1
There it is, the place where I spend my final moments inside of macabre daydreams. I drive past the bridge overlaying the most disgusting river every day. All it would require of me to leap and consequently drown is a bad day and a bit of courage. Practically nobody is around in this small town, and in the middle of the night, it is a virtual ghost town. Lord, grant me the worst day imaginable, for it might be a great day for others, not that they would enjoy my departure, although maybe some would, but that come hell or high water, the damage being done to others would finally cease. Amen. Some prayer, that, eh? I have always felt that I should have been Canadian; however, I am obviously not one because I was not born there, and I can identify as Canadian all I want, but that does not make it so. Perhaps something for the “highly educated” to consider; the irony that somehow this is the novel concept that has escaped them. An oddly timed joke, all things considered, as I just detailed the way I would leave this place, but that’s my point, I suppose. This world and all its inhabitants are a joke – a joke that I do not wish to be a part of. Ah, that reminds me. The bridge – an ominously pleasant reminder that I could roll credits in an instant.
This is not a threat, one of those “letters,” a cry for help, a ploy for attention – none of those. For me to take the dichotomous plunge, that is to say, concomitantly sinister and gratifying; it would be a necessity to have the courage of my convictions, which I do not have. Unfortunately, there are enough people who love me that would be pained if I possessed the willpower to carry out what I’ve suggested. Lord, please let the people who love me turn heel on me so that I would no longer be burdened by what they might feel if I leaped. Amen. I’ll never do it. Well, let us not use the word never. A wise, old man informed me that the word never is not a word that we get to use – that it is reserved for God Himself. The relief of the possibility to remain ever so slightly on the table. What have I done, besides simply exist, that is deserving of their love anyway? They must be holding onto the potential version of me, this idea of what I could have been, intentionally blotting out the reality that what could have been can no longer be, that this train had been derailed long ago. Perhaps it is my fault why they clutch on to their ideas of me by way of giving glimpses of who they thought I was, but those flashes in the pan are about as fake as my suicide plot. Exactly what is one supposed to do when the point of no return has been crossed? Continue to be a participant in the Creator’s game of “The Sims?” The game is over, and it was lost. Hanging on because “everything happens on God’s time” is similar to a Quarterback continuing to throw passes to nobody – in an empty stadium – long after his team lost the game, wondering why and getting frustrated that he is not scoring touchdowns. Speaking of “God’s time,” I’m not disputing that everything does, indeed, happen on His time, but why is it that His time is never soon? It is never soon, it is never tomorrow, and it is certainly never now. God’s time is always “maybe some other time,” which is what someone says to you when they want nothing to do with you. Come to think of it, when He continuously says that to me, He is the only One operating within any sort of logical framework.
I’ve never been one to blame others for my shortcomings. My troubles are of my own making, and if there is anything in this that is true, it is that. Depending on what you believe, I suppose, because it’s always “part of God’s plan” until God’s plan begins to suck shit, then it’s my fault. The paradox here is that I believe in God while simultaneously accepting that my discontent is a result of constant wrongdoing on my part. Any character defect or character trait that I possess is God-given; and, therefore good, or so I’ve read, so the hurt and damage that I have inflicted upon others is whose fault again? It wasn’t as if I chose these character defects or traits; if I were able to choose, obviously, I would be without flaws. I’d look like Channing Tatum and be as funny as Patrice O’Neal. Instead, I look like Carrot Top and am about as entertaining as a brick wall. I guess I finally understand the common trope that homosexuals frequently trot out – “You think I chose to be this way!?” No, I don’t believe you did, but neither did anybody else. You think I like doing this – that I enjoy leaving a path of destruction and chaos wherever I go and leaving the remnants for other people to clean up? It’s not something I enjoy; how could it be? It is an aspect of myself that I find detestable, which makes hurling myself off that small-town bridge into the most revolting of waters all the more sensible. “Do something about it then!” screams the reader. You know what, reader? If people could, they would. Has it not occurred to you that people are doing their best with what they have been given but that some people’s best is equivalent to another’s worst?
