Nihilism: An Unorthodox Messiah
What is it about the darkness that makes me feel so at home? Or perhaps, what is it about me? Why are we so crippled by the contradictory commands of our day? Or perhaps they are crippling due to our aching need and hope for the absence of such trilemma and the ruthless dictatorships forged in their place. For whatever nature of orders we are given, we respond with thrice more, thinking that any authority not granted to us, is that means by which we need even more follow our own dictates.
Obeisance requires its own massive stores of energy. Yet in the scheme of human affairs, we are left with nothing, making revolt disappointingly chronic albeit soon quite dull and arbitrary. So, how to give it up without giving up? Life and its success or failure is directly commensurate with a trick of constant measure, whose scale’s units read like some dyslexic, cryptic codex, more being less, less being more and still, the space in between, determining fortune or catastrophe. For in Truth, equitability is an abomination, a perversity of those fallible yet malleable phenomena of human vitiation and imaginings.
Ah, what terrible webs our minds do weave, when first we practice to believe, for belief is but the portent of assured repudiation. Thus perhaps only the nihilists of any culture are christened for true greatness, as they leave room for that endless epiphanous redemption which cannot be preened from the snares of all definitive “knowing.” For they are of quite another kind of mind, as they know all too wisely to coddle objective indifference & to search fruitlessly for neither question nor answer.
Thus do they find, in their aimlessness, direction and resolve, in their wealth of despair, can they buy out the indigence of careless ignorance, finding true exultation. For the nihilist, through his flagrant apostasy, finds salvation, and through his humble agnosticism, comes closest to God. And yet he finds with such abundance, because he does not seek. For Truth is already here, there and everywhere.
And when man seeks for that which he has never lost, loss of Truth finds him, blinding him with cataclysmic and paralytic grief for the rest of his days. And the more he tries to remember, the more he slowly & painfully forgets. And it is past this point that he, the zealous believer, has become his much dreaded world-without-meaning. Implosion occurs in nauseatingly infinite syncopation & with stunning reverberation, and neither the deepest sea of longing nor the highest lofts of asomatous aspiration can offer any reprieve. And one day, the only thing left to save him from complete annihilation, will prove to be the crafty but wise counsel of the nihilist.
