Look it, I can understand it’s really fucking hard to believe.
You used to check my pockets when you believed I was sleeping and you didn’t find any gold.
(Joke’s on you – I haven’t really slept in years.)
You checked all the drawers in the house and you didn’t find any maps.
And why would you want to believe it’s because you didn’t have the key? How does it make sense that the gold would disappear like it was governed by some ancient magic when people with selfish intentions were snooping around?
Holy fuck, the ending of Seven was scary, hey? Brad Pitt is in a lot of scary movies (kalifornication, 12 monkeys, etc) but I think Seven is the worst.
It really lays it down in a way that can’t be ignored. How exactly a decent, intelligent man can be mindfucked and emotionally terrorized into choosing a fate worse than the one he came into the situation with.
But if you’ve read Oedipus, you know that sometimes sidestepping our fate momentarily makes things worse.
And I surrender to God’s will, to my divine fate no matter what, because if I have done wrong by not hearing God’s will, I will be forgiven.
Look it, I know you don’t want to believe I was there.
I felt your throat constrict. Your chest was getting so tight. I held your heart in my hand. What can I say? I’m a fixer, I’m a doer.
It’s in my nature.
You know me. Flighty freak show head in the cloud nut job who believes I’m enlightened, but in the actually reality of things, I’m not enlightened at all. Right?
I’m just learning the intricacies of compassion, this is true.
Everyone in the room who has not had a NDE, stand up. You know the rest.
It’s important to know what really happened. That second chances exist, you know. Or it will be wasted.
Look it, I don’t expect you to believe me. But God knows better than me, and I know you can believe that.
I can believe it now. I’m ready to believe the truth about all of it.