“You can’t always get what you want,” sing the Stones. Wouldn’t that be grand if receiving what you wanted was something that just didn’t always happen? I can live with not always getting what I want, but God sings a different version than the one of the Rolling Stones. God’s rendition is something to the effect of, “You’ll never, ever, get what you want,” and then proceeds to tell me to be patient. Even in the rare circumstance where He does grant me whatever it is that I’ve asked for, it turns out to be a catastrophic event because that’s God’s will, and that’s God’s time. The reader, of course, says, “maybe you only think you know what you want; maybe He is giving you what you need, and you have yet to realize that.” A fair enough point, but I can tell you what I don’t want, and it’s not this. What a peculiar game He plays! Why gift somebody the aptly termed “God-given gift” only to deprive one of any benefit or reward that may come from it? No, not just material or financial benefits or rewards, although those things would be nice, but does not an actor need an audience? At least eyes? Does not a musician need listeners? At least ears? Is God’s narrative for my life the kind where acknowledgment or recognition comes only after I leap? Oh, gee, thanks for that. The male lead spends the duration of the movie aspiring for the female lead’s love; she falls in love with him at last but right before he finds out, he dies. Great movie, Almighty One. That’s fine if God’s narrative for me is something along those lines, but it would be nice to know that so at least I know there is a purpose to the gift You’ve given me. He’ll let me know on His time, though, which is maybe some other time. “But, beloved, be not ignorant of this one thing, that one day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day.” Okay, Simon Peter, but unless Elon Musk invents the immortality chip, I don’t believe I’ll make it to year one thousand to witness the fruits of any labor. It’s possible that I do not understand that passage, but I thought the joke might be funny, so I am choosing to leave it in, and I’ll deal with some 53-year-old dickhead with a silhouette profile picture lecturing me on it later.
I don’t hate God – at all. I love God. A part of me wants to curse His name in this, but there is something intrinsic in me that will not allow me to do that. This, I believe, is an illustration that I do love Him, but that I have logical grievances toward this stupid game that He’s having us (or me) play. The reader thinks to themselves that the author is a “pick me boy,” and the reader is correct. That is precisely what I’m saying. I’m saying to the Creator Himself to pick me, and if You aren’t going to pick me, then I do not want to play. With this in mind, and I am well aware that I am judging, He seems to choose some real fucking winners, doesn’t He? “An intelligent man of the nineteenth century can’t seriously make himself into anything and that only a fool can succeed in making himself into something.” As true now as it was then. Surely, I would be better off being a complete moron, shucking and jiving for red notifications from people telling me that they appreciate my unproductive contributions to society.
Ah, the hypocrisy. Is that not what I am doing myself? Shucking and jiving for likes? Of course, it is, but nobody will be able to convince me that twenty seconds of choreography is more important than any piece of literature ever written. Not even one, not even Mein Kampf. Why is “EBoy42069” (nice) able to extract everything he could possibly dream of out of this game? I don’t suspect he is deeply ensconced in the Word, prayer, or meditation between his stupid fucking dances. Lord, grant me the ability and willingness to learn whatever new trend arises so that I may follow in the footsteps of the Chosen One, EBoy42069. Amen. I’ve never once read a comment in response to a TikTok video that read, “Wow. I was really close to the edge. I was about to leap off of the small-town bridge, but that move you hit right as the sick-ass beat dropped saved my freaking life! Thank you so much for pulling me out of the pit.” “If ever you are disturbed, you are hating, judging, or playing God,” said the wise, old man. Look at me; heavily engaged in all three. Are you about to tell me, however, that there is not a grain of logic in this hatred or in this judgment? Is there not logic in that, as it stands at this moment, the game God is playing is a ridiculous one, but that it may change on His time – maybe some other time?
