the battle with religion began as soon as people like us really started to think exponentially.
why is there suffering in the world?
who wrote the books of god?
who speaks for him on paper and by spoken word?
who knows what he’s thinking, who knows where he is? …
… et cetera.
the question is why, the question is who. and this is cliche, i admit it. but still, please just think for a moment; that’s all it really takes.
blind faith is difficult now.
there is a burning need to understand it all before truly committing. there is a need to feel something convincing inside, like a sign, like a beacon of light, a fire.
the two halves of my brain work differently. my two eyes see seperately. and i see a world split in two.
the religous half, with its crusades and jihads, all in the name of god; the door to door preaching and pages of propoganda; with its communities safe in a blanket of warmth, comfort, love emanating from each other. and the other, with its splashes of paint, freedom, passion; sexual promiscuity to distraction; with its own very kind of love – rugged breathing and two bodies amalgamating in the night; and words are salvation from pain.
so there’s the bible and the works of marquis de sade, side by side on the table.
we all live in our own sort of moderation: in the world of two evils or of two goods or of a million shades of grey. too scared to ever advocate anything for the fear of choosing the wrong path, the wrong light, the wrong word.
and if it were not for certain death, i’m sure i wouldn’t dare to breathe.