The Repellent Scars of Abandon and Election

The feeling of destroying the capacity for inward peace, an insane dance

with the angels of innocence admist thorns and in frenzy, the warmth of

a divine blessing, a daringness which prevailed over any imaginable fear

hovering on the brink of a voluntary act of contrition, but soon all pales

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

the extinction of a divine sould could terminate. The eye can outstare neither

the sun, nor death... if I sought God it was in delirium and in the delight of

temptation.

The idea of Salvation comes, I believe, from the one whom suffering breaks

apart. He who masters it, on the contrary, needs to be broken, to proceed

on the path towards the rupture.

Nothing of what man can know, to this end, could be evaded without

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

expanses, an absorption into despair. The existence of things cannot enclose

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

quietism! Nurtured by the multitude of man's misfortunes, a thousand halos

like torches in the night of the spirit, a thousand traps, pitfalls of brimstone

and the empty sky, prostrated face against the earth in frantic laughter...

I was beyond withstanding my own ignominy. I invoked it and blessed it.

I progressed even further into vileness and degradation. Am I resurging,

intact, out of infamy?