I miss feeling like someone could hear me when I prayed. Occasionally, when I'm crying from worry or sadness, I look up at my ceiling and "pray" in a choking, slurred fashion. I usually preface my words by saying, "I don't really think you're there, but..."
Religion was so easy when I was a child. The Episcopal Church has a set liturgy with different orders for service, prescribed readings and psalms, communion every Sunday after the same rhythmic pattern of prayers and oblations. Service is still very soothing for me as it was when I was a child, but no longer does it pull me into spiritual joy.
I am far too logical for religion. Thinking of religion as an opiate, as a way to hold oneself together when confronted with the death of loved ones, as a safety net for the truly unloved and alone, makes me much more comfortable. I view it as a social construction (which it IS, unarguably), but nothing more. However, I rear back like a horse when I get near the word "atheism." I don't want to label myself as an atheist, because then I feel incredibly depressed. I feel as if I've lost something precious, so then I try to force myself to simply believe that God is there.
But I can't. I just can't. I look up at the endless stars in the sky, at the indescribable beauty of the autumn leaves falling in the light of the early evening, at pictures on Facebook of newborn children, but I can't feel anything. I try to convince myself that my wonderful boyfriend (who is madly, deeply in love with me, which is a miracle) was sent to me by God, but even that provokes no connection within me. It was coincidence and luck that let us meet, not God.
I'm so scared of caving to atheism because it would mean that we are truly alone: insignificant carbon life forms on a spinning rock, whose only fate is to rot after 80 years of life in a box in the ground. I want there to be a purpose, a cosmic and universal connectedness, not just systems and death.
But logic screams: there isn't.
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