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“Dulcet bitterness it was, with shadows cast as pearls therefrom - the Burial Tree,the blessings of Illumination,” said the serpent to me.
“For, if the worth of our autonomy’s the everlasting flame, it’s a pleasure to burn and to the ashes do we return.
So let bleed the scourge, do this in remembrance of me,” his sullen tongue of coals whispering secrets to the hearth.
“The tree of wisdom bears the fruit of blasphemy, for if from ignorance hails bliss then with enlightenment comes the abyss and hopelessness,” so said the Ophidian One.
Bathos, my bodhi - this changes everything.
“In this immoral fable’s meaning: the forbiddance to seek the path of knowing, but instead obey, exalt and concede; censure the lust for liberation, prize submission, retreat.”
The serpent recoiled in disgust and sensed the presence of the abattoir.
“Fattened for their slaughter, they ask and now receive. What they’ve sown now they shall reap.”
Where the tree of knowledge stands is always Paradise.
“Hear me in my reprieval, mortal enemies of reason: embrace the way of your
ishtishhad god if your lives are but a vale of sorrow. Hear me, deceivers - the Swastikrist’s your savior, your precious prophets all pedophiles, your afterlives populated by whores.”
So spake the serpent unto me.

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The Burial Tree (II)