one place

every situation in life that defies the logic we have at the time creates a small hole in our souls.

most people change their logic that those holes can be patched, at least for a while.

some people change the situations to fit the logic.

but some holes are bigger than the patches we conjure would care to fit, so we go on with life accumulating ever so slightly larger voids that become gaping, unsightly, even downright ugly.

and most people fill these with things. religion. science. music. art. history. hedonism. even other people.

what most people don't realise is that these holes created don't just mean that our souls are disappearing. no, not really. they're whisked away. maybe they go into another place, where all souls join into a massive cloud of pseudo-souls. maybe it's less romantic, maybe they just lie somewhere, waiting for an uncoming day of judgement. maybe a deity picks them up for some use or another. who knows? but those slivers of souls are there somewhere.

for me? i think i would like to know what i would do had i not lost those pieces of me. but so much has been lost in so little time, there is no recordkeeping - not for me, or for you, or for anyone for that matter.

maybe it is best that i keep on writing. that if i could write my way to destinations, there's only one place to go.

giving in

i apologise, first and foremost, that this, along with the next few posts, will be touching on some metaphysical questions that, though i ask myself now and again, i can never really answer. whether now is a good time to pose them (again), or isn't, i don't think is relevant - there never really is a good enough time.

in any case, there are a few ideas that i re-visit from time to time pertaining to religion, particularly revolving around:
1) effort-reward relationships and fatalism,
2) predestination in its various forms and sorts
3) the literalness of word (and spirit) in religion

and that which i shall touch upon today,

4) giving in.

when i find myself in such a dire state that conversations with God seem needed and even warranted (and, of course, it is only during the 13th hour of the most needful of times that we actually beseech any form of divine power), it is always in a very philosophical tone. i regret the air of haughtiness it involves (or at least portrays. to be honest, there is nothing beyond overthinking involved), but there's usually a few questions and postulations that i toss up in the air, contemplate for a bit and then leave for another time when i feel the world is closing down faster than i can find a reason for it to be worth any merit. and, for me, this is communion. this is religion. this is prayer and this is subservience.

but, i envy those who have taken it further than such simple logic. my doctrine makes it such that being one with God is limited by the confines of human prostation. even worse - mine. even by the simplest definition, this is flawed. it is cherry picking and turning a blind eye. there is more element of self-convincing than there is faith. and this is regrettable. those who i envy - they either have it so wrong in their simplicity that they cannot (or will not) see the logic i try to portray (and i do not even tout this as such an extension of thought, as i am humbled by so many others' ideals and practices), or they have seen past such human (my) error and fallacy to something that i wish i could.

being able to say that 'it's okay' and see that worldly gains (or losses) are but fleeting, and trivial. i cannot come yet to do this. and as much as i would like to understand how this is possible (not even to try to do it myself), i may not even want to. how can i even try, when i cannot even define what it is that i find myself lacking?

you must pardon the pseudo-existentialism. i do not attempt to impress or even partake in higher intellectual discussion on religion. that would be hypocricy, as the stem from which i question the given is not even religious in nature (as always, it is the longing for what i claim as deserving, but in all honesty, there is only laughable argument at best).

before the day comes, though, that i find myself at peace with simple devotion (and simple here also being far more spiritual than what i have now), i must confess to wishing that it were all fall into place, and i pray only that it begins with a simple one, a simple person, a simple wish, a tether, a hope, a miracle. and that is a dore.

hand of god

it seems every day i question the presence of God. it is worth noting that his existence is a different question altogether, and i have chosen to arbitrarily believe in that. arbitrarily. because there is no form or function to this logic. and, truth be told, if i were not born into religion, i would by now be an atheist, or at the very least, agnostic. yes, i do believe agnostic would be more appropriate. there is something about the irony related to not caring, rather than not believing, that demands more command than actively not believing (which, in itself, i reckon is a steadfast belief, giving hypocricy to atheists, anyway).

but, that is not my intent to question one's belief or non-belief (as opposed to disbelief). it is to question the presence of God. i have reiterated sporadically in my posts, about how fatalism is probably the greatest argument for and against the presence of God (at least for myself). but, always, as a child is not guilty of being unable to fathom the consequences of his actions, so is he not absolved from responsibility. such lamentable laws do not confine the hand of God, the believers tell themselves, and for those who argue that a double standard (of any sort) is justification for the non-existence of any form of a higher power, can anyone really fault that kind of logic?

this leads on into a circular argument, which is why i best leave logic out of the whole equation, and go back to something i have held for many years - that faith is faith. belief is not to be argued for or against. it is a privilege, a curse and a boon. it is an arbitrary assignment, that loses and gains meaning with time and experience, but always it is something, at least to me, that i can never understand. but, thankfully (or perhaps unfortunately), understanding is not a prerequisite to having it, and neither is it a requirement to retaining faith.

