Whatever happened to God? I am, by no means, an atheist. I believe in God. I believe that there is an all-knowing, ever-lasting power that goes beyond you, me, the world, existence. However, these days, I find myself not remembering that as much anymore.
When I was younger, God consumed me. Every moment was filled with possibility, engorged with hope and magic. I believed that everything was connected, that moments of deja vu were precious reminders that coincidences were anything but coincidences. I believed that people came into your life to teach you wonderful things even if they left you crying. I believed every moment was the glorious step to something else, something greater. I think deep in my heart, I still believe in that but experiences and, perhaps, age, has made me cynical about everything.
Magical moments are easily explained these days. Science and rationality come by with their lance to burst any wayward, fragile bubbles sputtering effervescently like the gurgled last words of a drowning man. "Oh, well, the rain is just a product of condensation. " Pop. "Well, your mind can be powerful. I'm sure you think you feel God." Pop. Pop. "Don't be so naive! Meaningful coincidences are nothing more than probability equations and religion is just man's very human attempt to feel he is more than a speck in the universe." Pop. Pop. Pop. Heck, the origins of the universe popped so loud it was a Big Bang. So what else can we destroy?
I hate that I wrote that. I hate that I can say that or, rather, type that. It makes me rethink the whole Garden of Eden thing. When I was younger I wondered why God would not want you to eat from the Tree of Knowledge. Isn't knowledge a good thing? But, now, it makes sense. The more you think you know, the less you think you need God. The world is not amazing any more because there's a very rational explanation somewhere. Sure, some things cannot yet be explained but you better believe that there are a team of white-coated researchers breaking down peptide bonds and analyzing reptile DNA that will find an answer soon.
In a world where drug companies are peddling their wares to just about any advertising medium available even if it wears a stethoscope and the mighty "M.D" on their lapel , where mood swings and introversion are suddenly pathologically abnormal, where escapism is not a hobby but the only way to survive, where 'taking a chill pill' is not just a statement anymore but our modus operandi, it pays to be comfortably numb. We're surrounded by sights and sounds and are very much edging close to sensory overload every day. Just look at how "plugged in" we are with our cell phones, computers, HD Tvs, etc. But, hey, why worry when you can be doped up enough not to?
The funny thing is, I realize the impact of the voluntary buffering I have done just to be able to live. I go to work to make money, to pay for my home, my food, my health insurance so that I can keep on going so I can do it all over again tomorrow. Sure, I fit a social life in there somewhere and I get out to the beach once in a while but my trains of thought have already left for the next station. I'm so distracted with trying to live that I forget that I am living. So is it that we just don't have time for God any more? Or is it that we just don't have time for ourselves? Are they, Him/Her, Us one in the same? Do I have to pencil Him/Her/It/Me in my planner and hope nothing inconvenient happens along the way?
I hope I haven't bummed anyone out by writing this but I truly miss the spiritual side of me and I'm just trying to make sense of where I lost it. Maybe it's not lost. Maybe I just put it in a really safe place while I put the rest of my life back in order. I hope so. At least I haven't lost hope, right? If that were the case, I imagine I would be truly be fucked.
When I was younger, God consumed me. Every moment was filled with possibility, engorged with hope and magic. I believed that everything was connected, that moments of deja vu were precious reminders that coincidences were anything but coincidences. I believed that people came into your life to teach you wonderful things even if they left you crying. I believed every moment was the glorious step to something else, something greater. I think deep in my heart, I still believe in that but experiences and, perhaps, age, has made me cynical about everything.
Magical moments are easily explained these days. Science and rationality come by with their lance to burst any wayward, fragile bubbles sputtering effervescently like the gurgled last words of a drowning man. "Oh, well, the rain is just a product of condensation. " Pop. "Well, your mind can be powerful. I'm sure you think you feel God." Pop. Pop. "Don't be so naive! Meaningful coincidences are nothing more than probability equations and religion is just man's very human attempt to feel he is more than a speck in the universe." Pop. Pop. Pop. Heck, the origins of the universe popped so loud it was a Big Bang. So what else can we destroy?
I hate that I wrote that. I hate that I can say that or, rather, type that. It makes me rethink the whole Garden of Eden thing. When I was younger I wondered why God would not want you to eat from the Tree of Knowledge. Isn't knowledge a good thing? But, now, it makes sense. The more you think you know, the less you think you need God. The world is not amazing any more because there's a very rational explanation somewhere. Sure, some things cannot yet be explained but you better believe that there are a team of white-coated researchers breaking down peptide bonds and analyzing reptile DNA that will find an answer soon.
In a world where drug companies are peddling their wares to just about any advertising medium available even if it wears a stethoscope and the mighty "M.D" on their lapel , where mood swings and introversion are suddenly pathologically abnormal, where escapism is not a hobby but the only way to survive, where 'taking a chill pill' is not just a statement anymore but our modus operandi, it pays to be comfortably numb. We're surrounded by sights and sounds and are very much edging close to sensory overload every day. Just look at how "plugged in" we are with our cell phones, computers, HD Tvs, etc. But, hey, why worry when you can be doped up enough not to?
The funny thing is, I realize the impact of the voluntary buffering I have done just to be able to live. I go to work to make money, to pay for my home, my food, my health insurance so that I can keep on going so I can do it all over again tomorrow. Sure, I fit a social life in there somewhere and I get out to the beach once in a while but my trains of thought have already left for the next station. I'm so distracted with trying to live that I forget that I am living. So is it that we just don't have time for God any more? Or is it that we just don't have time for ourselves? Are they, Him/Her, Us one in the same? Do I have to pencil Him/Her/It/Me in my planner and hope nothing inconvenient happens along the way?
I hope I haven't bummed anyone out by writing this but I truly miss the spiritual side of me and I'm just trying to make sense of where I lost it. Maybe it's not lost. Maybe I just put it in a really safe place while I put the rest of my life back in order. I hope so. At least I haven't lost hope, right? If that were the case, I imagine I would be truly be fucked.
