The invisible knock of the bad infinity

I opened the door. I opened the door and there wasn’t even a knock. I opened the door. In walked Mr. Gravity. Mr. Gravity walked in, and my world spun out of control. He opened the door to the infinite. But not the good infinite of love and virtue and excellence and greatness. He opened the door to the bad infinite of insatiable ego and vicious accretion and crippled meanness. He opened the door of the bad infinite and flung my soul right in.

How can this be? How can there be more than one infinite? How can this be? How can I let him in without even the common courtesy of a sympathy knock? Aren’t we consensual adults? Are we consensual adults?

Without even realizing I gave my consent—consent by introjection—I found myself swimming in the vertiginous ocean of bad infinity. Mr. Gravity held me under like a school yard bully giving me a swirlie, a bogwash, a dunnyflush. Before I knew what hit me I was drowning in the Boggy Swamp of Swampy Bogginess. I imagine I could hear the distant sound of a gurgling Gracey Kallifracks wail. It was all over.

But in truth I was oblivious—even of my despair. My predicament was beyond me. Rather my predicament was me. I was, I am, beyond me. Even when lost I am searching for myself. And I did not know I was lost until I was found, but once found all may be lost. Is it worth the risk?

It was the call of the lord that did it. The divine. But the good divine. The bad divine, Mr. Gravity, disappeared. I was lifted. I didn't know I had been down until I was up.

And that is the true horror. The true horror is knowing that what I do not know will be my down fall. The true horror is knowing that the up going is the same as the down going and vice versa.

What I do not know will be my down fall. But I do not know what I do not know. And knowing that is the Judas’ kiss that will seal my fate for a paltry 30 pieces of silver.