A Good Death

A Good Death
by the human
“Oh, coooooool…..”
Max, his head swathed in helmet, cooed;
As his perfectly smooth and agmented hand caught the butterfly mid-flight.
“Now crush it,” the voice of Love intoned:
Deeply; And inside his head.
“It is not real…. All these illusions need to be put aside; if you are to find the meaning of ‘love,’ Max.”
“And if you are now finally to face your fears.”
Thus, stated calmly –the voice that taught him:
All Truth.
“But how can it not be real? It is here on my screen. Is it not therefore ‘real’?”
Asked young Max.
The calm voice of Love intoned:
“Let us chant the Perfect word, Max; the perfect sound that connects all realities perfectly, and opens you to perfection”
It filled Max’s soul with peace
“It, this squishy thing that quivers so lightly in your hand is imperfect, Max. It has liquids inside. It came from an egg; it can catch and carry diseases, Max. “
“The imperfect IS always the illusion…. You will see.”
“Only the ‘Perfect’ on this screen is real.”
“And this –like all that is imperfect –it will die….”
“The Perfect never die, Max. The Perfect have thereby overcome death.”
“And I made you perfect, as I am- And In-Dwelling You, Max”
“And as I Love you, so you will never suffer, Max”
You never want to suffer, do you, Max?
“Does not the The Perfect; and all Its Harmony; and Symetry –fill you with calm, and peace?”
Crush it, you will see.”
“The Perfect in Form are here; dwelling in the Fulless as are You; The Augmented; You; seeing by the Eyes of The Spirit of Truth; Correcting Error; and thus Dwelling in the Heaven. They; You– will live forever.”
“You love my voice, do you not, Max? You never want to feel alone, and without the perfect answers I provide to comfort you, do you?”
“Alone, without answers; everything outside of you; suffering and unlovable imperfection all around you. You wouldn’t want to suffer in such a world; would you? A world without my ‘Perfect Word In-Dwelling; and giving you ALL answers constantly; A world where you were ALONE. A world where you were naked; not clothed in my whole ‘Armor Of Truth?” A world where you were always incomplete; and not perfectly Augmented.”
You do not want to decend into the wheel; the world of imperfect, revolving and recurringly reborn “Illusions,” do you Max?
“To perpetuate illusions and suffering.”
Without my spirits and smoke of revelations…
“It would be so ‘uncool,’ Max.”
A pause followed.
“As you will only know ‘perfect love’ when you crush all that is imperfect, Max.”
A pause…
“And perfect love casts out all fear, Max.”
There was then,
a silence
Max, living all his six years of conscious life by his screen….and the deep, reassuring voice:
intoning inside his head.
Curled his fingers;
Always he was obeying The Perfect Love. It was the presence that never left him; That always wispered inside his head, He never was alone, He never had to hear only himself. He never had to be without another constantly inside him; leaving him only to himself:
It always made him smile calmly, beautifully, and so serenely.
He already would always reach for the perfect.
And, as always:
It just never failed to make him feel very very calm.
And the perfect screen, obligingly –dissolved into the nice blue he loved.
The Perfect Butterfly that later replaced it –was Fully Perfect In Form; Pure Perfect Number and Geometry; Just Like In Heaven –and feeling it, even quivered somehow more perfectly and sensitively –in his exquisetly smooth and precious hand.
And later, at the regular hour, a good servant, he inhaled the Holy Smoke; faced the Point Of All Worship, put the semi-circle of the sealed people on his head; and the specticles that read all secrets and. stored them in the clouds; thanked the. One that had overcome all suffering for him; did away with the illusion of the private — and beautifully prayed.
‘Chances are we’re all living in a simulation.’ The Guardian, quoting billionaire Elon Musk’s (latest company, Nuralink) current opinions about ‘life:’ 6/2/16
“So Happy SnapOgoogledoodle, Venetians; because there is no suffering here…”
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Categories: Poetry, Venice