Posted on December 10, 2014 by Geo Poor
Did not my servants tell you what you need? Did not my messengers tell you your danger? Why are you back here? Is there really nothing on that earth, so giant to you, that is worth staying for? I gave you mastery and opportunity and you squander it. I give you methods and answers and yet you must create your own? As if nothing that existed already is worth awareness, worth preservation, worth love? A tree that is felled can become a book – a count of what is holy. Or it can become a chair – for an old man to sit in; or a throne for my Crown. And yet you burn it. You pour smoke into my gift that I gave to you. You use it to lay siege to my creations – and yes, I mean every interpretation of that word, every “brilliant” drash that you can think you were the first to think of. And yes, I can end a sentence with “of” – do you know who I am? I can break grammatical rules, Ani H’ E’, Me dammit! But go ahead, by all means critique! Ignore the fact that your blood flows, that your brain, the most masterful of all computers can connect thoughts and create. You with your hunched back and your slow thought and the easiness with which you are confused. You can continue to act as if you have impunity. And destroy. And create. And revolt.
After all, I would too.
And I created You in My image.