You indefatigable monster, you Shadow Brute! Let me alone! Quit your greedy hunger! I am my own person; you can’t have me! Stop chasing me, oh damnable hound of heaven. Stop your infinite movements toward my universe, oh lion-lamb. Stop! Desist! Cease your salvation!
Don’t you get it? I know you thirst, but I thirst too. I have needs, and they must be filled, and they can’t be filled by you. Can I drink of the cup, the new wine of the covenant, the gall of bitter aspect? Only you can bear it, oh Shadow Brute. I am too weak. I have my needs, and they must be filled. Let this cup pass from me and go your way. You are the Son of Heavens; let the will of heaven be done in you, and leave well enough alone in me.
The ancients told of the Lords of Shouting – angels who would await the dawn with the triumphant sounding of Holy Holy Holy. These intelligences of jubilation were there to welcome the new life of the new day, so said the ancients. I have no doubt such spirits exist, and that such geniuses cry out at the first breach of your light upon the Earth. What I doubt is the nature of their Trisagion. I know little of the ways of angels, but of men I can speak: if it were men who stood on the hill as Sentinels of Song, it would not be mirth resounding across the hills. No, of myself I can speak, and I know I would proclaim those Holies with all the bitter pain of death. Holy, stop your disgusting goodness from scorching my soul. Holy, cease lest you overwhelm my poor mortality. Holy, return from whence you came, foul Perfection. I will shout your light back into the abyss with war-cries of Holy (the worst insult I can fling thy way). Holy, you conquering Lord. Do not Lord over me, for I am my own lord. Return thy humble way, oh Lion of God and Lamb of Judah. Return, for there is little enough room in my heart for myself. Return, lest you find a city, a soul, barred to your entry. Do not knock, for I do not want to have to deny you entry. Why must you ask me to pick up my cross when you know I will not? If you had never asked, I would never have refused. If you had never loved, I never would have sinned. Cursed be thy dark goodness!
Why must you insist on my happiness!? Cannot you see that I am fine as I am, miserable and liberated? My joy is my own, even if it is the nihiliation of joy. My choices are my own, even if they are shackled. My kiss is my own to give, even if it is Judas’ kiss. And if my ownership disappear, so do I. You want me to lose myself so I can find myself. But if I lose myself, there will me no ‘I’ to find myself again. This is meaningless, paradoxical. Can’t you see that you are wrong?! You beg the impossible, and I am a mortal, a creature of possibilities.
Shut up! Of course I know that all things for thee are possible and impossible, all are potential and actual; all are yes and yea and Amen in you. You forget that you demand I be in you first for my possibilities to become impossible and superpossible. I cannot do this, I cannot lose myself. Myself, my self, is all I have. I have nothing. Do not offer me yourself! If I have you, I have you. But if I have not myself, I have nothing. If I have you, I have the one God that can be a God to me. If I have myself, I have the one god that can be me to myself. Don’t you see?! I cannot depend on you! You ask that I make you God, make you Lover, make you Giver. I cannot depend on anyone! I cannot be weak like that! I must be my own circle. I must circumvent myself. If I am really formed in your image and likeness, then let me be as self-sufficient as you. Selfish monster, you hoard divinity and monopolize perfection.
I am sorry. Do not cry, please. I want to love you, I really do. You are so perfect. How can I not love you entirely, as if by instinct? You tug at my heartstrings like a bow on a violin, and how can I not respond with shouting and resounding, like those ancient angels? Believe it or not, I resist out of love. You ask me to love you, but love means a meeting of two Someones. Unlike you, oh Absolute Personality, I do not suffice as a ‘someone.’ I am frail and translucent Do you not see that in order to love you, I must become solid first? I need time to forge on my own, lead revolutions, find my space from you, seek my independence from you, if I am ever to love you. I must be God before I can love you with a love befitting such a King.
I know it is impossible, but such is the tragedy of love. Life is love, love is a tragedy, life is the tragic. C’est la vie. I must be liberated to be free, but I become assigned and resigned to the Fates of tragedy as soon as I liberate myself of thee. I become unfree the moment I taste freedom in liberation. It is the cyclic trap of the universe.
Oh cruel Shadow Brute, why do you create a hunger in yourself for what will not hunger you, and why do you create a hunger in me for what I cannot taste? I have tasted the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, and now I can taste nothing else.
Stop that gaze! Stop it! It hurts!
Why do you love me so much?
I love you. I’m sorry. I’m yours.