Man was born and resurrected, born and killed, saved and damned as they went along. Many among them were Judas-kin, and those that were not would look away or offer pity. An angel took herself, bringing promises and and words of the highest of high to the highest of the low. Those who were the lowest, deepest into the stain of the original sin I thus far have not named, they did not receive of him. The words of his mouth came through his essence or his angels, and from which the bearer addressed the laity. It had to be this way, for omnipresence was very limited and hard to come by. Only those chosen and favored would hear of him.

When one descends the ladder, one hears from the voice who hears the voice, but little conscious thought would be allowed. It was Grace, a commodity of Pride.

The second ladder runs deeper, unrelenting and serpentine. If it was to be his default, his heart was poured into it at once. Somewhere he could live, very simply, and a place where others, cast out, found shelter. The Heaven was not for all people, not even midway, so the doomed would be doomed. Bitter as he was, he tortured them out of a rage half formed, resembling half jealousy. A man was loved for his soul, but he was doomed. Sad eyes said to be played upon his expression, but in Hell, there was no luxury.

May you find peace in your endeavors, albeit elsewhere.

Memento te moriturum esse, memento te iudicatum iri. Memento te non meliorem esse quam hominem, numquam maiorem futurum esse, quia in regno caelorum non scriptum est. Sanctusne es? Minime. Plures sancti non erunt, ac minime quidem discipulus Christi, qui est minimum omnium. Praestolari castellum sine praemio tangibili, modo mentiones magnitudinis... Id mihi placet.