I went to visit A and V yesterday. It was good to see them. V dropped a huge religion talk on me, we were joking about treating classified ads as personal ads ("Hi John, I really appreciate your love for hunting equipment and was wondering if you want to go out sometime?") and she's like, "So, do you believe in an afterlife?" So out of nowhere. So I told her about feeling like we just die and that's all, like the rest of life on this planet, and we talked about whether life means anything and whether or not it has to. Sometimes I feel like "the purpose of my life" is an oxymoron. So many people have died and been completely forgotten, they have no impact on the world today, and that's fine. So maybe my line will die out and my words erased and I'll just be gone. Maybe that's fine. It doesn't mean that I shouldn't write and live and love. The question is "for what?" and I suspect that it's a non-question, the answer might as well be 42 or some other obscure answer. Why do we play Mancala? I don't know, for fun. We like it. Same with life. There's no big underlying motive, but we love it anyways. We're fine with that if it's applied to other mammals. So I can write it down, does that mean I'm above it? I'm not sure that it does. I do live for enjoyment, like those who 'sin' as much as possible (though I don't think I would enjoy that, so I don't) and like those who strive after God—because that's what brings them pleasure. Not me anymore. I didn't leave because of that, but it is there.
She asked me if I believed in God and I said I don't know, not really right now, but who knows what six months will bring. I said not the Christian God, and I felt harsh saying it to her. Like a knife in the gut. I'm not coming back into the fold, you have lost me. That god is dead to me, I see him curled up in the fetal position, withered like limp plants, the life gone out of him.
Hungry, I come to you
for I know you satisfy
I am empty but I know your love does not run dry
so I wait for you
so I wait for you
I'm falling on my knees offering all of me
Jesus you're all this heart is living for. (Hungry, by Kathryn Scott)
And you never came and now I'm not living for you, I'm living for me, because you did not satisfy. Now I am finally awake to my life.
<--sooner · later-->
<-- Faith Dissolved