The Thinker Thought — The Christian Satanist

The thinker thought before he forgot that thought itself was a cage with windows.
He pressed his forehead against the bars of his own awareness and called it enlightenment.
He named his confusion mystery and his mystery depth and his depth a throne.
But the mind is a beautiful liar. It builds cathedrals out of smoke, then kneels beneath its own architecture.
I know this because I have worshiped my own thoughts. I have mistaken obsession for vision, intensity for wisdom, noise for a calling.
Yet somewhere beyond the static, past the sermon of the self, past the glittering ego dressed as revelation, there is a quieter knowing.
Not a concept. Not a doctrine. Not a debate. A stillness.
And in that stillness the thinker is no longer king. He is just a man watching the universe remember itself through him.

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