Sometimes you just gotta freestyle a little Mario jam to go with your Mario jammies.
I love to write.
I came into this year with a burning desire to stop wrestling with the writer who shares my skin. I’ve written a few pieces, not all of them available here, and all it does is add fuel to the fire. The act of writing fills me up. It doesn’t drain me. I do it because I “can’t not.”
But I have a problem.
I don’t have to die to visit Hell, you know. My decisions are empowered to make this Earth a living, breathing Hell. For myself and for those in close proximity.
I need to be inoculated. I need a cure. An antidote, as it were.
Human love is like those things. It’s capable. Potent. I need it, and when administered properly, it’s up to the task. Of course, sometimes it takes routine doses over a period of time, and the results may not be immediately obvious, but it works. Can we agree that in patient, human love there is a quiet, steadfast, resilient aptitude to remove Hell from a place, or better yet, a person?
How much more so, then, could a divine love, assuming one exists, do the same.