People have fallen into a foolish habit of speaking of miracles as if everyone is given a right to live to the fullest and the grace to achieve such a lofty fantasy.
I'm too sceptical for that. There was never a thing as grace to live - living is itself a long tiresome dreary progress from birth to death - and everything in between a promise of a single premature death.
I'm also too bored of that. Beneath the surfaces of all charismatic speeches and pedestal performances about grace and earthly blessings are mere distractions. The thing I need is a death notice - of the specific time and method of death. Then perhaps, I may be thrust into some desperate attempt to live 'life to the fullest'; Or, I may just sleep through the waiting time and wish for the last minute to come sooner.
I've desperately tried to live long enough to know when the day I die will come. The fact that we don't always get a death notice is because we already have one noose tied around us. I probably don't need to know; I already do. And I'm bored of knowing the certainty of death. I'm really left with the waiting time.
And that is what makes it so perilous or so exciting. I choose, in very simple terms, between danger and excitement; between loving life or hating it. After all, there are tons of things I can't decide for myself. My innate will to sin, o so desperate will to sin, is one of the many. Between a curse to die and a blessing to live, I am stuck in the moment, crying with all my might, the same force as a baby crying for the first time.
I'm nowhere closer to knowing if I live to die, or I am dying to live.
I maintain, thus, that all promises of a wealthy and prosperous life are ludicrous and are absolutely lies. To clarify, all material gains are mere distractions from the inexplicable demand that living produces. I kick, with all my might, to exist. At the very least then, don't tell me that I am free to choose - even my kick lands its blow on the immediate surroundings to which I have no say or control. The truth is, I'm pretty much thrown into this world - and all the world's stuck with me.
It, therefore, irks me to be told that we can be totally free from the shackles of this world. Or, worst, pursue the things of this world because it brings us closer to some form of immortality. If, we cannot handle mortality, do not, I repeat, do not even fathom the thought of immortality.
There is nothing more saddening than the appearances of certain people who look on with dreamy eyes, perform shallow performances of faith and try desperately to be supposed recipients of some form of grace. They cry, in some form of gibberish, as if they are born again, as if they can once again be tenderly caressed and cradled. They fail to understand, that the first cry of a baby is the call of fear:"Why am I born?" "What am I to be?" "What am I doing here?" Or, it is just an announcement to the world: "I demand to be known," leaving a trail of blood, sacrifice and the painful scream of a brave mother.
I don't believe in this call to arms against death. I believe, fundamentally in the romantic notion that death sets us free, but, not without the pilgrim's progress in life doomed to the martyr sceptre. I believe, that life is a parody or an imitation of exactly the same foolish behaviour of our predecessors.
Don't read me wrong - we do not need to be martyrs and foolishly seek for the elusive stigmata on our foreheads and wrists.
They won't be from Him.
The only credible truth anyone has taught me is my ignorance - and the rest are just my futile attempts to justify my existence.
And I believe that is the amazing beauty of life - the unknown. Enough of boxes - "God consists of four sides and think 3D." Enough of some grand narrative of how great and wonderful your god is. Faith works not because it has been thoroughly explained to you. Faith works when the trembling of the soul demands (not miracles) the explicit humbling of human pride, and the confrontation with our stinky oily sensation of sin. Thereupon we can only give up on our humanity, our lives, and confront our mortality.
The fundamental difference that sets us apart from every living thing in this world is that we sin and we actually have a notion of doing something wrong. (Keep a pet long enough and the poor dog also knows it's wrong not to obey a master's call for it to sit)
There is nothing more cruel than life itself. And so all plain and simple messages of peace, love and hope are just acidic pamphlets of ignorance. Life again, demands more than giving up certain material things. It demands giving up on yourself. It means giving yourself up to death - o fatal death, where is your sting?