2
All I am positing is that while mental suicide is but a few doors down from the physical, which, admittedly, has me quite fearful, there is logic in jumping off. No, I shall never do it, or at least I do not believe I ever will, as that word has been banned from my vocabulary, but all have the ability to reasonably take themselves to the ledge. Besides, I’m more than likely too spiteful to jump. If I were to ever jump, that would mean “they” win; it most definitely means “the lowest power” wins, and fuck both of them. A miserable existence, you might say, that living to win is not what keeps one alive, but living so that others may not, does, but preventing the undeserving is such a noble cause! Oh, what a hero I am! With regard to the three things to avoid at all costs – hating, judging, and playing God, in this case, it would appear that I am taking on the role of God, but if He isn’t going to do his job, somebody must! Yes, I hear you; it is a peculiar position to delegate to myself as, after all, I began this by illustrating to you all my “plot,” but it looks as though I’ve fallen “victim” to the mindset of the isolated. Furthermore, who exactly have I deterred from success anyway? God’s will cannot and will never be impeded, but that does not mean that I cannot die trying. Is this not the hypocratic reason why I loathe the members of “cancel culture?” Are they not doing what I wish to do but on the other end of the spectrum? Ah, yes, there it is, isn’t it? The reason I hate those types of people is because I am them – because they are playing God themselves, but they just aren’t doing a good enough fucking job, for it is I that should determine who lives and who dies, who fails and who succeeds, even who falls in love with who, from right here behind a screen, no less!
I was granted my opportunity for “true love” amidst a time I was a slave to alcohol. Once again, God’s plan. Par for the course, perhaps. The greatest of writers seemingly spend the duration of their lives writing in solitude, detailing the injustices done to them by women, never branching outside of those lonely four walls, dying alone, and having their work acknowledged only after the lattermost inevitability. It’s a deplorable life in the end, isn’t it? Using the previous illustration, it sounds as if we may need to bring a blacklight into the rooms where these “strokes” of geniuses were created, as though we were checking into a cheap hotel. Tears and, well, other bodily fluids aplenty in the confines of the “genius’” dwelling place. Allow me to digress; I was granted my opportunity for love. My one, single opportunity. How is it that one could expect to be granted more than that – to be awarded several options, as in plural? No, we are granted but one shot, and if we don’t take that shot, we are destined to either live and die alone or settle with somebody else, thinking about what might have been. There is no love that transcends the utmost love, for that could be considered a secondary love, which is no love at all. Alas, I was gifted my chance at love and failed to take it. As soon as I want to curse God for that, I remember the alleged path He has me on and am reminded that His mastery has given the writer something to write. Oh, thank you so much, Father! Thank you for givething and takething away, that I may now see the love of my life cuddled up with somebody else and am permitted the possibility of creating literary brilliance out of it! Oh, thank you, thank you! A thought of the bridge enters the mind. Why not? “Be fruitful and multiply,” says the Almighty. At my age, not only would any newfound love be a nonexistent secondary love, but moreover, it would be pathetic. Old love is beautiful love if it starts young. Besides, the available women at my age have been attempting to convince themselves that relationships, marriage, and families aren’t worth the trouble – that it is somehow better to scoff at the women who have achieved what they have not, by themselves, of course, while insisting to their Tinder date that “the dog eventually calms down once he gets to know you.” No, he doesn’t, Sheri. Just put the fucking dog in the other room and have your meaningless sex. The clock is ticking on them anyhow, so why bother? Maybe there is still time to be fruitful, but there is certainly less time to multiply, which leaves us with the younger women. I suppose they are dumb enough to be persuaded that becoming involved with a semi-middle-aged “writer,” otherwise known as unemployed, could really “be something,” but you’ll find me dead before I pretend to enjoy my time with one of them as they take pictures of their meal. Oh, but let us not forget that if the younger woman does have any sort of intellectual ambition, I now have the luxury of being lectured on things I need to “unlearn” and viewpoints passed down to her by agenda-ridden professors. Does not the bridge sound ever more appealing?
