I was scrolling through my notes and came across this old rambling piece of writing from my past self. I thought it may be interesting to revisit and I thought I’d share it after revising it. I’m not sure if past me was writing a poem or an article but this is what I found. I hope it isn’t offensive in anyway and if you are religious I hope you realise that there is no bad intent meant, once you’ve finished reading.
I’ve never gone to Church or Sunday School. The smell is enough to keep me away.
There’s something scary in asking for solutions, for answers. Especially when the problem isn’t even clear itself.
It’s even more scary to admit that I don’t believe. Because then that leaves more questions unanswered. More potential for lightning to strike me dead on the spot for blasphemy.
Too much time, to question the words of others.
Maybe I believe. Or maybe I tell myself to believe, just in case it comes to bite me in the backside one day.
It’s a cliche. That surely no higher power could exist if all the earthly creations are aflame. Are at war. If all the children are salt shakers full of holes and bullets. If people are being murdered for who they love or what they believe in. But..
I’m embarrassed.
As every time I try it out: believing. I run into a locked door, slammed in my face for good measure. I ask for the right people to hold the power in government. I’ve asked for clarity, for my head to not rattle, everytime I move.
I’ve asked for more time with people I was losing…. but I lost…regardless.
To this day I’m still awaiting an explanation.
Maybe I’m the foolish one. Maybe there is some rule book I’ve never known how to follow. Maybe I don’t want to listen. I’ve done enough of that.
But those preachers on the streets, they shout and heckle and yell words that feel empty, cold. That we should go, and receive guidance. How am I suppose to listen, when all I’ve ever heard is silence.
Celebrate religion, if you have one. I envy whoever can believe in something other than the tragedy that surrounds us on a daily basis. To see passed that all, must truly be a gift and I invite you to celebrate it. To have faith, is a powerful thing in this day and age
Until the day that this world looks like paradise. Till the rainforests are hissing with Wildlife, instead of Wildfire. Till children are carrying rucksacks on their back and not the dirty water that will kill them.
Not their dead best friend.
Till I look out my window and can say I’ve seen the Garden of Eden.
I have to say all I can believe in, are the stories that touch me. The voices that whisper. Perhaps it’s a religion after all, maybe just one I haven’t worked out the name of yet.
The religion where I can speak and be heard simultaneously. Where I need to stop asking other people to change things for me, and change them for myself. Till the world looks like my own Eden.
Maybe that’s what I’ll do… and maybe you could do the same
Keiran
