The Gate is Wide and the Way is Broad

The Gate is Wide and the Way is Broad

Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the way is broad that leads to destruction, and there are many who enter through it. For the gate is small and the way is narrow that leads to life, and there are few who find it.


There’s a certain loneliness that looms over the city dweller. Even with family, they never have their roots truly planted. The roots of legacy, tradition, honor. Nothing like that. It doesn’t ‘fit’ the city dweller. You ask them who they are and they stare at you bewildered and you’ll hear them squabbling to understand your question. You ask the same of a farmer, or any other agrarian forager and you’ll be regaled a tale of legend. Where their family took origin and how they came to be. Their legacy flows not exclusively in their blood, but in their heart and mind. It is who they are. A part of the mythos of the universe, not some conjuring of the mind, which the city dweller scoffs at like it were a fairy tale.

For their scope is turned and limited inward. Their struggles are rooted in the mundane and take their queue from boredom, not survival. They dream of purpose, as the only thing that can bring about the craving of a ‘true’ purpose is boredom. They exist to float within the steel framework of the city, whose roots of steel beams taint the soil of the earth like a poison drop into a well.

But the loneliness: feast upon their eyes. Their friends are systems, ideas. Never people. They crave camaraderie but know not where to look. They wander in packs of loners, each caught in the web of their own mind, dreaming, craving for something to kick them out and bring them into the real world. Something to make them be apart of something larger than themselves.

Too smart for God, he is silenced.

Too clever for man, he is pushed away.

Too satiated for pleasure, she is ignored.

What is he then left with but himself? He stands so tall he basks in his own shadow. Tormented by his own darkness, toiling away, craving the once beautiful gift of sunlight.

This is the city dweller. They are their own undoing.

They stand like hollow totems awaiting my hand to bring them to crumble. But I look upon you. I don’t see this hopelessness. You bask in the darkness of uncertainty, searching ever endlessly for the truth, while they are empty vessels awaiting a cause that meets their prideful, unfounded, meaningless standard.

I ask you this, before you make your fatal decision, will you take my hand and let me be your guide?

I will show you the true light, the one that guides me and my comrades.

Look upon my lantern. It shines, not by fire from some fickle match to be charred and thrown away, but by fires of truth, reason itself incarnate in the constant perpetuation of igniting and burning. Ever resuming itself. Don’t you see? Let it defog the lies that bind your mind.

I am the way, and the way is broad, yet they brave enough to follow still misstep and fall along my path, never to meet my end. I am not for the weak craving ease. Unfortunate they never find their path.

Will you meet my end?

We are Wrath


For when we were crafted God did bestow us rage for we are in the colosseum ever battling the evils that pour forth from the depths of Hell. What other weapon shall man use than his rage and hate? For love is only given to those we hold dear, and demons and treacherous foes do we not hold dear.

Hatred is our gift from the Heavens. Our gift to spread unto the wicked. Our hate is the light the scourge cower away from like a roach in torchlight. For if we gave our love to our enemies we would prefer to hug at every injustice done unto us rather than fight.

For we are in the colosseum. Cast out of Eden, as is our punishment for treachery. To fare in this forsaken place we must fight, for the judge in this realm is not God, but his forlorn follower, Satan. Like a bored King he watches our struggles as his armies made up of our once fellow man seek to destroy us. For he has corroded their hearts with illusion and like a curtain blocks the light of the sun, so too has Satan blocked their heart from the Truth of God.

And fight on we must. We fight on because in the colosseum God is our lover in the crowd. Ever cheering on, for he knows we can accomplish what we must as long as we try and kindle the fire in our hearts. For the only true failure is not death but of apathy, of giving up, and worse yet, crossing over and giving ourselves entrance into the kingdom of Satan.

So I call to you brothers and sisters: Do not shy away from hatred nor rage. For it is nothing more than pitch to fuel the flames of passion in your soul and heart. Without it we would merely seek to let ourselves fall prey to evil, when we know when Truth touches us that our destiny is not to fall prey willingly at the feet of villainy, but to rise up and slay it down.