Requiem

Writing is an art that demands all of the soul's inner pain be concentrated into language. When words come together to form poetry, the world created seems twisted and imperfectly constructed. But it is the world of reality that seems the poor imitation in comparison. It is as if nothing could exist without the mirror we create in the soul.

When God created the world, he spoke saying, "let it be," and it was - and it is just so for the world today. The world could not exist without art: both are dependent upon each other. Art began to exist the moment God first spoke those words, as the tapestry of the universe was coming into being. Writing, like all arts, is not only a reflection of the world, but a reflection of the soul. This book represents the last three years of my life - love and pain - channelled into words. With these, my final words, I hope I can explain something of my life as contained in this book.

I was born, like all men are, with that inborn knowledge that being alive is about living - and life is a joy in itself. Watch a child playing alone in a field and you'll know what I mean; perhaps you even remember what it's like. I was raised in the church by God-fearing parents, knowing that only through the Lord Jesus could I find happiness and eternal joy. But as time wore by, I wondered why my life was so miserable. As I began my search for answers, I began to wonder if God were not merely an invention of the superstitions of mankind.

But then someone close to me died; I needed to know if there was something beyond this world. So I dedicated myself to studying the nature of religious and spiritual traditions, sure that there had to be a common bond somewhere - I found it in the power of creativity. So I began to write - my spiritual quest - first in imitation of God, whom I quickly learned to hate, then in imitation of the Devil. In time, the two became as one to me, just as I became one with them.

I was still happy in my loneliness, enjoying those long hours spent hating the world around me. I knew that I was superior to those petty creatures around me; I had a higher calling as a prophet of judgement. But that was before I discovered love, an emotion I never truly understood. It became my downfall, the one weakness in the fortress I had created. I continued to write in those moments between one experience of love and the next, hoping I would find my destiny, hoping that love would make me happy.

But it seemed such a fickle emotion that I began to hate any association with the word. So I made sure to drive it out of my life like that demon I knew it was. But after feeling its touch, I wasn't the same. My life's quest no longer held any value to me. After hope was gone, all I had left was hate and loneliness. Knowing that I had come to the bitter end, I decided to gather my writings together in this book. Perhaps my words, my life, might be of more value to someone else.

Skye Maelstrom Faust