06/05/2024, The Mad Prophet Emilio
Shed yourself. Shed Yourself Before God.
Your ego. Strip it down. Who am I underneath all the personas I have built up on myself? Why have I built such different faces? Why am I afraid to show the World who I am at my core?
Why do I care so much of the opinions of others? Strip down the ego. The facade. What is left? Is there anyone even there?
“Who are you?” I said to myself. I was a blaspheming monster with 69 heads, Standing upon the stripped and bloodied corpse of my younger self. “Who the fuck are you?” My voice broke, begging and pleading with This bloody entity lying on the ground. For this monster does not know who it is. No words nor screaming nor crying nor whimpering came from this pathetic pile of mess.
Who am I?
I was laying there contemplating this question. I did not scream nor cry because it saw no reason to. I was too deep in contemplation. “Who am I?”
The bloody youth silent in contemplation. The terrible monster with 69 blaspheming heads, sobbing. A figure in white, standing over them, looking into a crystal lake. The shadow that stands in the corner of the universe watching the three of them. All four figures, standing on a plane above the Earth.
The ones watching over the Earth looked upon the scene before them: The demons, hiding within the empty beauties and promises of the World. The angels, a spiraling torrent in the heavens, singing praises to God every single moment of eternity. For they are in euphoria every moment.
The lamb at the center of the spiraling crowd of angels. The Figure behind the lamb. The Figure that is actually the lamb, angels, four figures, and the World. They all turned to look at me and asked.
“Who are you?”
And I remembered who I was.