What does it matter anyway? This is just hating; this has nothing to do with me. My primary love was the only love, and there shall never be another. It is as if I am under a kind of lifetime “Divine punishment,” destined to be alone after squandering His plan, after treating one of His angels so poorly. You laugh at such a sentiment, but is it so far-fetched? Are you not the same person that continuously misuses the word “karma,” stating that “what goes around comes around” and believes that to be so? Then, in this case, what exactly is the difference? Some days, I wonder how I would respond if, let us call her “Ashley,” were ever to return. If, by some longshot, she found it in her to forgive me for my misdeeds, would I accept her forgiveness and “take her back?” Oh, how I long for the day! I would accept Ashley back within a second, and never would I treat her the way I did before! Do you think I care about what or who she has been doing in the years we have been apart? Of course not! How could I care!? Taking into account my prior behavior, does she not deserve to explore, to play the field, to see if another one out there is her primary love and not I? Of course, she does, and if she ever reappeared to me to inform me that, no, there is no primary love but me, I would take her by the hand and never let her go again. She is, or was, the “one” that people speak about. The one who saw me at my worst and loved me despite it, the one who knew my exact thoughts at any given moment, the one who detected my mood or feelings by a simple glance, the one who believed that I could do what I set out to do, although perhaps a misguided belief, but a belief, nonetheless. For me, there is either “Ashley” or there is nobody, as so obviously determined by God Himself.
Who the hell am I kidding, reader!? Did you actually believe any of that fairytale, naïve nonsense!? Well, you’d be just as stupid as my illustration of the young woman that I have painted with such a broad brush! What kind of man would I be if I were to just accept this woman back into my life upon her immediate request, after flaunting to the entire world how she has moved on and found somebody else, somebody better than me!? Aside from that, this is a piece dedicated to the lowest form of honesty anyhow, so what is the truth about this alleged primary love? Is not the truth that if she was, indeed, my primary love, that I would not have acted so heinously to begin with? Yes, of course, that is the truth. The nerve of me to ever claim such love! Do you know what people miss when they find themselves going through a divorce or breakup, reader? I’ve never missed specific people. Goodness, there are thousands of better people than whoever it is I’m fixated on at the time. I miss how easy it was; I miss, and my apologies, specific body parts. Are you going to judge me, reader? Tell me that sinister, egotistical, libido-driven thought never crossed your mind when he or she left! More often than not, that is what people miss, and the pain I feel when thinking about Ashley only exists due to her sleeping with somebody else, sure, somebody who she may love, but more importantly, that I have nobody. The ego is a baffling entity, reader. It would be just like me to receive everything I’ve ever asked for only to piss it away, which, is what I would do if she were to ever show up at my doorstep. How could she be so stupid to do that – to subject herself to a relationship that already has a permanent wedge stabbed into it? Do you know, reader, that I know of a single relationship that has no infidelity inside of it whatsoever, just a single one, and I envy that relationship to this day? I never want to be involved in a relationship or marriage with cheating lodged into it forever, and I have tarnished that primary love for eternity, alas, my Divine punishment. Well, what else am I supposed to do, reader? You tell me. What is one supposed to do with the reality that they are at fault for the predicament they are in? This mindset, this line of thinking that I never loved her to begin with, that I only miss the more hedonistic aspect of a relationship, must prevail, or else I take one step closer to the ledge of that Godforsaken bridge. As soon as I want to curse God for this, I am reminded that, still, by His grace, He has given me everything that I’ve ever wanted – the ability to write and talk shit – my God-given gifts. Why, thank you, Father God! That’s what I am left with today, a pen (or keyboard) and resentment. I’ve been told resentment takes more people out than any other emotion, which I believe to be the case, but shockingly enough, that’s what keeps me going – the hope that one day that motherfucker gets hit by a bus. Ah, yes, there are days where Greyhound survived as my Higher Power! “Dear, Greyhound, please let today be the day you ruin the relationship that isn’t meant to be, for it is I that decides who gets to be with who! Amen!” It has nothing to do with him, really, as I would feel this way toward anybody that she found, but he is guilty by association regardless.
