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I broke my stride there for a moment. Stepping over a blackness so deep and terrible that my pulse lept as I crossed it. My eyes watered as the fire and smoke licked at my heels. But in my head I could hear the angels' chorus beckoning me forward. I walked across the abyss with the faith that my paradise would lay on the other side. But as I stopped and glances over my shoulder the chorus became cacaphony and the angels fell to dust. There is no paradise, no angels, no music. My heart stopped and my soul sank deeper. I broke my stride there, never to mend it again.
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"Life is possible only with illusions. And so, the question for the science of mental health must become an absolutely new and revolutionary one, yet one that reflects the essence of the human condition: On what level of illusion does one live?"
-- Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death
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