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Author Topic: [Dec 2014] - Religion - Submission Thread  (Read 10653 times)

Offline Justan Henner

  • Barbarian who pronounces are, our and hour all the same way
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Re: [Dec 2014] - Religion - Submission Thread
« Reply #15 on: January 01, 2015, 03:11:42 AM »
Don't use it much, but my twitter is @JustanHenner. The word count is 838 words:

Spoiler for Hiden:
Thought's Epitaph

I have never struggled with the blank page. It is the words I have already written which burden me. For a long time, I have questioned them, but ever when my doubts gnawed, I had an answer: “I am their God. I am perfection, and thus these words are right.”

But since the events of two months past, it is an answer which no longer satisfies. There is no perfection. For a people who follow my words, not to, but beyond the letter, each word I speak, and each word I write, is a liability. Had I used the word “cleanse” instead of “purge” would things have gone differently? If I had asked for “restoration” would that madman instead have sought to help the people he slew?

Two months, and every day I pour over my own words. Not just those of that lone speech, but all of my words for the past millennia. They have never spurred this reaction before, have they? What if they have? What if I simply did not notice? All this time, I have been your God and your king, and ever I have known how to act, but now I question what to say. What dare I tell you when my words might stir another madman to genocide?

Do I tell you to be peaceful? No. I tell you to be peaceful and you no longer fight evil. I held the monk as she died, and I watched the smile on her lips as she told me, “I did as you said.” I had not the courage to tell her that she was wrong. She had the strength to save those souls, and yet she did not, all because she thought she knew my mind. It was not better to have done nothing than it would have been to sin.

Do I tell you to fight evil? No. I tell you to fight evil and you find it in those not like yourself. You take the minor line between two sects and turn it to a battlefront. You see a miniscule difference and a simple monastery becomes an affront to your beliefs.

Do I tell you to be happy? No. Because then you ask me “In what way?” or, “What would you have me do?” Nothing. I want nothing from you, nor have I ever. But I do not mind these questions, because in contrast to the questioners are those who assume. Those who kill because it pleases them. Those who rape because it brings them joy. I looked into the madman’s eyes as I proclaimed his sentence. I asked him, “Why have you done this?” and again, the same answer: “Because my Lord, you told me to.” I did not tell him to. He misunderstood.

Do I tell you there is more than life? No. Because then you value death. You punish yourself now in the hopes of future reward – or worse, you punish others. The madman will find no redemption. His loved ones will see no praise or quarter, not in this life or the next. He has damned them and himself.

Though I want to blame you for this misunderstanding, I cannot. I sit with my words and wonder if I could have done better, as both your god and your king. Each time, I come back to the madman. He killed so many. He misunderstood me as so many of you often do. Not all your errors are so major, but in each of you they do exist. You listen but you do not hear. Too often I must repeat that what you have heard is not what I have said. Too often I must wonder if you will take what I say and use it as an excuse. You do not look for wisdom in my words, you seek only to validate your own beliefs.

And yet I cannot blame you, for despite all these reasons, I know the fault rests with me. I have placed myself above you. I have given too much credence to myself and to my words. Made you think that what I say is both law and fact. I should have known better than to believe I could convey the meaning of a God in mere speech. Though I may have thought myself perfection, I have always known that language is the furthest thing from. The same word does not carry the same meaning between two souls, let alone a million. What I have sought – to convey intent with uniformity through voice and pen – none alive can do. Not even a god. I have tried my best, and my words can be no clearer, but it is not enough, and cannot be.

So I wonder: What do I say to you? I have only one thing:
Do not listen to me. I am not your god and I never was.

Find your own way in life. I will not be here tomorrow.

Inscription in the Godless Palace, Kinken
First year of Thought’s Absence