There was a time when I used to make fun of people for wanting to kill themselves after the person they loved left them. As a matter of fact, that time is still now, and even though I understand it, I still cringe as I write it. “Whiskey Lullaby” makes me want to vomit. “Grow a set and find another one,” I think to myself; however, I do understand it. After all, if you’ve blown the opportunity granted to you by God, what is left to do? The man says, “there are plenty of fish in the sea, my friend.” Ah, yes, as if you get to meet the majority of the fish. It dawns on me that this man hasn’t done much fishing. No fisherman speaks about the day when they caught one-hundred fish; no, they perpetually speak about the day when they caught the fish – that fish, that one fish, and how they may never catch a fish like that ever again. Relax, internet, I am not comparing the love of your life to a fish; it’s just an analogy. I don’t need your help in being canceled after disparaging women younger and older than I am, so virtually, all of them. If I’m going to get canceled, you could at least let it happen organically. Anyway, it is the predominant factor in life, is it not? Finding somebody and starting a family with them, and when that blows up in our face, by our own accord, *sigh*, well, the bridge becomes all the more plausible, doesn’t it?
3
I must reverse course – immediately. Last night, as fate would have it, I had the worst sleep I’ve had in years. There were voices, nightmares, and “apparitions” galore. God is real, and he, understandably, doesn’t appreciate much of what I’ve written. For whatever reason, it never occurred to me that as I was mocking God’s creation, even mocking myself, which qualifies as God’s creation, of course, that I was doing “the other guy’s” bidding. There is, however, some utility in the first two parts of this series, and the utility is that if you relate to anything I’ve written prior to this, you are in a dangerous place. God, because of my sarcastic, satirical approach to what He has created, I feel had left me alone for a single night, and that was all it took to find that no matter how dark I think it is at this present moment, believe you me, it gets darker than I ever could fathom. “Hell is a bottomless pit,” they say. This, I’ve discovered, is an ominous truth, one to be taken seriously, for even the mere threat of leaping off a bridge does not alleviate darkness, nor does actually carrying out the leap. The idea that eliminating oneself relieves them of guilt, pain, sadness, resentment, envy, or whatever emotion or feeling that accompanies hell, not the “idea” of hell, actual hell, because it is real, is but a trick in the bag of many of the lowest power. We cannot escape by way of the cheapest escape. Only a deeper, more sinister darkness would follow; however, I do want to bring you all good news, the most fantastic news, that because hell is real, God is real, and Heaven is real. Please, I beg of you, if you connect with the darkest parts of the mind that I have illustrated before this, understand that you are connecting with the enemy. Detach yourself this instant. Rediscover the Lord our God, for He is the light, the way out of the dark.
Father God, forgive me, for I know not what I do and know not what I was saying. The version of myself that I have depicted is not the version that you intended me to be, does not reflect your creation, and is not an example of the work you have already gracefully put into my life. Who was it exactly that rescued me from the pits of alcoholism, who gave me this “pen” that I write with today, who gave me two functioning arms and legs, who, for whatever reason, created me able-bodied as opposed to another who may be “less fortunate,” who has surrounded me with family and friends that love me when they have multiple reasons not to, who gave me life itself? It was not me; it was You. My lack of gratitude for what You have done is astonishing at times. You could have and still can call my number anytime You please, You could have removed me from your creation for speaking ill against you, for committing possibly the most despicable of sins in pointing your children in the wrong direction, but You have not. No, You have kept me alive because, apparently, You are not finished with me just yet. For this, Father, I am forever grateful, and I pray never to lose this “feeling” of gratitude again.
