15 Aug 2017

Flesh that Resists

I hope these words find you well, for as you read them, I can tell you that I am no longer among the living.

By this point, you will have heard of an incident having taken place. Sources will use demeaning terms to refer to myself, my brothers and sisters and our actions, but remember that they are no more than mouthpieces for those that would deceive. Do you know the plain and simple truth? This is not Judgment Day, but what precedes it.

Allow a dead man to elaborate, gentle reader.

We possessed the means and methods, and had in place every cog required in this, a machine of heaven. The initiation was something beautiful as it was pragmatic. Belongings from the former life were relinquished and burned, and the acolyte received white tee-shirts, black khakis, jackboots and a pocket copy of the Scripture. The young and disillusioned found purpose and grew; the aged and jaded rediscovered life. We became one, remade, the thousand threads of a rope.

The Word roused them from a deep sleep and stirred something within them, guiding them as chemicals dulled their bodily senses, and lay to rest animal desires as they came to see that glint of light and truth. We came one by one to dream little dreams of a divine glow, the white-hot presence illuminating the threshold we were to cross, a new world order, pure set aside from the impure, wheat from the chaff.

Imagine it!

Even now, as the servants of ignorance encroach on this ground we made sacred, we sense that glow around the final corner of this fleeting life. We were never so ready, so brimming with that energy. I can see His greatness in the jeweled eyes of these brothers and sisters, feel it pulsating through every vein.

Let them come and ask the knife what becomes of the flesh that resists. Let them drown beneath waves of righteous lead and cleansing fire. Then and only then can we hope that they find absolution, so let them come. Angels will smile.


You stand in puddles
to avoid rain, and cloaked in
fear, question cold feet.