The Demon’s Dance

I watch my marionettes dance in front of my eyes.  They will do what I want them to do and they will do it without realizing that they are under my spell.  There is no such thing as mind control, but the psychopath’s manipulative tricks come close.  The reasons why vary.  Who wouldn’t want to play the puppet master and see the way the limbs move and the feet swing?  Who wouldn’t want to see the lips move in rhythm with the words in one’s head?  The end justifies itself.  I would say that I manipulate because I am bored – and that may be true at times – but ultimately is not the demon’s dance set to the haunting melody that I make reason enough?

Is it that hard to imagine?  That some people play God simply because they can?  There does not have to tangibles gained as a result.  Sometimes it’s nice just to know that fingers, calloused from years of practice, can still work their magic.  Cannot the composer compose simply as a means to appreciate the final product?  Does it really need to be heard by others?  Does the dance really need to be seen?  The requiem is haunting in and of itself.

None of this should come as surprising.  Were we not created in God’s image?  Did He not create simply because he could?  Did he not put Job through hell just to prove He was supreme?  The mouth of God has always spewed snakes and the demon’s dance is something to be cherished as an act of macabre beauty.  If God can play for the sake of playing, then so can I.  If the music is just right and the tempo on point, then the marionette will dance with no strings attached.  That is the most beautiful thing of all, and it is something to be cherished in and of itself.

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