Born in torrents

Life is hard. I feel bad for everyone who has to go through it. I know people spend endless amounts of energy staying positive and thinking the glass is half full and all of that, but that's generally because they're too scared to think it all might be pointless (yes, I'm simplifying). Pious people tend to think of atheists as afraid to commit, afraid to have faith and give yourself up to God, but I think religious people are the cowards who need a God they can serve to make their existence meaningful. Believing that there probably isn't any meaning to anything is rather frightening, deadening, confusing. It doesn't bear to think about too much. But the people who go this route, either by choice or because they simply can't accept the easy answers that institutionalized religions provide, are the real heroes in my book.

Because deep in my heart, I do wish there were meaning and it all made sense and there was someone I could mindlessly serve and make happy. And that such a being would then take care of me, like a parent, would answer all my questions and tuck me in at night. But it doesn't feel to me that this is way things actually are. It may be, but until I have evidence of it, I'll think of it as no more likely than seeing dinosaurs walking around outside my window. And yet I go on, feeding myself and sleeping and trying to move toward some inexorable fate, lastly marching on to death itself. Walking on in complete and utter darkness, and in the face of sheer terror, is a courageous act all its own, and should never be diminished. I feel sorry for those souls who travel the same path, and this is why I'll never make more children.