Beware of those who traffic in rumors of villainy.  Their world is too simplistic to contain you.  This fact will be reason enough for them to debase your name in accusations.  They will do so first with laughter.  If this does not destroy your reputation, they will do so with their tears.  The world is crowded with stories of such coordinated infamy, history, mythology, fairy tale.  Good guys and bad guys have long battled over the heart of the world.  But a good man's integrity is determined by tests that he has never had to take; and a bad man's sins would be nothing within the revelations of another religion.  Those who cannot see nuance in others refuse to see contradiction in themselves.  The tenacity of this delusion affords them the luxury of hating without confessing the toxicity of hate.  In a dualistic paradigm, blame is an external that excuses them of their motivations.  If one believes in the devil, it is no longer necessary to look for humanity; the moral dilemmas assembled by real world feelings and circumstances are eclipsed by evil as a force.  And where evil is a force, the subtleties of human experience no longer matter. To the pawns in this dishonestly designed battle, their affiliation with the just cause (and both sides see themselves as warriors in the army of God) is a kind of fortunate accident that disguises the intrinsic egoism if not out right arrogance of their convictions.  In actuality, their is a fundamental cowardice in their facile world view.  The challenge of these real-world complications undermines their happiness by introducing ambiguity into action and word.

God is Love

and hate, and indifference and obsession.  The crystallized genius of the divine is its mutability and momentum.  The Grand Ellipsis is a kaleidoscope that celebrates both the perfection of a moment and the perfection of each change, the "rightness" (and the "wrongness") of the slow slippage of time.  There are those in their vigilance who will not leave the door, monitoring the comings and goings, certain of the cure, upholding a quarantine that bars beautiful monsters and monstrous beauties from entry, to simplify the conversations in the room.  But I dare you usher, husher, walmart-greeter, you with your feet so solidly in the padded, slip-on comfort of your practically perfect shoes, you with your feet solidly on the ground...I dare you to stick your head into the night (pull it from under the covers, and out of the sand) and call-out with your bravest voice, inviting the new sound in.