I have taken a truth drug and seen through all the lies I tell myself. I have laughed so long, so loud, so incurably at myself and all my pompous moralistic self-deceit that I almost died. Every single thought seemed so shallow, so weak so facile, so laughable. Every thought  hovered between affirmation and gelation, laughing at itself, laughing so hard at itself, laughing at the thought of laughing at itself, laughing at the thought that this laughter is all there is…

[…] Blasphemy, switching from God to not God and back again became my greatest joke, my original sin… this loneliness, this unattainable outside, meant that I had to die. I had to be crucified, to wake up on the other side in a resurrection.

Aristodemus, in Philip Goodchild's On Philosophy as a Spiritual Exercise