...the inscription on the tablet reads; eat of the (good) things.
Free-base cocaine is pure enough as a human device, to flatter.
Mimicry, really, though, this emulation of the smokeless fire of the djinn.
Delusional, a semblance (similitude?) of God brushing your forehead with divine light. It is not the light though, this dance, wisp of the smokeless fire; danse macabre in your case always, for you are human, not djinn.
No easy passage to nirvana, this, or any other, for that matter.
The ill-prepared, ill-timed journey, with provisions one can only but be blithe about, has rigor mortis set in before its allotted time.
And because it's not (yet) your time, for arrogating to yourself the divine prerogative, a more profane death for you, many times over, than death by its dutifully, arrogant and cynically-obliging, and timely nature always is