Faith
A gothic vibe has that church. To believe that a person with power isn’t going to want more power, to believe that we are good just for not getting involved, that we are bad for choosing wrong, when it’s choosing that makes us persons, that’s in the bible isn’t it? I haven’t got the slightest idea. To not accept the imposed religion helps to partially embrace the others. Or at least that’s what I say given my lack of knowledge.
The music and the voice of the priest seem to increase in volume. I think that one of the situations that cause me more terror is when I have only one path to follow, that can lead to face my biggest fears that can manifest of not by advancing, but that’s not all, it’s not that I don’t have another chance, I have thousands, millions, infinite chances, but to act on them would lead to either ridicule, disaster or another life, how’s not be peaceful with that options?
In other places, the volume increases too. He touches his rosary while the assassinations occur as planned. He couldn’t miss the baptism of his nephew, but it’s so much easier to destroy than to create.
Because of this, we have to have faith, keep on believing. But I can’t talk for anyone. I just believe that it’s easier to reject the devil if you don’t trust him. Just to discover what you are willing to accept. Because neither religion, nor science, nor progress, nor the rebirth of religion, nor worldliness, not even parody. None of it. Nothing to rely upon, to lean on, in which rationalize without becoming depressed for losing something as big as the world. God had died and reborn so many times. We create new gods every day. How do others do? They don’t think about it, it doesn’t even occur to them, and that’s completely incomprehensible to me, it fascinates me, it scares me, impresses me more than a thousand fireworks, of bright dancing fountains, creating a whole with the starry and eclipsed night. The guns are just how loud and strong.
In the coming and going, it all points to him, who is like me, a devil and a saint. He acts. But if taking this load out of my shoulders and believing that would be possible, I would give out the light, the sky and the sea, the sun and the moon, the fishes and the birds and I don’t know what else, my rest? The rivals are being eliminated, one by one in a violence of contrast. “Maybe I could be happy”, he thinks in achieving a balance while a bullet pierces some glasses.
Without the necessity of new definitions for my experiences and feelings that are fine, that are accepted, without the need of certainness that someday I will be remembered or punished because there’s probably nothing after, without a new mythology relied upon myself that will last until a new millennium because I don’t think that’s possible. If one that’s satisfactory is built it won’t last, nor the next one to that, it can’t be done, it’s not possible: we can’t be more than one and even so we are incomplete.
While he accepts a new life, the montage has showed him inhumane and implacable. Faith won’t make me happy, even less so faith in myself.
