Saturday, 28 April 2012

A 3rd Nostril, A 2nd Arse.

Note the similarities? You function perfectly well without these added extras. Might I suggest that any and all forms of religious belief also fall under this umbrella? I hear a billion voices cry out in uproar. What do I do without my faith, my deeply held beliefs, the teachings that guide and inspire and comfort me? The simple answer is that you find some other way to manage. Brutal, I know, but take pause for a minute and ask yourself why I should care about what amounts to an emotional comfort blanket, a buffer against some of natures harsher realities. We die. We're finite. This doesn't last. And for most of us this is as scary as hell. If its any consolation I'm no different. My destruction doesn't fill me with pink and fluffy feelings that radiate for all to see. But I will say that it also inspires me more than anything else. Every waking minute counts. Every second, every blink, every sense and sound. Right now you're amazing, able to do and apprehend things that beggar all belief. You have a mind and a body and at least the illusion of free will, and there's a world full of potential and enjoyment in touching distance. Reality is the ultimate thrill ride, so why do so many want to draw a veil of ignorance across it? Why do so many choose to perceive dimly when the truth is plain and wonderful? What does a mind addled with supernatural lies bring to the party? It doesn't bring intellectual honestly. It doesn't bring courage. It doesn't bring illumination. To hold a religious belief is to willingly consent to a fog of ignorance, to live in a world where the horizon is shrouded in the putrid mists of falsehood. I remember my final days as a believer. Awful, awful days. I knew I'd built my life upon bad information and huckster promises. I knew the teachings were reheated and improvised and unfit for purpose. Yet I clung on like a man to a soggy piece of ocean driftwood, fearful that if I let go I'd be adrift, bereft, robbed of all purpose and direction. Yet with time came the knowledge that I hadn't lost anything. At least nothing worth having. All I'd done was shed a mothball eaten second skin that was flea infested and scratchy. You see, if you want truth about reality then religion cannot help you. It can bring false comfort, and it can make false promises, but it can't do what it ultimately claims to do. It's not an accurate guide to history, or morality, or just about anything. At best it's a social structure providing emotional support, a refuge from life's storm tossed waters. I understand it's appeal. Life is a bit scary sometimes. The idea of not having to deal with it alone must be a tremendous draw. 

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