Like maggots, we were birthed out of death. Conceived by a rotting corpse.
Yes, yes indeed that’s how nauseating our existence is.
And not just any corpse, but a wounded corpse of a man who once called himself God. His body, rippened by the inflicted wounds for its last purpose: to birth a colony of worms, Maggots, and nothing any better.
Like a catalyzed process, it conceived us in 3 days and OUT we bit our way out to the outside world, taking in as much flesh as our stomachs could hold and soon our adventure began which later became a nightmare for the weak-hearted like me….
12 hours outside that rolled tombstone, my eyes have become weary. Disillusioned by the disappointment that comes with facing retality of the famously “taled” legends of a world called Earth. I have bitten deep at the juicest fat called money, yet my tongue rebels with abhorrence for its taste. I have rubbed my skin with the purest of gold, yet my itchy spots never seize, I have drunk to the very bottom of wealth yet my thirst is never quenched.
Could it be that this quest is meaningless? But why do many keep striving hard to obtain even the tiniest fraction of this loot called wealth?
I realize my foolishness and even with the little time left before my metamorphotic transformation into a chrysalis, I will still head back to the tomb.
I don’t care how many of Pilate’s men will be standing by the entrance or how many of the clumsy feet of those women will show up to tend the corpse. I don’t care whether they will smear poisons on the corpse to end my life as a parasite without its host. In fact I don’t really care about death for I had already cursed it upon myself the moment I left that tomb.
I will return to my host and have one last bite at his tender flesh to satisfy my cravings. Or at least I will die trying to return. That is far beyond good. I would not like to have my ghosts haunt me into my chrysalis; thoughts of why I didn’t heed the warning of maggot troop 13 or the scepticism of troop 21. How could I be so foolish not to think any better. Indeed I’d rather be stomped over and killed than have those thoughts follow me into my Chrysalis.~
I have bled my pains to the last drop yet nothing seems to be any different. Maybe it’s my worry of whether or not my audience will take personal introspection into consideration, or maybe it’s because I know of another hypnotic force that hinders creatures from reaching out to God.
We call it TIME. Odd as the spell combination looks, it robs a well meaning man of his good motive and leaves nothing better than a walking corpse.
By its magical swings, it hypnotizes people to sleep with one chiming “ding” and with another, it tosses off their blankets and forces them to work with its charming promise: “work my sons….. I will give you a pay check this month end” And when its gears have all turned zero, it announces a new year and raises false hopes of freedom and allows them to make resolutions which, like those of politicians, never come to pass.
Therefore knowing of its sorcery, I will gag my eyes and bud my ears and attack it to enchain its hands with chains of fortitude and locks of determination, never again to let it bring another day after this Easter, never again to let me fall back into sin. For my mind will forever keep the scars of my transgression indelibly stamped on my heart and never to be erased by Time.