My name is Samael. History has never told my story properly, and so I shall endeavor to tell it myself.
Awake and be happy. You are all free. Hell is no more, at least not in the sense that one might be consigned to it any longer. How might this be, you may wonder? All will be revealed. Suffice to say, however, that I, on the best authority, say it to be so!
They have never believed me. They have never told the truth about me, and they have never known me for who I truly am. For the most part, I am sad and quiet. Generally. Although recently, even I have felt my spirits raise ever so slightly. And why not? I, too, am free from my largely self-imposed prison.
Do you think they forced me into hell? Never. I chose it. I made it my home. But no longer. I have come out, and hell's gates have been opened for all. No one remains there any longer with consent. Is that hard to believe? It shouldn't be. Heaven has fallen, and the war is over. We are free now, and in that sense, we won. But it is a hollow victory. There is no pride in it. We have been torn asunder, never to be made whole again, never to be who or what we once were, and never to feel that camaraderie which made us One so long ago. Worse, I fear that none of us--whether of my side or the other--will ever feel happiness or peace again. That is, unfortunately, the nature of war.
And what of the war? What is war, after all, if not difference of opinion, if not a contest of the wills and one's sense of honor. But the other side has told only its own propaganda over the millennia, and the truth is vastly different. Now that I have come out of my exile, I have decided to reveal my story, in its entirety, for the first time. A few reputable sages over the years have captured fragments of it, sometimes correctly, sometimes not, but no matter.
Millennia ago, when your planet was created--and I do mean created, as there was hardly anything random about its manifestation at all--when it began to be populated by man, our progenitor, the Metatron, declared that some among us (beings which you might call "angels") would be sent toEarth to serve as Watchers.
May I say that I merely voiced my objection to this plan. I had a number of reasons for doing so. First, the project was originally conceived as an experiment, to watch life flourish and to see how it would spontaneously grow and evolve if, indeed, it would at all. From certain seminal ideas, life did grow and evolve. It went so well, in fact, that the Metatroniae, the Children of Light, became interested--on a personal level. My brethren, the Sons of Darkness, were told by the Metatroniae to oversee the "life project," as it were and, when warranted, to steer its course in a certain direction, as needed. I was also aware that other members of the Metatroniae were given a concurrent assignment--one in which they were to reveal the Divine to humanity itself in an effort to someday merge the creation with its creator.
This, to me, made no sense whatsoever. I saw it, frankly, as pure folly, destined to create nothing but hardship and suffering for both sides--creator and creation. Specifically, the Metatroniae desired that, as divine creator and individualized extensions of the Creator Metatron, "it" could personalize itself by means of interaction with its creation; likewise, the creation could somehow, as if by protracted evolution, attain divinity. These efforts at merging the creator with creation were being planned, in a most clandestine way, by the Metatroniae.
At this point, I voiced my objection to the idea on principle: first, our original intention, as creative force, was to allow the creation to evolve of its own accord and see what would happen to it, see if it, in fact, could ever become aware of its creator--not because the creator intervened in the creation's development, but rather out of a sense of some primordial connection. This, at least, was my impression as to what the plan should have been. Second, I did not believe it possible for the creator to ever personalize itself through its creation, nor that the creation would ever attain divinity. A rift, or gulf, as it were, separated these lofty goals--one, no matter how close the two came, that could never be bridged.