Sickness

Sickness signs the warrant of destruction upon the object already filled with wrath; destining it for doom. While it is ridiculous to maintain the conclusion that pain is lucrative, it is perhaps wise to accept the realization that it is poignant; in that it does not beat about- but clearly and succinctly presents its case: that the body of pain is the body of death, and that destruction is our ultimatum, if not our destination.

That is, our destination in its most pure form is nothing more than a potential location maintained within that framework of reason that spins unceasingly toward its continual seeking resolution which is Time. And, as it is said, with much fortitude and often with sorrowful sincerity; Time is always against us. And this opponent of time, while an opponent, is not an enemy -for our enemy is death, and this death which we seek to dissuade from its constant march to gain our souls is only slowed in its march by times immemorial march upon itself, and upon that future destination which is so closely tied to our current location.

And these marches, which we desire to ultimately cancel each other out, in fact, cancel the debt that is owed by us, to ourselves, and it places squarely in our laps the ultimatum which we cannot misapprehend, not misappropriate. In fact, it is the one responsibility which we can never remove from our soul's list of labors- the one responsibility besides the greatest responsibility, the concern of a future entry; the responsibility to live in light of death and time.

But sickness, this is our bane. Why? But for the simple reason that in sickness we behold the terrifying power of Death & Time, and at the same time experience the debilitating fury of their marriage and conception of their despicable child; our own wills. Sadness overcomes me in the realization that death and time have this in common; they both hold dominion over us- but only to the extent that we allow them to become our demonic obsession. Demonic, since it is the convention of misappropriating God's location as head; the essence of self-indulgence and obsession: idolatry.

What angers us most about sickness, but the ability of it to render us completely unable to forsake, within our minds and attentions, the experience and reality of such? We can never escape from sickness. Though we may spend our lives attempting to overcome the symptoms and expressions of sickness- we can never escape from the experience of its reality in life.

And this sickness, which so plagues us, does us in the end an extreme favor; it releases to our minds and bodies a small foretaste of the reality which is based within the realization of our own wills: the marriage of death and time, that beautiful destruction of ourselves which is the ultimatum we must accept if we have fully been able to forsake our greatest responsibility, and instead sought (and in this case; found) our own indulgence and idolatrous self-obsession.