Tag Archives: god

there is no why

Religion is based on an ignorance of nature and psychology.

Long ago, people wondered why it rains, or why people die.  They felt grief, and consoled themselves with the idea of an afterlife.  They saw the sun move across the sky and wondered who put it there, and how.  Life all around and no explanation as to why.  A man once said Homo sapiens wasn’t an accurate description of humanity, but rather Homo religiosus.  Not the upright man, but the religious man.  All over the world, throughout history, there is a religious up-welling that permeates the development of human society.  But as we move forward and expand our knowledge of the world around us, we don’t need God to tell us why.  Indeed, the most commonly heard argument for God is “someone had to put all this beauty here for us to enjoy!”  But really, it’s all chance.  We got lucky.  We evolved out of primordial gook out of sheer luck on a planet that wasn’t too hot or too cold, had just the right amount of gasses in the atmosphere, and the right kind of stuff growing along side us.

Someone asks, Why me?  Why am I here?  Why did my marriage fall apart?  Why did my child die?  Why did my car break down?

They say, Everything happens for a purpose.  It’s like mommy kissing a boo-boo: you think it works, so in your own head it does.

There is no why.  There is no purpose.  There is no grand design.  Life is a series of accidents we happen to get caught up in.  Sometimes happy accidents, sometimes lamentable ones.  The human experience is a series of cause and effect, consequences to our own actions or actions taken by others that we must deal with.

The secret to life is there is no damn secret.  Life is what you make of it, it only has the meaning you give it.

Love is important.  Love and sex and happiness, those are the key to making the most of it.

Everything else is up to you.


Apostacy & Me

There’s something unsettling about losing your faith.

If God died, like Nietzsche said, then it would be easier to make sense of losing him.  I could be mad at him then for abandoning me, for dying before I died, for leaving me all alone in the world.  I could mourn him.  There would be closure.

But God can’t die if he never existed.  A flame can’t be extinguished that was never lit.

There used to be a time when I felt God in the kiss of a summer breeze, saw him in the bark of a maple tree, heard him in the songs of birds.  God was everywhere and nowhere all at once, and always in my heart.  Jesus was the warm center my world crowded around, my purpose.

I remember when God “died”.  I was standing beside the bed my ex and I used to share, shaking, trying to hide my phone from him so he wouldn’t take it from me.  He was furious because I told him I didn’t love him anymore.  He said, “Get out.  Get out or I’ll make your life miserable.”

For a long time, I tried to hold on to hope.  I thought, I’m backsliding, that’s why I can’t feel him.  He’ll pull me in, like a fish caught up in a net.

The Parable of the Sower goes a little something like this:

A sower went out to sow.  Some seeds fell to the wayside, and were eaten by birds.  Some fell on stony ground and sprung up, but because the soil was thin they were scorched by the sun and died.  Some fell among the thorns, but the thorns grew up and choked them and they yielded no fruit.  And some fell on good soil, and sprang up, and produced fruit a hundred fold.

You could say I’m the seed that fell into the thorns.

Or you could say I’m the seed that woke the fuck up.

God asks you to believe in him unquestioningly, and then when you get a little curious he presides at his own trial as Judge, Prosecutor, and Witness.  He says, believe in me and you’ll be happy for eternity, or don’t and rot in hell.  He says, be happy when good things happen and be happier when bad things happen because those bad things ultimately speak to my awesomeness.  He splits the world in two: the saved and the unsaved, the righteous and the unclean, the saints and the sinners.  And then he sends forth his church to bring the unsaved to him, to dunk them under water and feed them wine and wafers until they stand when their told to stand, sit when their told to sit, and do what Jesus would do even if it’s at the cost of comfort, happiness, and freedom.

Do you know how many people I’ve talked to that believe they’re saved and aren’t?  I mean, even if God did exist, they’re still boned and they don’t know it because they got some glossy message from the pulpit about how nobody is perfect and the only requirement for heaven is faith in Jesus.  But Jesus said if your eye causes you to sin, cut it out, cause it’s better to go to heaven half blind than to go to hell whole.  Meaning, if you’re sleeping with your boyfriend, either get rid of him or stop having sex or you’ll go to hell.  If you’re doing drugs, stop it or you’ll go to hell.  If you gossip, cut that shit out or you’re going to hell.

Oh, but what about forgiveness?  Come on, Katelyn!  That’s what Jesus is there for, right?  To forgive!

