Why Beliefs Aren’t My Answer
What happens, Prosers, when you tap the "Write" button?
For me, I'm not sure. The blankness kind of gets to me, and I feel like I have to fill it.
The silence during prayers felt the same way to me as a child.
It felt like no matter how hard I clenched my hands together, they always came up empty after "amen."
Raised religious, baptist actually, I find myself an atheist now.
And I think it's strange how sometimes I'm motivated to pray because a horror movie scared me, or my dad's in bad health again, etc, etc, et cetera, even though I know why.
I only do this because it brings me comfort, not because I believe.
It took me a long time to figure that out.
Because there's a difference, I think, between being a holiday Christian, a bible reader, churchgoer, agnostic, or an atheist.
And that is this:
Whether your beliefs are your question, or your answer.
For me, beliefs are the question.
What do I believe?
In life, I suppose. That we're here, and that's pretty much all I know for certain. Questions bring me joy, discovery, vigor in my everyday.
I can hope that life has meaning, but I don't know, not really. That's why I try so hard, because I'm in a constant state of uncertainty.
Is that hard?
Yeah, actually.
It is very hard sometimes.
But no harder, I think, than when beliefs are your answer.
When something is so automatic, and so sure in your head, that there is no room for an open mind, it must be difficult. Not to say that religion cannot allow for open minds, of course.
It's just that most do not.
And they certainly never worked for me.
I won't pretend to understand the mentality, it's just how it's always appeared to me.
Kind of like drinking the Kool-Aid.
I used to wonder why, why couldn't I act/feel/think/be the same as the other kids who were so, so into it.
But it's okay. I get it, I accept it.
And I've found my alternative.
Beliefs are my question, and I thrive in the not knowing. An adventure, with no map, no scripture.
While I understand guidance, my faith was never placed in the religious kind.
See, I appreciate goodness, and sin.
For what they both offer to me, minus their stigma.
I think, the strongest morals come to those who forge them on their own.
Which is why, when I tap that button, and fill these pages, they're filled with me - my questions, they're in my writing.
And my answers?
Who knows.
An atheist's are much harder to find.
Two stories: Jack out of the Box, and the Bald Ahairist.
Jack gets out of his Box.
Jack woke up this morning and noticed something from the first time. The pretty fluffy clouds were in the sky like they have always been, and the green grass below, but there was something different. Instead of just accepting what he saw he looked very closely. It was a seam. A seam that ran vertically from the ground, up to the sky. From there it split to two horizontal seams heading off in different directions, where they met two other vertical seams, and finally a fourth.
Jack was in a box. A box about twenty feet wide, and twenty feet tall, and he never realized it until now. He walked up to the edge of the seam and pressed. It just fell apart easily. Not a hard metal prison, but a thin paper illusion that is easily broken if you just bother noticing it.
He stepped out of the box.
Outside, was a big beautiful sky. It did not have the cartoon-like fluffy clouds like in the box, it had real clouds, and they moved, and drifted across the sky. There were trees, mountains, and flowers.
All around him were other boxes. Those boxes were just like his, all arranged in a grid, with gaps of a few feet, like alleys, between them. He tried touching one of the boxes, but it was rock hard. It is like the boxes are easy to escape from the inside, but almost impossible to get through from outside.
He walked onward, past the grid of boxes, and in the distance he saw a city. He decided to explore.
Baldness, or What it means to be an Ahairist
Bald people lack hair.
It is not a different hair color, or a different hair style- it is the absence of any hair at all.
It is not a declaration that hair does not exist. It is not a pseudo-military organization out to destroy hair everywhere. It is simply that we see no need for hair, it provides nothing for us, to us, it is pointless. People with hair spend money on hair salons, shampoos, conditioner, and fret when it goes gray.
Not us bald people.
Some people went bald suddenly, as a result of a traumatic event, that made them lose their hair.
Others gradually lost it over time.
Some regret the loss, but eventually accept it.
Others became bald on purpose. They grabbed a razor, and removed all that bothersome hair that just got in the way of their lives, so they could live a nice, clean, existence.
Others still never had hair at all, and think it's odd that anyone cares so much about something so trivial.
Often, people with hair look down on bald people. They think we are missing something. They do not realize that with many things, like diseases, delusions, religions, and excess fat- it is better to not have it than to have it.
Hate
Hate
Such a strong word
To truly hate something is rare
I used to say I hated this one person
Now I just nearly pity them
For no one seems to like them now.
There was this other person
I couldn't stand her
She was absolutely terrible
But still not deserving
Of the word hatred.
I think I'll know it
When I hate someone
There will be a feeling in my gut
And I'll want to stab them every day
But I won't.
I might even learn all about them
To give me a reason not to hate them
Because what is the purpose of hating
Why can't I just dislike them
Maybe there isn't a purpose.
The other thing is
If someone is being rude
It's true that they aren't doing it for joy
Nobody is that sick
Naturally.
So I don't think you should be so cool
And toss around the word hate
I might sound like a five-year-old
But I'm mature enough to say
Don't give them ammo, keep it in.