She had never had any religion to speak of
though she had once felt the presence of God in the shadow
of an idol's statue,
a replica of one, anyway, a copy in a copy of a temple,
but she still felt the power of people's attention
(or had just finished reading American Gods and had an active imagination)
(the irony of the blasphemous nature of her religious experience was not lost on her)
once she had been pulled back from walking into traffic
and that had almost been enough to convince her that God was real
and twice, guilt and peer-pressure had convinced her to accept
Jesus into her heart, to be "born again" as it were,
but the re-births didn't take, and she stumbled into adulthood
more chagrined that she couldn't make herself believe
in King Arthur and his Knights
than in Jesus and his Apostles
She knew it the moment it happened
She imagined that she could feel the seed take root
She knew it, like she knew the sun would come up tomorrow
but she had no way to prove it
The bigness of the universe scared her
swallowed her up
If the Universe is ever-expanding, (a scientific fact) heading toward the opposite of a "Big Bang" and
(essentially) a return to nothing
is not the essential question of Deity, (yes or no?), in point of fact, answered, once and for all?
All things being equal, the simplest answer is usually right,
and so, ipso facto,
There is no God.
Take a breath, in and out, in and out.
The smallness of the thing inside her
gave her peace
it was easy to comprehend
she could wrap her hands around it
croon to it
and just as surely as she knew it was there right away at once
(a knowledge she could never prove)
she knew she could never give it up
The sureness of it was in fact her sole religion.
like the way she would wake up
panicky with cold sweat
on mornings when the alarm clock
failed to go off
the power gone off in the night
or the cell phone battery no longer reliable
enough to make it through the night
sheer will power or anxiety
enough to make sure she got to work on time
like the way she looked at him one night
and just knew
that she loved him
that she would always love him
(the hard thing was knowing if the moment was right)
to tell him the truth
knowing if he was ready for the turbulent ride
that was being loved
by her.
If he could understand the way she worshipped.
like the way she knew that a song was good
was meant for her, when the lyrics burned themselves
into her brain, when she couldn't stop humming and singing
when the words formed themselves in the margins of her life
the way that a book would draw her in again and again
and tingle along her spine
as she swam back to the surface
when reality called her back, forced her to set the book aside
like the way that she didn't like things or not care about things
She Loved things or she Hated things.
She loved good books, hated anything poorly written.
Loved coffee brewed with care, hated instant blends.
No, for her there was no God,
but certainly, there was faith
certainly there was fate
certainly there was blind trust
that if she loved and loved and loved
with all her might
in the end the good things would be good
and the bad things would probably still be alright.
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