I believe that I am chasing ghosts and imagined whispers. There really is no point to any of this. There is no meaning to be found, only meaning that can be made. Finding purpose and despair (purpose in despair) all at the same time. I despair because I do not desire subjective meaning. I need an object. Something to adore, venerate, and pursue. I need my crucifix. But I have found that even in the sacred image, there is despair to be found, and I do not merely speak of the feelings of pious contrition invoked by the corpus of the Lord. To be human is to despair.
The usual explanation given for the Passion and Crucifixion is the idea that the just God requires proper blood sacrifice to appease his wrath, and out of God’s benevolence, he provides his own Son for the slaughter.
But I think a far more poetic idea is the Great Suicide: that God’s misery, due to humanity’s — his love’s — infidelity, eventually overwhelmed all of his consciousness until he desired to annihilate himself in grief. But since he’s God, he obviously needed to find some way out of his immortality, at least in a sense. This is the Incarnation. This is why Christmas is totally wrong with it’s bright lights and high spirits. Christmas is not a time for joyful celebration and feasting, but it is a dark day when God initiates his plan to scar himself and humanity in the process.
Often times when people choose to kill themselves, they commit the act to produce some kind of effect on the people he or she is acquainted with. They think it is a sort of bold declaration to the people around them: “You’re sorry now!” “You won’t ignore me now!” “Look what you have driven me to do! You’ll love me now!” “Now you’ll remember me! I hope you feel guilty. I hope my memory makes you weep every night in guilt!”
Perhaps this was God’s declaration to his beloved who betrayed him. Maybe this is why Christianity with its central icon of Christ crucified has been so popular, perhaps this is why humanity has been so obsessed with Jesus’ death — we can’t forget what madness our infidelity drove God into. Maybe this is why human beings are so obsessed with death and suicide in general. Indeed, we are of his own image.
Hell, this could explain depravity in general.
Please understand: this is not heresy, this is poetry. A far greater heresy would be to claim anything other than poetry as truth. I am chasing ghosts.
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