I’m sorry, have you read your bible?

Half assing it with the divine sire of God doesn’t quite cut the cake.  Doubt me?

“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven.  Many will say to me on that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name and in your name drive out demons and in your name perform many miracles?’ Then I will tell them plainly, ‘I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!'”

ONLY the ones who do the will of the Father.  MANY will come begging for acceptance and be turned away.

“Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it.  But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.”

FEW find it.  I’m sorry, but the entire professing Christian world isn’t a few.

“Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you to pieces.”

Look, if you’re professing Christianity and still breaking those commandments every day all willy-nilly without a thought because at the end of the day, or the end of the week, you’ll just pray it all away, you’re lying to yourself.  You’re a dog, you’re swine.

The irony of those pictures of White Jesus cradling a lamb or hugging white kids just eats me up inside.  Jesus, when he is described, is freaking scary.  He’s riding a war horse and pulling a sword from his mouth and decimating his enemy with a single blow.  He’s a motherfucking juggernaut, not some soft headed nice guy out to spread sunshine and daisies across the world.

Furthermore, let’s get down to the roots of Christianity, shall we?  Christ dies and comes back and tells his disciples, “Go make more disciples.”  Meaning, show people what they gotta do to get into heaven and tell them to follow your example.  In case you didn’t notice, only one of the twelve died naturally.  They walked around with one pair of sandals, one robe, and no walking stick to town after town at the risk of their own lives.  The closest thing to this sort of faith are the missionaries who throw themselves at the mercy of cannibals in the name of Jesus, or the Christians who died under the Communist regime in Russia, or the hundreds of thousands of Chinese Christians getting their tongues cut out so they can’t pray, and still praying until they lift their faces out of the dirt, leaving puddles of tears on the ground.


Let me breathe for a second, OK?

The thing about it is, the thing that got to me and made me finally give up and say, “I don’t believe in God,” is the fact that there is so much potential for the human experience.  I have, on the outside, 80 years on this earth.  A quarter of them are already gone. I could chose to put my common sense on the back burner and have “blind faith” in some deity that hardly makes sense when you compare one half of his holy book to the other, or I could take control of my life and suck every moment of happiness, pain, pleasure, and whatever else out of each and every experience, answerable only to myself and my son.  The latter seems a whole hell of a lot better to me.

And if you’re reading this with a sense of heart break over the girl who a year ago was trying to baptize the world and is now some cynical backslider on the fast track to hell and damnation, pray for me.  Seriously.  If there’s a God, pray to him to save me again.

I don’t hate God.  I don’t resent Jesus.

I miss them terribly.  I want them to feel real to me again.  I want my heart to skip a beat when I hear voices raised in praise of God’s glory.  I want to cry during revival services.  I want to look forward to death as a rebirth into a world better than this one, more clean and pure than what is.

But right now, I don’t feel it.  I don’t see it.

Right now, I am the God of my world, the master of my fate.

And to tell you the truth, it feels pretty damn good.

Deify plums.

Nobody’s going to like what I have to say here. I can sense it already, even as I sit here writing this, hours before even one person will read these words, I can almost feel the disapproval. The first time I wrote down the words “sex is not some kind of sacred thing” I felt disappointed in myself. When I was a girl, I thought true love and the mysterious act of making love went hand in hand. I was taught in church that sex is something to be shared between two married people. Not so long ago, when I still believed in the God of the American church, I cringed at the thought of not having saved myself for my husband. But now that I’m free of that dead God, my childish dreams, and my marriage, I’m beginning to see things I once held to be of the utmost importance in a new light: my son will be my son no matter what happens between his father and I. Love is seldom for ever. Marriage is the most foolish decision a person could make at a young age. The God being praised at the church I was saved in is dead, or at least quite senile. Sex is not some kind of sacred thing.

I’m not going to delve into my personal affairs as I am wont to do in situations like these. If I could just open up the flood gates, so to speak, and spill my confessions for the world to read, I would. Without a moment’s hesitation. I am not ashamed of my decisions. Not proud exactly, but not ashamed. But it’s not just my confession to make. Another life is tangled up in mine, so I shall tread carefully.