To the love of my life, whom I still feel is exactly that, I offer my apologies to you just as well. You witnessed some of my darkest days, which, obviously, were partnered with my darkest thoughts, and goodness me, you stayed! Some might argue that was stupid on your part, but I beg to differ. I cannot put into words how much hope it gives me, how much hope that it should give to others, that there is somebody out there that is willing to fight for what or who they love. Formerly, I had mentioned that I missed how “easy” it was and that was what I was missing, but that could not be further from the truth. Maintaining relationships is no easy task, but I certainly made it as difficult as it possibly could be, and that is not your fault but mine. While a bit of a comedic attempt, of course, I do not wish your new partner or any future partner to be struck by a bus. As a matter of fact, when I am operating outside of the “dark room,” it brings me great joy to see that you have found someone who is, hopefully, treating you the way that I feel you deserve to be treated. Yes, it is true, that while I wish it was currently me that is afforded that opportunity, it appears it wasn’t part of God’s plan. A plan that I spent the better portion of this series ridiculing and mocking, but it is evident that He knows better than I. To be honest (which is a weird phrase, isn’t it? As if I haven’t been honest at any other point), I’m actually quite envious of what you have today. At least, I think I am, anyway. God willing, I hope that I become the man God planned me to be so that I may bring joy to another the way I know that you do.
What is the way out of the dark and into the light, then? Well, is not the usefulness in discovering the most sickening parts within us that they be brought out of the dark; and, therefore, into the light? Without the awareness that we, or I, am a resentful, angry, envious, bitter, self-seeking sinner, I will perpetually be looking outward for healing rather than within, which is where God is found. If I may steal a quote from Mr. Carl Jung, he says, “Modern men cannot see God because he does not look low enough.” When people use the phrase “give it up to God,” what does that mean exactly? Does it not suggest that one travels within as low as conceivably possible to dig up their thoughts, feelings, and behaviors that rest at the bottom, only to present them to the light that they may be uncovered? It is a contrasting process to the way of the west, where we showcase solely the highlights, the most lavish, productive parts of ourselves, so that everyone may see how good we are doing. Ah, but we know better than that, don’t we, reader? Perhaps some are illustrating the truth, if that be the case, a tip of the cap to them; however, this is still an external indicator and quite the contrary to any form of humility. Where is the Instagram post of the husband yelling at his wife, of the wife speaking to another man, of the baseball player striking out four times in a game, or of the one who drinks or uses again after a lengthy period of sobriety? It’s not there. I should know; I refused to signal that to everyone when it happened to me, but of course, the day that I reached a milestone? Oh, yes, you better believe it was posted. This procedure is looking from the top down to seek God as opposed to looking from the bottom up.
It’s a terrifying, counterintuitive course of action, as nobody wishes to stare into the abyss within, but “the dragon hoards the gold,” as they say. Looking where we least want to look, going where we would least like to go, forgiving who we would least like to forgive, and loving who we would least like to love is, unfortunately, the only method of turning dark to light. Who would dare detail the worst of themselves to another human being, or worse, who would dare detail the worst of them to God himself? We have a choice; we can either make this journey within voluntarily and bring what must be brought into the light on our own accord, or we can let society or somebody else do it for us, and the latter, my friends, is not the way I wish for it to be done, for anybody. “Nothing is covered up that will not be revealed or hidden that will not be known.” I can bring what must be brought into the light myself, or I can be caught looking funny in the light. The choice is mine – or ours.
4
Do you guys want to know the history of existence – the reason why we are all here? I’ll tell you because I know. It’s a very simple dialogue between two entities, the highest and lowest, that sent in motion the reality in which we currently live. In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the earth and saw that it was good. This, we know; however, not even God preferred to marvel at what He had done by His lonesome, so he created “people,” if you could even call them that – that He referred to as angels. Yes, reader, He may have created angels before he created the physical universe, but the sequence of events matters not. All that matters is that we know that He created both.
