Blaspheme's Sabbath

Oh foolish child-- Every time you're blessed with sunsine you thank the recently deceased. By that logic, when it storms will you blame them for not protecting you from the deluge? Is the burn of every scorn you've tasted the fault of some supernatural power? How long will it be until you allow yourself to heal? Come to the only conclusion:  the weather is the weather, regardless of you or any superstition you've created to cope with loss and the question of being. Don't mistake coincidence and science for angels. Neither of them care for you. Neither of them sacrifice.

The world owes you nothing; it was here first. Trying to make sense of it will only leave you betrayed, confused, and vulnerable. Accept the inevitable and save the ache of undue suffering. We are placed here to do good for whatever roll of Time's dice we pull. We are blessed with the company of sacred souls and cursed by the presence of others. Still, we persevere. Don't make it to be more than the brief inning that it is. You'll get your chance at the plate. When you're gone what will they say? Nothing, if you're lucky. May the last one out close the door.

Now fetch me my sandals and call off the disciples. I've got work to do today. There's a load to be carried. There's a weight you can't bear. Did I lead you to believe that these weary eyes are speckless? Oh foolish child-- You've got so much to teach me.

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