“What could I say to such priests and doctors? I would say to the priest that God made me as I am, that I had no choice, that He must have made me like this for a purpose, that He knows the ultimate reasons for all things and that therefore it must be all to the good that I am as I am, even if we cannot know what that good is. I can say to the priest that if God is the reason for all things, then God is to blame and I should not be condemned.
And the priest will say, `This is a matter of the Devil and not of God,' and I will reply, `Did God not make the Devil? Is He not omniscient? How can I be blamed for what He knew would occur from the very commencement of time?”
“And the priest will refer me to the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and tell me that God's mysteries are not to be understood by us. He will tell me that we are commanded to be fruitful and multiply.
I would say to the doctor, `I have been like this from the first, it is nature that has moulded me, how am I supped to change? How can I decide to desire women, any more than I can suddenly decide to enjoy eating anchovies, which I have always stated? I have been to the Casa Rosette, and I loathed it, and afterwards I felt sick. I felt cheapened. I felt I was a traitor. I had to do it to appear normal.'
And the doctor will say, `How can this be natural? Nature serves its interests by making us reproduce. ”
“This is against nature. Nature wants us to be fruitful and multiply.'
'This is a conspiracy of doctors and priests who repeat the same things in different words. It is medicinal theology and theological medicine. I am like a spy who has signed a covenant of perpetual secrecy, I am like someone who is the only person in the world that knows the truth and yet is forbidden to utter it. And this truth weighs more than the universe, so that I am like Atlas bowed down forever beneath a burden that cracks the bones and solidifies the blood. There is no air in this world that I am fated to inhabit, I am a plant suffocated by lack of air and light, I have had my roots clipped and my leaves painted with poison. I am exploding with the fire of love and there is no one to accept it or nourish it. I am a foreigner within my own nation, an alien in my own race, I am as detested as cancer when I am as purely flesh as any priest or doctor.”
“According to Dante my like is confined to the third ring of the Seventh Circle of Nether Hell, in the improbable company of usurers. He gives me a desert of naked spirits scourged by flakes of fire, he makes me run in circles, perpetually and in futility, looking for the ones whose bodies I've defiled. You see how it is; I have been driven to search everywhere just to find myself mentioned. I am mentioned almost nowhere, but where I find myself, I find myself condemned. And how remarkable it is, you doctors and priests, that Dante pitied us when God did not. Dante said, `It makes me heartsick only to think of them.'
And Dante was right, I have always run in circles, futilely, looking for the warmth of bodies, scorned by God who seated me, and all my life has been a desert and a rain of flakes of flame.”
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