When The Death Wind Blows

I felt the full force of the Death Wind last night. I felt its inexpressible horror. If I had thought that I had felt it before, I had been mistaken. I had not felt it. I had been mistaken. What I had felt last night showed me that I had been mistaken. Do you know the wind of which I speak? I would count you lucky if you have not. It bears – in their billions – the spores of psychic death, not physical death. Physical death is not to be feared, no matter what we are told in this illusion realm. It is the psychic death that is to be feared…



Physical death is but a moment of transition – the psychic death is the absence of transition. It is a dark shroud that falls over us and envelops us in its kiss of oblivion. It covers us over. This is the death kiss; this is the kiss of Corruption Itself. Corruption wears many masks. It walks the earth under every guise imaginable, preferring in most cases the mask of refinement and beauty. Who amongst us questions the mask of refinement and beauty?



How easily we are fooled! How willingly we are duped! I often find myself wondering what is wrong with us that we so willingly allow ourselves to be led to the prison cell. We barely complain – only the faintest whimper, from time to time. What greater horror is there than this?  It is as if we were resigned to our fate right from the very beginning, as if we had no other expectation. It is as if we believe that we fully deserve this fate, that we do not have the right to aspire to any other…



Whatever happened to make us like this, I wonder? How have we been so thoroughly crushed? We are like those hypnotized – we walk in a trance, en masse, uncomplainingly, every man and woman a copy of the next. Do we even know what we are doing? Have we no clue where we are headed, do we not see where this grim road leads to? Sometimes I feel that we do – in some way that we have no means or ability to express – know. There is a deep sadness in people that leads me to believe that we do – on some deep level – know only too well what is happening to us.  We’re just resigned to it, we take it as our due. We go to our doom like homing pigeons returning unerringly to their loft.



The Death Rain is falling softly. You can barely hear it fall, you can barely feel it land on you. I can feel it though, and I know what it signifies. No plants or flowers are nurtured by this rain, only unclean things, only monstrosities. These monstrosities are not the type that offend the eye – they are not monstrosities of the physical variety but the psychic. They come and go as they please in this world. They have the run of the place. They walk where they will and everywhere they go we admire them and fawn upon them. We give them everything they want – we deny them nothing. No honour is too great for these psychic monsters – we place them in positions of power over us. We submit to their will, monstrous though it may be. Monstrous as it is.



Such is the world in which we live, where evil things are given free reign and goodness dare not show its face. We all know well what happens to goodness when she shows her face in this world. Nothing gives more offence to corruption than the fair face of goodness. Such is the world we live in. Who can deny this? Who can deny that this is the nature of the world in which we live? What kind of incorrigible foolishness is it that lives in us, makes it home in us, and somehow prevents us from seeing this truth? I often wonder what kind of sickness is in us that causes us to tolerate this horror – there is no sense to it, no rhyme or reason. And not only tolerate the corruption but collude in it, put our full weight to the wheel, and throw in our lot with the Wicked Ones.





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