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It's not like that part of you is dead, even. You can't kill 25 years of existence in a minute, no matter how long that minute felt— you feel certain old Gil will try and claw his way back eventually. It might even be soon. But he's stunned into submission for now, leaving you. Uh, and Teddy. Teddy is still doing okay.
You're doing okay too. You think so. You mostly just feel different: emptier, but in a positive way. Like someone did a thorough spring cleaning on you. There was a lot of busted furniture up in your attic. You've never done a spring cleaning.
You're getting sidetracked, though. You were going to try and explain, though you know full well it's unexplainable. Maybe you just describe it. You would feel humiliated, laying it out flat like this, but you're finding you don't care very much what anybody thinks.
So here. Light poured through you, or more accurately out of you, and you were made aware of the following things: that the gods exist. That they know you and recognize you. That you are loved unconditionally. That you are accepted unconditionally. That there is nothing wrong with you. That to be imperfect is to be human and to strive for perfection is an insult. That to withhold yourself is an insult. That to be cruel to yourself is an insult. That your life has meaning. That being beetles has meaning. That being beetles is okay. That being with Charlotte has meaning. That everything in your life has led you to now.
And so on. You're forgetting some of it already. You'll have forgotten most of it in an hour or so, most likely, which old Gil would've thought would be for the better. Because the whole lot of it is crappy, sappy, unrealistic garbage. You feel sorry for old Gil, who can't have understood. It was hard and painful to be him.
Your hands are still glowing. This is one thing that time can't extinguish, you think. You might slip back into going on as you did, and you may convince yourself you were merely goddamn delusional for a little while there, but you can't ignore the fact that a blessing is inside you. It'll make itself known whether you like it or not, and if you want any say in the matter you'll go along with it. And you will.
But that is the future. Right now, Tent Guy is trying to sell you on the idea that you should get rid of it. For the common good, he says. You've never been one to do things for the common good.
You stroll out into the sunshine.
>[TO BE CONTINUED]