Life is cold, random, and utterly without any meaning aside from the meaning you give it. This isn’t to say I don’t believe in God. I do and I don’t. I don’t like to talk about it. My point is that one day life might go fine. It might be just swell for a long time. And then, one day, you wake up to find that the world has come crashing down around you. The house lies in shambles around your bed, insulation and support beams have crashed down onto your vanity, roof shingles lie on your dresser. The walls have fallen in, and in the distance you can see that the hills have crumbled, and beyond that the mountains, and the wind carries on its back the hot sand and dust from far away deserts. In those moments when the reality of the calamity has begun to take hold of your senses, when you realize that there is no going back – broken windows cannot be put back together, splintered wood cannot be repaired, and you are too small to put the mountains back to rights or build back up the hills or stop the wind from blowing – you can either wonder what you did wrong or dig out the dust pan, the broom. Start filling trash bags and tossing them aside until you uncover the foundation and start again. That is what I mean when I say that you need to live, even of life kinda sucks. Part of living is facing a calamity greater than what you think you can handle or understand and hacking away at a solution as best you can.

You share this life with other people. Most of them, virtually all of your fellow human beings, will pass by you without making the least bit of a difference in your life. And then some times you meet someone who does. Maybe you fall in love with them, maybe you don’t. But here comes this person, this completely separate life form with his own experiences and ideas and pet peeves and hopes and dreams, who makes you feel just a little more alive than you did before. Suddenly the fine threads of your completely separate existence become intertwined with that person’s at the most distal ends, and the longer you stay close the more tangled up you become, until your heart aches and you find it hard to make sense of what you’ve gotten yourself into.

But I digress.

My point is, people are flawed. The concept of love is a silly thing when you get right down to the bones and marrow. It requires you to believe that another person could be perfect for you. Your life and happiness could be made more complete, more valid, if only this person would be your forever love. But that person will hurt you. Let you down. And the closer you get, the more it hurts to be hurt. Now, don’t get me wrong. Being hurt is part of life. Embrace it, just as you would embrace bliss, happiness, contentment. Learn and grow from it. But don’t be so silly as to think that a person who hurts you again and again, or someone you can’t help but hurt, is the person you’ll love for the rest of your life.

I learned this lesson with my marriage. I was silly enough to marry young to a man I liked to do drugs and have sex with. I figured it was the next logical step. And after that, I would have a baby and settle into adulthood. But let me tell you, there are many, many days in adulthood. The hours move slower but add up faster, and gradually the realization begins to sink in: this right here is the rest of my life.

I will say it again, sex is not some kind of sacred thing. Sex for the sake of having sex is silly, promiscuity is reckless and dangerous. Two factors should always weigh heaviest when lust takes hold of your senses: trust and desire. Trust, unlike lust or happiness or anger, isn’t something that just happens. It takes time to build, and it should never be taken lightly or given freely. And you must also desire to share that closeness, not just once but again and again. Sex should not be a means to an end, but rather a natural part of live and living. It is the most beautiful, chaotic, wonderful thing we are capable of creating, and the basest of human instinct. Without it, there would be no life. Love is not a prerequisite, either, or at least not that forever love that makes two people promise one another the stars.

If I could give you any advice, it would be this: own every moment of your life. Make mistakes, go into everything you do heart first, and sort out the resulting problems head first. Friends and lovers come and go, and so does money and comfort, just like summer gives way to fall, and fall descends into winter. You could die tomorrow. Shit, you could die today. And so could your mother, or your brother, and every person you love. Don’t hold grudges, forgive again and again, don’t concern yourself with material things that will most likely outlive you anyway, and never be afraid to fail or get hurt.

Let the smallest threads of your existence become entwined with other people’s. Never stop to wonder what could have been, or what should have been. And don’t look too far into the future, either.

Life might be chaotic and cold, but living is what you make it. I’ve chosen to make my life my own. I’m done being the supporting character in someone else’s story.

Someone said that the act of writing fiction is like making a million confessions to crimes you’ve never committed. In the future, The Midnight Disease will include bits and pieces of my work in progress: Lucky Number Five. It’s a romance of sorts, I like to think of it as an anti.-romance. I got all energetic about the three thousand or so words I’ve pumped out in the last few days, and perhaps the themes of what I’ve written influenced this a lot more than I meant for it to. But whatever. I hoped you loved this, or hated it. Keep reading and you’ll get more of the same.

[ my muse today was Gabriel Gadfly’s Breaking and all of the words scrawled in my journal since last friday. devil his due.. ]

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