Tuesday, May 27, 2008
“‘Don’t you love Jesus?’ Well, I thought an’ thought, an’ finally I says ‘No, I don’t know anybody name Jesus. I know a bunch of stories, but I only love people. An’ sometimes I love’em fit to bust, and I want to make em happy, so I been preachin somepin I thought would make’em happy.” - John Steinbeck (text from ‘Grapes of Wrath’)
Everyday, I get more and more scared, the whole closer to the end of my life phenomenon. Depending on your religion, death is either the summation of existence or the beginning of paradise (understanding within these parameters lies endless differences and disputes).
This thick line generates and than continuously emits uneasiness. An unpleasantry which remains unresolved and stapled to each of us, until fate calls out an eyewitness account. Yet, a good majority of us act quite sure of our fate; I conjure this as self defense permitting one to walk around feeling safe, secure and in comfort.
In fact, I’m of the party that religion was created to prevent chaos (with which evidence might argue it's the number one ingredient for). And in that realm, I question whether our actions truly need to be managed and made for fear of the next life. Aren’t we the fool, consistently looking ahead, cautiously hugging the sideline approach for now. Essentially, taking a mulligan this life around.
Where does the time go?
The believers either carry blindness from birth or entirely focus energy on finding holes in others theories. Meanwhile, the unbelievers carelessly question Gods and life altogether. Raised a dedicated Roman Catholic and living the eventual fallout, I've been a habitant of both takes. Been piling on the questions, whilst finding no solace.
In exercising energy against...the head of my venom points at the very church I kneeled in awe of, whose hypocritical word I digested for years. The oft outspoken church, who rests in faith when there are no answers. Whose supposed leader’s message is to sacrifice yourself for the good of the needy. In saying so, would he truly sign on for money collection every Sunday to invest in gold cups, marble floors and ridiculous outfits? Would his ego be so insecure as to humbly accept his followers landing on their knees every Sunday and praising him instead of slaving for the less fortunate? If this man actually existed, I believe he would be looking on truly abashed by his very fan club.
And whenever I volley back over and hug my pillow in favour of God, I proceed to drive my mind crazy. I allow that if I do good here, I will die, go up to ‘heaven’ and live forever and ever! Sounds splendid, but I tend to oversee the stop sign, opting for “and than what? Forever and ever, and than what? What’s after the ever, I mean what if things get lame?” (considering everything is all lovey dovey and positive!). I often pound my head with this concept until it scares me to sleep.
Does either belief physically affect time spent in this being? No! All considered, I need to start enjoying the suns descent, before long, the happening will be no more or become extremely vapid.
Labels: Spilling Speech