I seek, I invoke.
He at one time sought to save all, even those who used needles to shoot shit into their bloodstreams, those who vomited booze then drank bong-water, those who sat in the mucus of their own torpor as if they were jailbird comrades, those whose pressure-cooker exploded with revelries of perversions, those who obeyed the momentary musical gathering of hordes, as if there were leaders leading the herd, as if there was "a tender of the light at the end of the tunnel" (H.S. Thompson), as if the thrill of the moment were to carry them through a continuum of which they had not a glimpse or understanding.
He at one time sought to save all, and was inundated, deluged, and then crushed by the weight of all who would be saved: demons, djins, imps, ghosts, pretas, gods, goddesses, titans, ghouls, devils, angels, spirits of darkness and spirits of light, energy-fields without form and energy-fields which chimerically combined and transformed, ghosts of the past, yokais, ultraterrestrials, chthonic hell beings, shadow-beings fading in the twilight, netherworld judges and administrators, hollering tricksters, dybbuks, succubus, incubus, and sick giants who are wheeled in netherworld gurneys to infernal hospitals for illnesses worse than death.
He at one time sought to save all, and was crushed by the force and weight of suffering. So great was the suffering, so heavy was the need, so cosmic was the call, he could not endure it, and he fell to his default. He thought he was Iron Man, only to realize that he indeed was, but a head on a stick-figure made of iron bars. He sought his Mother, the place of his origination, for there was nowhere for him to turn. His Father was a Madman, his mother was a wallflower, so he sought and cried forth to his cosmic Mother: I'm coming home.
He at one time sought to save all, but returned home to his Mother instead. But that was alright. That was good. For there is no further provenance, no further wellspring but the Continuum of the Cosmos who is Mother. There was refuge there, there was healing, and from there he went forth, his strength absolutely precarious, utterly tenuous, to preach the word of his god. He had forgotten his Mother.
He at one time sought to save all, was crushed, was healed, then went forth to save all again. He believed in Logos and sought its thorough and exhaustive application in all, to find the foundation of foundations in Logos, so that he could save all, and teach all, and bring all to the world of salvation. No one understood, no one heard, no one cared, for no one hears the Logos but the Logos of their own understanding, for Logos is but a partial aspect of the cosmic Whole, just a minor functioning principality exalted by the ancestral Patriarchs as Zenith, the primordial alpha and the terminal omega.
He at one time sought to save all, was crushed, was healed, went forth to save all again, and then was imbued with Fear. Fear of being that which he did not want to be, that which he thought was the Shadow, that which he thought was against himself, that which he thought would destroy his identity as the savior of the world. The Fear became magnified, telescoped, and finally, came over him as did the deluge of god, angels, and saints with assignments of duties, obligations, and missions beyond his strength, beyond his capacity, beyond his time, beyond his space.
So he walked and walked, and kept walking.