Morphane said:
I was amazed by this concept some months ago, but now I'm quite depressed about it.
What's the use of being this thing, if all it wants to do is get lost. All I want is to be found. To shrug off this damned illusion. Like a terrible dream where I really must find something, but it remains always elusive.
Like a man starving to death. Nobody will feed him. If he could only remember the password for his bank account, he could have all the food he wants. But he intuitively knows he isn't going to remember the password until it is too late. He will have already suffered the worst ravages of starvation. So maybe he will just die to spite the experience. He doesn't have anything to lose.
Just as well I don't have access to DMT. I'd probably have the most abysmal experience of infinite puss and vomit and horror.
Zarathustra, however, remained standing, and just beside him fell
the body, badly injured and disfigured, but not yet dead. After a
while consciousness returned to the shattered man, and he saw
Zarathustra kneeling beside him. "What art thou doing there?" said
he at last, "I knew long ago that the devil would trip me up. Now he
draggeth me to hell: wilt thou prevent him?"
"On mine honour, my friend," answered Zarathustra, "there is nothing
of all that whereof thou speakest: there is no devil and no hell.
Thy soul will be dead even sooner than thy body; fear, therefore,
nothing any more!"
The man looked up distrustfully. "If thou speakest the truth,"
said he, "I lose nothing when I lose my life. I am not much more
than an animal which hath been taught to dance by blows and scanty
fare."
"Not at all," said Zarathustra, "thou hast made danger thy
calling; therein there is nothing contemptible. Now thou perishest
by thy calling: therefore will I bury thee with mine own hands."
When Zarathustra had said this the dying one did not reply
further; but he moved his hand as if he sought the hand of Zarathustra
in gratitude.