Paradise Found

There’s nothing up there,

Why would anyone live there?

The hard question now is, was I right for the wrong reasons? Should Paradise exist? The Fire has given its answer.

All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield,

My father’s home was one of 6,000 eviscerated. I was the only one there when it came. That friend of twenty years with whom I had the critical talk of Paradise and his new family put me up my first homeless night. They gave me a key.

I have heard the key

Turn in the door once and turn once only,

My hospitable friend’s son Crusoe is one-year-old, and he loves to repeat da while he points in every direction. I gather that da means dad, down, and that. DA, Eliot writes, is What the Thunder Said. It was a man-made thunder that started our Fire. Our energy source, our sustenance that gives everything, turned against us in a blink to take it all back.

Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n,

The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven,

“There’s nothing up there,” I said. “Why would anyone live there?” I asked. I could not have been more wrong, and I know the answer to that question now. Milton says that the mind is its own place that can make a heaven, but I say that heaven is the mind, where our soul is our ideas, where all is impervious to destruction. Paradise is an idea.

Do we listen to The Fire?

Hell no. We live in heaven.

Medieval, Environment, Modern Lit and Critical Theory

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