, using books of magick by Aleister Crowley and witchcraft practitioners’ manuals–and, sure enough, those who seek the Golden Dawn, eventually find someone or something waiting at the other end of the tunnel but who or what did they find–just an illusory paradise provided by Satan–an old Western movie town of false storefronts that will blow over when they die?
Of course, you need to know if you are being lied to when you dive into your brain. You have enough thoughts appear there throughout the day that you’d rather not claim as your own–be they unwanted thought patterns that start at the flick of a “what if?” and get out of hand too rapidly to put them out–or be they true whisperings of demons. You need to know if all your dreams are nothing more than a nightly ritual show of lies, put on by the king of lies.
And, this is probably what rock n’ roll is, too, you know.
And Hollywood and Disney World–men and women who learned the craft of telling lies, putting on a magic show to fool people who craved the experience of being fooled–for the sake of—not having to face boring reality and the duties imposed by knowing the Truth, knowing the Lord, knowing the will of the Father.
A voice inside your head says to you that the only thing you have that makes you different from anyone else is your heart and your faith. Without them, you become just another sad spectacle of a reasonably intelligent, reasonably educated white man in his thirties with a random office job that fails to keep him stimulated and engaged. God knows that there are plenty of you out there–though most of you are likely happily caught up in some kind of hobby or family to keep you occupied and give you a reason to get up in the morning.
Your heart and faith are what you have as weapons against the darkness, and if you let too much more of the darkness in, it will completely use these against you, to turn you into a bitter, judgmental old fool, angry at everyone and everything, including you.