Anyway, eventually, one of His angels gazed upon God’s creation and thought to himself, “It’s honestly not that great. As a matter of fact, I could do a better job.”
God replied, “Want to bet?”
The angel replied, “Yeah, actually, I do.”
God ended the conversation with something to this effect, “You shall die trying.”
Alas, the explanation of you and I being here together today. We are but pawns in a pre-determined game of spiritual warfare between two entities. If you don’t like the word pawn, perhaps you could substitute the word “signposts” in that spot, but we are what we are regardless of terminology. Spend any extended period in the spiritual “domain,” let’s say, and you will know this to be an evident truth, although it must be said, we don’t have much of a say in the matter. Eventually, we will have no choice but to enter the war of spirits after the reliance upon self and attempting to play God fails. Our only hope is that God chooses to save us when that time comes, that in His plan, we were able to survey enough billboards, so to speak, that we were able to be still enough and know that He is God – because this is not our choice, which is unfair, it is, and we’ll get to that, but life isn’t fair, Jack. As profoundly pointed out to me by one Daniel Schwarzhoff, “This is not paradise; this is a cosmic penalty box outside of heaven, and only the consciously awake will survive it.” Selah..
I have no idea why God chooses who He chooses. I’m not about to try and explain it because I can’t, and nobody can. The first two parts of this series were essentially me balling up my fist, screaming at the clouds, telling God how unfair it is that I’m a “soldier” in this war. Ultimately, that was the point, that there is logic in my (or our) seething resentment towards existence! Why would I have ever chosen this!? Well, I didn’t, and I don’t get to. Nobody does; I’m not unique. We are all unwilling combatants in the war betwixt good and evil. This logical, reasonable resentment towards reality is the lowest power’s greatest, go-to weapon. It is a “cunning, baffling” trick in the bag, as it makes intellectual sense, and in a court of law, it would hold up precisely because of logic and reason. That’s the power behind the trick, though, isn’t it – that logic and reason can be attached to the lowest of human emotions? “What is logic in an illogical existence?” My favorite line, or question rather, posed by Sadhguru. What is this logical resentment, anyhow? I’ll tell you what it is – this is me determining to God that His creation is not all that it is cracked up to be, that I can do a better job than He can, that I’m willing to bet my life on that, and that I am willing to die trying. Sound familiar? It should, and if you have ever descended into that nihilistic, bottomless pit, or perhaps that is where you currently reside, then you, my friend, are in a dangerous, pitiful, dark place. It’s called hell; you don’t need to die first to get there. Furthermore, you, as were I, an active member of the lowest entities “army,” the enemy of the highest. Once again, be still and know that He is God, for only He can save us.
Any resignation to this perceived “injustice” done to us by the Almighty does what, and for who, exactly? In the end, all that ends up occurring is that I need something to blot out the consciousness of reality, whether that be alcohol, gambling, food, sex, drugs, or whatever vice is most readily available, and I “turn heel” on everyone I love and care about. How might we describe this, then? Could we not describe this as carrying out the lowest of wills, which, ironically, in a roundabout way, is God’s will, as He obtains the uncanny power to use everything bad for the good (although I hesitate to use the phrase “use everything bad for good,” as this would indicate that God reacts to us, which would be incorrect), but that we are not the enemy’s “solider?” It’s a frightening way to articulate it, but is this not the truth? Furthermore, if we do, indeed, agree to this, then what would we normally refer to as soldiers of the enemy? Why, demons, of course! On the contrary, it must be said that soldiers of God are, needless to say, angels, and there are a handful of people that we would acknowledge as such. I’m not necessarily suggesting that human beings are angels and demons, but I am suggesting that they are, in essence, involuntarily playing the role of one or the other. People have this idea that when someone is under “demonic possession,” that an evil spirit has entered the body, that the “host” now sprouts horns, starts speaking in tongues and breathing fire. The other side of the coin is the angel, where when we believe someone to be an angel, they magically dawn a halo and wings, flying around casting Godly fairy dust on all who may need it. This, obviously, is not how any of it works, but whether we consider one angelic or demonic, we are referencing whatever it is that encapsulates one’s being – their frame of mind, demeanor, attitude, behavior, and whatever else applies. Ultimately, let us suppose all of this is too dramatic for one. In that event, let me leave you with the inescapable truth that there are only two kinds of people in this world, the people that God has chosen and the people He hasn’t, neither of which have anything to do with His decision.
