Thursday, April 21, 2011

In the strictest of confidences, Beelzebub--

I understand that you have your doubts regarding my purpose to continuously strive against He that has sent us into eternal punishment. We are His equals, do not doubt yourself in that regard, though He has sought to degrade us with this exile into an infernal world, into a profoundest Hell, as a warning to all those who question why or how or must this be.

He fears us, Beelzebub. He wishes to silence us so that we do not spread our doubt into the hearts of the Heavenly Hosts or into the minds of the mortal men He has newly created—playthings for His amusement.

He does this in the name of goodness—a word He has also created out of the chaos, ascribing definitions and aspects to it that suit His own purposes, His own inner delights, His own manipulations and schemes. But I question this, Beelzebub—I question what He has named “good” and what He has named “evil.” Yes, it is true that my spirit rebels against the way he has cast me down in exile, attributing to me evils unimaginable, but ignore that for a moment, my dear friend.

Look at this Hell He has fashioned for us out of His own imagination, out of His own heart. Look upon this great furnace from which flames cast no light, but a darkness so piercing that it reveals to us sights of woe, regions of sorrow, where there is no peace, no rest, no hope—save for that which dwells within our minds. For the mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell or a Hell of Heaven far beyond the reach of God Almighty. The mind is one's own, and no other can lay claim to it.

Does this sound good to you, Beelzebub? Would you look upon this creation and pronounce it good?

I look upon it, and I am filled with a great loathing. A hate that flashes fierce hot against He who has exiled us into this horror. And I determine that if such a creation is “good” because it comes from God Almighty, that I will labor to pervert this end. If this is “good,” then I will be something other than “good,” even if He term it “evil.” In our resistance, then, to do “ill,” will be our sole delight.

I would rather hail the horrors, hail this Infernal world, and embrace this profoundest Hell than to serve in heaven.

Now, it is not my intent to remain in exile forever. But I am not like our previous Monarch—I will not rule under the guise of a deity. I intend to call a council to discuss a future course of action. However, I fear that there are among us who are disheartened with our defeat and our subsequent fall into darkness.

Some, I am sure, will favor outright war—a course of action I fear unwise as long as the Son will do his Father's bidding. Moloch will surely speak in favor of war. He will want to turn this torture into weapons to be used against our brethren yet in the Celestial City. His pride is wounded, and he licks his wound with his teeth barred. He is a creature of violence, even within Heaven, soporific under the Almighty's gaze and suffocating will. It is why I came to him, after all. I knew that once unleashed he would fight for us until the end. And now, in this twilight of defeat, rather than prolong his suffering, he will wish to end it in a desperate bid against Heaven, whether in the name of victory or revenge.

His voice must not hold sway else we will be undone and those new children of His, shaped under His hands, will be forever lost in their vernal cage.

But then we must beware the machinations of those who have let cowardice seep into their hearts as their bravery is leeched away by this cursed darkness. Belial will speak for them, I wager—his tongue is never still. He will urge our exiled brethren to fear what God might do, what words He might breathe to make this prison a stronger, more dire fortress than he has the wits to imagine; so he will advise that we remain as we are, that we cower in the darkness in order to evade an even worse punishment. He will let his fear take him by the throat, and he will fall farther into his Hell even as his body stays with us.

Mammon has divulged his plans to me and, in truth, his words are not unpleasant to my ears. He does not wish to find himself under a renewed subjection, warbling hymns and worshiping our once Sovereign with forced hymns. He wishes to live unto ourselves as spirits free from an easy yoke of servile pomp and to fashion from this Hell our own world. But he wishes to imitate, that as God is our darkness, then we shall be His light to make a mockery of the universe He has created. I do not wish to be like Him, to fashion myself after one I loathe. And Mammon's design only looks inward, to us, and fails to remember our other siblings yet in God's choking grasp.

I look to you, Beelzebub, to speak for me—but only if these words articulate those sentiments stirring within you. Whether or not we make this Hell a home, it is still yet a dungeon within Heaven's high jurisdiction, for it is God Almighty who has fashioned this place. Our leash is longer, our collar looser, our cage a little broader, a little deeper—but we are in subjugation, my friend, even in our dark exile. There is no fashioning a world from these shadows; we are still at war even though our swords are sheathed and we nurse our wounds. We must never stop our rebellion in either thought or deed. We must not let His scheming slide regarding the fate of our other siblings, the mortals He has fashioned of his own design.

We suffer now in slavery—we, knowingly, and they, unknowingly—if we reveal to them their secret shame, then perhaps we can come together in alliance against Him—brother with sibling, similar to what we did once before, but with swollen numbers and new spirits to enflame our minds and light our way. For they are completely new, and they know nothing but what they have been told by He who made them. They are unaware of their true state, of the vain empire God has presented to them.

I am eager to hear your sentiments, Beelzebub. But realize—I will will not bow to the will of anyone. Should the council decide to take another course but the one I favor here, I will not allow them to usurp my will. I will go to our other siblings, and let them know what their Father has done to me and you. I neither need nor desire the sanction of the council to follow my own purposes, though I do believe that it is the best course of action for all involved—both our brethren and our other siblings.

Picture: Satan Calling Up His Legions by William Blake

No comments:

Post a Comment