Until we shed this mortal coil, do not expect a miracle. Your life alone, as long as you live and given the chance to say 'I believe', is enough a miracle. Anything else just distracts. Anything else just cushions the blow of our childish kicks.
signed
I (18 years of age)
I'm too sceptical for that. There was never a thing as grace to live - living is itself a long tiresome dreary progress from birth to death - and everything in between a promise of a single premature death.
I'm also too bored of that. Beneath the surfaces of all charismatic speeches and pedestal performances about grace and earthly blessings are mere distractions. The thing I need is a death notice - of the specific time and method of death. Then perhaps, I may be thrust into some desperate attempt to live 'life to the fullest'; Or, I may just sleep through the waiting time and wish for the last minute to come sooner.
I've desperately tried to live long enough to know when the day I die will come. The fact that we don't always get a death notice is because we already have one noose tied around us. I probably don't need to know; I already do. And I'm bored of knowing the certainty of death. I'm really left with the waiting time.
And that is what makes it so perilous or so exciting. I choose, in very simple terms, between danger and excitement; between loving life or hating it. After all, there are tons of things I can't decide for myself. My innate will to sin, o so desperate will to sin, is one of the many. Between a curse to die and a blessing to live, I am stuck in the moment, crying with all my might, the same force as a baby crying for the first time.
I'm nowhere closer to knowing if I live to die, or I am dying to live.
I maintain, thus, that all promises of a wealthy and prosperous life are ludicrous and are absolutely lies. To clarify, all material gains are mere distractions from the inexplicable demand that living produces. I kick, with all my might, to exist. At the very least then, don't tell me that I am free to choose - even my kick lands its blow on the immediate surroundings to which I have no say or control. The truth is, I'm pretty much thrown into this world - and all the world's stuck with me.
It, therefore, irks me to be told that we can be totally free from the shackles of this world. Or, worst, pursue the things of this world because it brings us closer to some form of immortality. If, we cannot handle mortality, do not, I repeat, do not even fathom the thought of immortality.
There is nothing more saddening than the appearances of certain people who look on with dreamy eyes, perform shallow performances of faith and try desperately to be supposed recipients of some form of grace. They cry, in some form of gibberish, as if they are born again, as if they can once again be tenderly caressed and cradled. They fail to understand, that the first cry of a baby is the call of fear:"Why am I born?" "What am I to be?" "What am I doing here?" Or, it is just an announcement to the world: "I demand to be known," leaving a trail of blood, sacrifice and the painful scream of a brave mother.
I don't believe in this call to arms against death. I believe, fundamentally in the romantic notion that death sets us free, but, not without the pilgrim's progress in life doomed to the martyr sceptre. I believe, that life is a parody or an imitation of exactly the same foolish behaviour of our predecessors.
Don't read me wrong - we do not need to be martyrs and foolishly seek for the elusive stigmata on our foreheads and wrists.
They won't be from Him.
The only credible truth anyone has taught me is my ignorance - and the rest are just my futile attempts to justify my existence.
And I believe that is the amazing beauty of life - the unknown. Enough of boxes - "God consists of four sides and think 3D." Enough of some grand narrative of how great and wonderful your god is. Faith works not because it has been thoroughly explained to you. Faith works when the trembling of the soul demands (not miracles) the explicit humbling of human pride, and the confrontation with our stinky oily sensation of sin. Thereupon we can only give up on our humanity, our lives, and confront our mortality.
The fundamental difference that sets us apart from every living thing in this world is that we sin and we actually have a notion of doing something wrong. (Keep a pet long enough and the poor dog also knows it's wrong not to obey a master's call for it to sit)
There is nothing more cruel than life itself. And so all plain and simple messages of peace, love and hope are just acidic pamphlets of ignorance. Life again, demands more than giving up certain material things. It demands giving up on yourself. It means giving yourself up to death - o fatal death, where is your sting?
Until we shed this mortal coil, do not expect a miracle. Your life alone, as long as you live and given the chance to say 'I believe', is enough a miracle. Anything else just distracts. Anything else just cushions the blow of our childish kicks.
signed
I (18 years of age)
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