There was a cyclist on a journey to find paradise.
On the way the cyclist hit this really rough trail. The ground was uneven, difficult to navigate with rocks and stones of all sizes and angles, and no safe footing.
You don’t find a route along such a trail without some difficulty and eventually the cyclist’s wheel was brought to a halt by a puncture.
The cyclist was philosophical, such obstacles were there to test those on the trail. The cyclist fixed the puncture and continued on his way.
Soon after, the cyclist’s wheel again stopped working. He shrugged his shoulders, fixed the puncture and carried on.
This continued many times, the cyclist’s wheel punctured by the trail. The cyclist became angry, he started to curse the trail.
That rough trail was stopping him from reaching paradise so he turned his attention to changing the trail, making it easier to travel along.
The cyclist had it wrong though. The trail wasn’t the problem because it would always be that way. The problem was the cyclist’s wheel. It punctured too easily and was never suitable for him to reach paradise.
Instead of blaming the road, what the cyclist needed was a better wheel. One that didn’t break so easily and couldn’t be mended.
Sir Bellator, your life has been a journey to find paradise, using your faith as the bicycle to get you there.
The trail to your paradise was never an easy one and it became more bumpy and perilous when it veered through The Slaughterhouse.
There are more than enough obstacles here to stall your progress and your wheel was punctured when Yahweh was reaped and all divinity left this world like the air escaping a fractured inner tube.
Your faith preaches that difficulties are expected on the trail to paradise, only the unworthy give up. So you patched up that wheel and tried to keep going forward.
But the trail is unrelenting and the “abominations” here keep puncturing your wheel and you are getting no closer to where you want to be.
Like the foolish cyclist, Bellator, you and your colleagues have begun to blame the world for your troubles without considering that it may just be the wheel you are using – your faith – that keeps you away from your destination.
Your faith, like the cyclist’s wheel, is made from inferior materials, insufficient to overcome the challenges The Slaughterhouse has to offer.
You may destroy every “abomination” but there will remain always one obstacle Vayikra will never defeat.
Death.
Death is permanent, ceaseless and the only guarantee for EVERY thing. Even gods. As your precious Yahweh’s grave testifies.
This is the wheel I use on my journey and it has carried me along this trail, at the end of which is my destination, for many years.
I have never once felt a puncture on the wheel that carries me.
The Black Hand of death is my bicycle, it is unbreakable and will lead me to my paradise.
It’s not heaven but it is the greater good.