The Repellent Scars of Abandon and Election

The feeling of destroying the capacity for inward peace, an insane dance
 with the angels of innocence amidst thorns and in frenzy, the warmth of
 a divine blessing, a daringness which prevailed over any imaginable fear
 hovering on the brink of a voluntary act of contrition, but soon all pales
 besides the cry this shattering truth wrests from all fellow men, there is
 more to it than suffering and sounds of suffering, it is a process that only
 the extinction of a divine soul could terminate. The eye can outstare neither
 the sun, nor death... if i sought God it was in delirium and in the delight of
 temptation.
 The idea of Salvation comes, i believe, from one whom suffering breaks
 apart. He who masters it, on the contrary, needs to be broken, to proceed
 on the path towards the rupture.
 Nothing of what man can know, to this end, could be evaded without
 degradation, without sin,- is it no burden to bear the repellent scars of
 abandon, of election?- it leaves but a state of supplication and deserted
 expanses, an absorption into despair. The existence of things cannot enclose
 the death which it brings to me; the existence is itself projected into my
 death, and it is my death which encloses it. Am I deranged? Over and above
 quietism! Nurtured by the multitude of man's misfortune, a thousand halos
 like torches in the night of the spirit, a thousand traps, pitfalls of brimstone
 and the empty sky, prostrated face against the earth in frantic laughter...
 I was beyond withstanding my own ignominy. I invoked it and blessed it.
 I progressed ever further into vileness and degradation. Am i resurging,
 intact, out of infamy?