"We chose this life. That's what the new age prophets say. We volunteered. Eager little souls lining up for trauma. Like it's a weekend yoga retreat with extra fire, sexual predators, and no refunds.

We came to be part of the feast. Not to eat, of course, to be the toast. Golden brown, served warm, garnished with lessons, and a sprig of brutal suffering. And when it all comes down, when your head's on the block, the axeman humming softly, don't flinch. Don't scream. Just smile. And remember, you chose this. It's not your mother's fault, not your father's, not the drunk, the war, the system, not even fate. No, you picked this ride, pre-ordered the suffering, a deluxe karmic package of getting what you deserve, due to you choosing it.

Free spiritual growth with every heartbreak.

So when it hurts, really hurts, when your body caves in under the weight of your own sobs, when you taste iron in your mouth from clenching your jaw too hard. Just whisper, 'Thank you, me.' Because apparently you asked for this. You asked for the death. You asked for the rape. You asked for the war, for the bombs, for the diagnosis, for the betrayal that left you dragging your soul behind you like roadkill. You asked to be broken so thoroughly that your own reflection wouldn't recognize you. Ha. But don't get mad. Don't get bitter. Don't dare question the divine order. After all, it's all you. No proof, no problem. Who needs evidence when it feels so holy to blame the victim and call it enlightenment?

Now sing it with me. You know the words. You chose this. No sympathy for you. You chose this. It's all your fault. Don't cry now. Don't look for comfort. Don't ask for justice. Don't scream. Just lie there while we walk over you in our bare feet, walk over your bones and do whatever on your chest in the name of love and light. You chose this. It's all down to you. Now, excuse us. We don't need your negative vibes. We choose something else. Go away. Go away."

Finding Gnosis