Skating

Sometimes I wonder how my my life might've differed had I been raised from a child to believe in a god. Would I still believe? Would I be happier? Sadder? The same?

Because even though I think it's all a lie, I'm not so sure there aren't some lies worth believing in. If it's not a lie to you. If it's your truth and you're better off for it, it doesn't really matter if it's actual fact. I don't think when you're dead and you find out there's nothing after you kick yourself for having thought there'd be more. But while you're still alive, you need something to live for.

There are happy atheists. And miserable christians.

And it's a shakey fence. How much delusion is solace and how much is just escapism, denial. If it need not be based in fact, there are all sorts of things one could choose to believe in for that sense of hope human life might otherwise lack. There's Santa Claus. Happily ever after. And social security.

That's why mankind created alcohol and drugs and all those other similar things. Because it seems to me no one really believes in anything. All the god-fearing. All the pious. If god and heaven are so great why aren't they more eager to get there. Why do people for the most part wish to prolong their lives for as long as possible, to sickening lengths, even it means being a burden on society and the people they claim to love.

Everyone seems to be so fascinated by people who live into their hundreds. Awestruck even. Why? Why want to keep living so bad if you think there's paradise waiting for you when you die?

That is how I know it doesn't really matter that I wasn't brainwashed as a child to think there's a god or a heaven. That is how I know no one really believes. And I'm only alone in admitting it.

What I see are people using their delusions of god as a way to keep themselves alive. It's their excuse to go on living because they're so afraid to die.

Everyday, just to get through it, we tell ourselves, our children, our friends so many lies. It's no wonder we get confused as to what it actually is.

What's truth? Imaginary? Real? A precarious balance of the two. The truth is, the truth is whatever you want it to be.

A frozen pond we skate across never knowing when or if it will break open and pull us down below its murky surface.

Just one crack in. That's all it takes.