The Stranger God

God is the concept by which we measure our pain. The Shadow of God, in exactly Jung's sense, is love. Love flows like blood from any wound deep enough to kill the idea of justice, which is finally the idea that this world makes a human kind of sense, was made for us by the same voice that spoke our souls into being. In the beginning was the word, and a dead soulless world that made the word a lie, that made what we could not go on being what we were without believing a denial of the reality of the dead world around us. Either that world or our souls could be real and true but not both. When justice dies, love begins as the ghost of something departed, becoming the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen, in so doing, turning a nevermore into a not yet, a thing lost into a thing not yet found. Love is the hidden heart of a heartless world. No one crawling on this blighted star has even seen love, nor any evidence of love. It is what we must believe in order to keep moving in any direction after any reasonable hope of prospering or finding anything in this world which satisfies has been killed by experience. We call this hope innocence. It is what we lose when we realize where we are, and that where we are is what happens when the forces that favor us are driven from the field, quarantined outside of time and space, and reduced to nothing more than a voice trapped inside our thickness of skulls and tongues, silenced and powerless outside the solitary confinement of those skulls; we are souls who believe in water because we are parched with thirst in a world as dry as the dust in some grave so ancient and forgotten that no one can name what was in that grave before dry dust.