In my ongoing study of the history of the "Human Condition" I was contemplating the spectrum of Consciousness, expanded consciousness of love and compassion for all things at one end, loathing, murder and destruction of the vulnerable and "the different" at the other.
I was reading “The Damned” by J.K. Huysmans, set in late 19th century fin d’siecle Paris about a novelist who writes realist literature. He thinks constantly upon the philosophy of religion, the existence of both benevolent and renegade priests, involving the highs and lows of Catholic practice, transubstantiation and devil worship.
(Another major appeal is joining a powerful cult that secretly rules the world, and lets its members in on the action. Perhaps Satan is its real figurehead, for a vast amount of wealth and cruelty is passed around under its aegis. It stuns me that many of the worlds power-mongers are zealous Catholics, for instance half of our politicians here in Australia, including our Prime Minister. They must all get out the back of the Church and figure out how to carve up the world. Of course there are many quasi-secret cults carving up the world, the Jesuits, Scientologists, Masons, Order of the Skull and Crossbones. Even the Orthodox Churches are hand in glove with political power according to Russian movies like the Gothic Horror, "Viy" and Zvyaginksev's "Leviathon.")
To attempt to get inside the Baron’s corrupted head-space Durtal decides to attend a real black mass performed in his contemporary Paris. I’d been engrossed in this book for two weeks and, as night descended and a storm raged outside, I got to the climactic moment of the novel, to which all acts, speeches and thoughts had led: a defrocked priest begins his terrible invocation of the Devil, the dreaded Black Mass, with the words, “Lord of Misrule, Dispenser of the Wages of Sin, Master of Venalities and Vices! Satan We adore thee, God of logic and reason, just thou art!”
“Mind your own business cunt and go inside.”
“This IS my business, you’re on my doorstep making a disturbance!”
“OH fuck off, ya pussy or I’ll smash ya face in!”
I slammed my door and yelled, “You drug-fucked zombie, let’s see you show your nasty face to the cops!”
“Watch ya back, arsehole! I’ll smash ya next time I see ya!” He kicked, punched and wrenched at my security door, the wrathful demon trying to cross my protected threshold and, not making it, howled in murderous frustration.
But I don’t feel any rage, or even deep hatred, I feel numb, cold, not in the least interested in wrestling about on the verandah on a rainy night with an imp. I’m sixty-fucking-five, I’m too old, too wise, to fight like street thugs. I've done it many times and I'm over it. There was a good reason for my intuition to keep my distance: I heard on the grape-vine he's got three different strains of Hep C, impossible to risk getting his blood on me, still I can only feel deeply sorry for the poor cad.
She hides behind medical terms like personality disorder, sociopath, bipolar hysteric, as if she's possessed by various psycho-demons, in reality she's just a pauper human, with some cunning, the garbage from the dumpster her riches. She has a doctorate in manipulating everyone to get the outcome she desires: a flat to fill with crap, drugs, social workers to fuss over her, social services to get everything for free. She's 45 and never had a job, it's all arranged so she can lazily lie atop a heap of refuse, stoned, reading science-fiction and crime novels.
Don't get me wrong, I'm no Satanist, ready to throw her to the flames, Devil worship is the flip-side to Christianity, both irrational superstitions in my book. If I have to use mythic metaphors, I'm a Luciferian, fallen angel of Light, belonging to neither camps, defying the tyranny of the Hebrew Overlord, purely human, of the Earthly realm. I must try to find some compassion for her. (Yeah yeah, Light has an opposite, Darkness, that's what Mithraic duality is about. It's all nonsense! Knowledge banishes darkness, Reality IS, and it's quite mundane though I do have my own dark side.)
P.S. After flying freely in cyberspace to realms of wonder and enlightenment, past and future, broad Earth and interstellar space, I'm happy and resigned to my fate, forgiving Cursula yet again, as I need to live in an abode of peace and contemplation. Humanity is flawed, is folly, is awesome, is vulnerable, is as fleeting as the morning mist. And so are my temper tantrums. The best way to handle her is to be friends, smile, co-operate, share, all us poor are suffering variations on humiliation and starvation. Oh Humanity, I cry for you, it could've been so much better!