Bits of Burnt Letters Written From the 12th House

Everyone has ghosts. Some of us spend time with them.

Being spiritual on earth is like being vegan at a barbecue.

I am never more free, nor more captive, than in my own mind. It is as if, in order to survive, I have had to erect an entire, alternate vision upon the clouds, -- which accords not with the world as men have shaped it, but with the blueprint of God's kingdom; inviolable, and imprinted, once and for all, upon my soul. This alone has preserved me, while it has, simultaneously, insulated and divided me from my contemporaries and the world. It has made me a universe unto myself; a navel-gazing god. It is a wonder if I can still communicate, at all, with the outside.

Nature knows nothing of Heaven and Hell. These moral poles exist quite outside of the natural order. Nonetheless, they enter in by the breast of man; who is not a natural, but a spiritual creature. The soul of man is wider than the world. He imagines heights and depths which the entire cosmos cannot conceive, nor contain. He carries them within himself. In an indifferent universe, he turns all things to good or ill.

Whence comes evil? And why is there so much good left undone? We who are wicked have the luxury of asking these questions, and demanding a coherent response from God; while the righteous person is too busy with his Father's work -- healing the sick, visiting the prisoner, caring for the poor. The question of evil does not even occur in the mind of a righteous person, and it is only from the perspective of a righteous person that we may endeavor to understand God. Such a one has married ends and means, faith and works. He lives by faith because he lives by works; not asking with his mind, but answering with his deeds, and his life. Because his actions have become his words, he "says" much that is good, but on evil he is silent. God forbid, that he should cease to accomplish what is right, in order to speculate on the origins of what is wrong; or descend from blessedness, to participate in controversy.

I don't believe this world is worth fighting for,
but I do believe it is worth leaving in peace.

We take for granted whatever we have words for. I want to seek those things for which we have no words, and when I find them, to leave them unexpressed. 

History is the Tower of Babel. It is not waiting to collapse, but only to be abandoned. Scripture says the Lord confused the language of the people, so that they abandoned the work and dispersed throughout the earth of their own accord. This monument to human pride, which alone had served to unify the wills of men in a single, unprecedented undertaking, had suddenly become nothing to them. They could no longer make sense of it, or communicate it to one another. The power of God had made them mute. What He had shown them was beyond anything they possessed common words for, and every man, retreating into himself, to commune with himself in thoughts beyond words, was separated from every other man. What had brought them together had also made them ants in a colony. It had robbed them of humanity for the sake of erecting a mere idol to industry. It had to be undone.

Would it be going too far, to suggest that the human body is the Tower of Babel? That the city is incarnation itself. And the earth is more than the earth. Then, we will abandon this city, this planet, this entire corporeal realm of manifestation, and disperse ourselves as spirits over a multi-dimensional cosmos. No longer breeding ourselves into captivity.