| The feeling of destroying the capacity for inward peace, an insane dance
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| With the angels of innocence amidst thorns and in frenzy, the warmth of A divine blessing, a daringness which prevailed over any imaginable fear
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| Hovering on the brink of a voluntary act of contrition, but soon all pales
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| Besides the cry this shattering truth wrests from all fellow men, there is More to it than suffering and sounds of suffering, it is a process that only
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| The extinction of a divine soul could terminate. |
| The eye can outstare neither
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| The sun, nor death… If I sought God it was in delirium and in the delight of Temptation.
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| The idea of Salvation comes, I believe, from one whom suffering breaks
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| Apart. |
| He who masters it, on the contrary, needs to be broken, to proceed
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| On the path towards the rupture.
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| Nothing of what man can know, to this end, could be evaded without
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| Degradation, without sin, — is it no burden to bear the repellent scars of Abandon, of election?- it leaves but a state of supplication and deserted
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| Expanses, an absorption into despair. |
| The existence of things cannot enclose
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| The death which it brings to me; |
| the existence is itself projected into my Death, and it is my death which encloses it. |
| Am I deranged? |
| Over and above
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| Quietism! |
| Nurtured by the multitude of man’s misfortune, a thousand halos
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| Like torches in the night of the spirit, a thousand traps, pitalls of brimstone
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| And the empty sky, prostrated face against the earth in frantic laughter…
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| I was beyond withstanding my own ignominy. |
| I invoked it and blessed it.
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| I progressed ever further into vileness and degradation. |
| Am I resurging,
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| Intact, out of infamy? |