Alcoholics, myself included in that, are a funny breed. The primary purpose of the individual entering Alcoholics Anonymous (is to stay sober and carry the message to the alcoholic who still suffers) is to find God within and have a spiritual awakening. In actuality, that purpose is not exclusive to alcoholics, “we” just happen to think we are distinctive from everybody else, but I digress. Yet, with this purpose of finding God being well-known, sometimes I’ll hear two different types of shares in meetings. The first man or woman says, “Hey, my name is so-and-so, and today I have forty years of sobriety.” Everyone claps. Then, the next man or woman shares and says, “Hey, my name is so-and-so, and I relapsed yesterday.” Everyone feels bad and wants to help. Know what the funny thing is? Most of the time, both of these people really believe that they had something to do with their sobriety or their relapse. This could not be further from the truth. Whether we drink, relapse, run, walk, get a job, become homeless, start a family, or die alone, or literally any other thing you can think of is out of our control. There is no such thing as free will; there is only God’s will, and to think so highly of myself that I have the ability to uproot that will, is playing God and signifies nothing other than a lack of faith. Someone said to me the other day that they are “continuously living in God’s will.” I believe they said this unironically, as if they have a choice, but, reader, let me tell you something, they – or we – don’t. It is all God’s will. Death, taxes, COVID, famine, abundance, it’s all His. Nothing we “do” will ever change that.
Through the screen, I can almost hear the reader muttering to his or herself that “there is a difference between free will and freedom of choice.” Here’s a compatibilist description from Wikipedia’s entry on free will: “Freedom of choice (freedom to select one’s will) is logically separate from freedom to implement that choice (freedom to enact one’s will), although not all writers observe this distinction.” If freedom of choice is the freedom to select one’s will, let us stop right there, as we must understand that it is not something we are afforded. With regard to the latter, if freedom to implement that choice is the freedom to enact one’s will, well, we aren’t afforded that, either. I didn’t set out to end this series by disagreeing with philosophers who have logged many more hours than me on “studying” the subject, but therein lies the problem. Allow me to offer one (or two) more quote from Mr. Schwarzhoff, “If you were to try to ‘reconcile’ any truth, it would go over your head, and you’d never see it for yourself.” At first, I was quite hot at Mr. Schwarzhoff for even proposing this, something like, “don’t you fucking tell me what will and will not go over my head,” but he’s right. One more from him reads as follows, “deliberate reconciliation is intellectual, and these are spiritual matters.” As far as I can tell, he is correct on both accounts. Any attempt to intellectualize or philosophize around the “idea” of free will is a lost cause, for we make any discovery on the matter through life experience, through life itself, which is in the hands of God. Perhaps stealing from “The Mind From a Small Room,” but any prior belief, notion, or idea one has will inevitably be confronted and challenged by life itself; therefore, by God.
Please do not let me convince you that I am God-conscious at every waking moment. Goodness me, two posts ago, I was about to curse His name! Obviously, I hope that most of my readers will come to “agree with me” on the subject, or at the very least, I hope that it sparks an interesting dialogue between readers, but the one who might benefit from this series is myself, as a means to initiate the destruction of this massive ego I’ve attained. If, by chance, I have also succeeded in commencing that beginning for you as well, then that is even better. Let God and let God. After all, He’s going to do what He’s going to do regardless of what we want Him to do.
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