the correlation, if any, between effort and reward has always been another question. this transgresses the simple boundaries of obvious observation, to the greater scheme of life itself - the subjectivity of deserving is in itself a core issue to be debated. socrates once postulated a simple set of four arguments which would logically negate one of the primary attributes of God, and along similar lines (though i do not agree entirely with the simplicity of such arguments relating to the vastness of such scale), one can already see simple, if not convincing or compelling evidence of why God remains too mystical and too covert to be an entity of belief. a child starving to death begs to differ the haughtiness of conviction from a conservative concerned for today's celebrity gossip - when religion becomes a luxury, then choice is of no value, when religion is a necessity, the absence of choice is the only thing driving life for today. who could care less about menial questions when there's other, more direct, more pressing, more immediate issues at hand?

already, i truncate my arguments, as this is not (though unfortunately has become, unwittingly,) the purpose and gist of this post.

instead, i leave myself with this valuable insight that my future self will most possibly laugh at - if all is destined, then worry is a choice. but when action is the gauge of choice, and especially one that influences, if not determines destiny, then fatalism is moot, and the promise of God is irrelevant (or, perhaps it is even more relevant, that the paths we take are those that God wills us upon more than he measures us by?). on the whole, i think this is why miracles are meant to be - and by observing one, particularly one relevant to one's (my) interest, only then will i be able to lay to rest this question of presence of God.

god as a bystander. God as an omnipotent puppetmaster. god as a benevolent giver. God as a merciless dictator. in all forms and sorts, his presence is possibly the most compelling of all inquiries we, as humans and as want-to-believers, need to ask ourselves.

it is unfortunate that i think i will no longer come to believe.

for certain

he asked me why can you be so certain?
i do not know.
but, this feeling. it is certainty. i think it is. i know it is. and that is sufficient.
this should be enough, but somehow it is not. and all that is left after the doubt and insecurity? it is still that feeling.
so, perhaps, it is really all that is required.

- excerpt from the day of pages.

you are the lucid dream

i've been meaning to write frequently again, but it seems studies has other plans for me! but i am happy knowing that even if i do not pen down much, my mind is always furiously at work even as the din of centrifuge machines are in the background and the flame of a bunsen burner keeps me warm in the lab (for some reason they have set the temperature slightly lower than what i would have liked).

regardless, i have the time now, if only a couple of minutes, and i should like to write of my nightmare of last evening. that i may remember and laugh in the future, that even the most monstrous evils are only in my mind - my supervisor (she's actually a very charming, understanding person, but for some reason she was the main 'villain' in my dream), my brother (who, again is a decent person, but for no apparent reason, chased me down with sticks and some steampunk-esque branding iron), a ghost of some sort (i cannot remember if it was an alien or a ghost, a werewolf or a behemoth, a siren or a troll. for all i know it could have been pablo picasso, but what is important is there was something terrible ready to devour me at the moment's mention from my supervisor, and it stood there, by her side, all throughout the nightmare, more a symbol or promise of demise than actually affecting me in any way), and last, but certainly by far nowhere the least, the amouration of my living being, the curse of what is promised to be love, sbr (you haunt me even in my dreams! how silly).

i woke after an hour's sleep or so (which is not that much, for me, for on some days i will sleep up to 10 hours. such is the luxury of my own timekeeping), at approximately 11, and the twilight had only begun to creep in, which is quite counterintuitive, as darkness had already set by 6 o'clock. sweat upon my brow but none elsewhere, i gasped for water, which i had unusually placed upon my bedstand, and upon relieving myself of an apparent thirst, i continued to sleep and wake on a half-hourly basis till i could no longer put myself through another bout of such torment - and found myself doing work at about 4 a.m.

8 hours later, here i write, my mind slightly scrambled, my thoughts incoherent at best, but it seems that all had come for a reason, that i would know that you are no longer upon a pedestal. you are no longer exaltation. you are but. you are mere. you are shallow and insincere. you are the lucid dream.

chasing unicorns

the last of the unicorns was upon his deathbed, and none of the creatures of earth were there. you see, for all their splendour and magnificence, what most people do not realise is that unicorns are selfish, arrogant, treacherous creatures. they are elitist and self-consumed and pretentious and a handful of other despicable attributes.

none were there during his last feeble breaths. none, bar a single boy - an orphan, a forgotten little child, dirtied by the sands of the streets and stenched from the toil of hard work.

'why are you here?' asked the unicorn, 'why are you here when you were not around during my merriful parties, or my hedonistic sprees?'

but the boy remained silent, and gazed into the unicorn's eyes.

and through the majestic creature's mind flew all the times it had lived in the moment, and died for the day, remembering that the boy had never been to the splendour of days it called a life.

'why do you come, now that all those who i called friends have left, and all that i called love are lost?'
'why do you still remain by my side?'

and at the last possible moment, before the unicorn's eyes glazed over and his heart beat its last, the boy said sadly and cried, 'because i promised i would.'