He may have given me my disease in the first place, by creating chemical fumes that I daily inhaled at the factory, and now he claims that I can be resurrected with his modern medicine. I am torn by a tempest cast by his hand. I stand before the chasm that separates rationality from reverence. The God of Science cleaved the world when he banished the old gods from the pantheon. He seized an unmappable empire and disregarded the needs of his people under the guise of gaining freedom, yet this freedom is that of the orphan, fettered by emptiness.
Science offers no solace for the trauma of the living.
I abandon myself to the wisdom of my people, with anxious fears and hopes. There are certain oracles who claim that healing comes as an act of will, that impassioned expressions have a healthy physiological response. I believe this. I am also my own salvation. Reason has no place here.