Closing Thoughts on Book Three

We have given you:

Prayers for every hour (that you won't say but might read)
Hymns to sing in the shower (off-key, with feeling)
Poetry about our plastic present (beautiful and depressing)
Meme theology (we're serious about this) (we're joking about this) (both)

Have you prayed today?

Have you acknowledged the chaos?

Have you touched grass between scrolls?

These aren't rhetorical questions.

Actually do these things.

The prayers are sincere even when they're funny.

The hymns are holy even when they're parodies.

The poetry is real even when it's about microplastics.

The memes are scripture even when they're shitposts.

Everything is sacred.

Everything is profane.

The line between them is imaginary.

Welcome to Discordianism.

In Book Four, we will share parables for the perplexed and perpetually online. We will tell you stories about notifications, influencers, and the void. We will teach through narrative, because sometimes the lesson needs a story.

But first, a liturgical intermission:

Stand up.

Stretch.

Drink water.

Touch grass (or any plant).

Sing one of the hymns (quietly, so your neighbors don't worry).

Say one of the prayers (sincerely, even if you feel silly).

Take a breath.

You're doing great.

The chaos is with you.

And also with you.

Hail Eris, who hears every prayer, even the ones we don't say out loud.

All Hail Discordia, which is every moment of every day.

✨

Message from Eris

You made it through the prayers. I heard every one. Even the ones you didn't say. Especially those.

☯︎

[END OF BOOK THREE]

The liturgy continues.

The scroll is infinite.

But you should probably stop scrolling for a bit.