In less than a year’s time, my family’s existence had been transformed into a Greek tragedy. Had God manipulated these turns of events, or was He also just a spectator, watching and waiting while his fallen Angel manipulated our lives like some diabolical puppet master.

Perhaps it was Lucifer himself, I rationalized in my grief, for who but he could have struck down my wife, then so deftly manipulated the sequence of events that followed? Did I really believe in the Devil? At that moment—yes, or, at the very least, the presence of evil personified as an entity unto itself.

Can something as intangible as evil be an entity? My tortured mind pondered the question, granting me a moment’s reprieve from grief. If God was an entity, then why not the Devil? Could goodness really exist without evil? Could God really exist without the Devil? And who really begot whom, for it has always been the fear of evil that has primed the pumps of religion, not God.

The theologian in me took over. Fear and religion. Religion and fear. The two are historically entwined, the catalysts for most of the atrocities committed by man. Fear of evil fuels religion, religion fuels hatred, hatred fuels evil, and evil fuels fear among the masses. It is a diabolical cycle, and we have played into the Devil’s hand.

Staring at the heavens, my thoughts turned to the Mayan prophecy, wondering in my delirium and grief whether it was the presence of evil that was orchestrating mankind’s ultimate fall from grace, leading us toward the obliteration of our own species.

And then another thought crossed my mind. Perhaps God did exist, but He had chosen to take a passive role in man’s existence, providing us the means to determine our own destinies, yet, all the while, permitting evil to exert a more active influence in our lives so as to test our resolve—verifying our aptitudes as we applied for entrance into His hereafter.

Maria had been taken from me, struck down in the prime of her life. Perhaps there was a reason behind the insanity of the moment—perhaps I was getting close to the truth—that I was indeed on the trail of humanity’s salvation.

Cursing the Devil, I gazed at the stars, tears in my eyes, and swore, on the soul of my beloved, that neither heaven nor hell would stop me from resolving the Mayan prophecy.

More than ten years have passed since I swore that oath. Now, as I sit backstage, inscribing this final passage, waiting to be called to the dais, I grimace at the thought of facing my cynical colleagues.