Relegated to Daguerreotypes
There will come a time when all of the colors of your life reduce to sepia. When the bleu cheese on your tomato, on your tongue, begins to taste of chalk dust. When you pause routinely at the foot of the stairs, plotting your strategy to ascend them. When most all of your words go unheard in the wider world, because they are spoken by a Creature from the Past.
So we are to be forgiven for asking to be forgiven, for falling back on supplications to "the Lord," whether He be the Lord Jesus or the Lord Krishna, or even supplications to a Lady, as perhaps of Fatima or Lourdes.
The trouble unique to this time is that while we sense an imminent, world-historical tearing of the veil that will release us from our earthly suffering, the world beyond, insofar as we can discern it, seems filled with devils, demons, djinn, mechanical elves, fraudsters and tricksters. Perhaps there is a path to the Divine Godhead beyond them, but will we have the strength, weakened by our earthly struggles as we are, to break through the phalanx of the djinn? Is this intermediate realm where the concepts of purgatory and of hell find their ancient source?
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