2 Apr 2020
I find myself recalling my life as one already lived. This is not borne of boredom nor of dramatic flare- real or feigned. Questions of God settle heavy on my brow. Both for my own peace and that of the world, I wish them not to be left unresolved.
Inaction is as much a choice of movement as is action, and this reality I have struggled to grasp and accept my whole life. As days and years roll by my freedom of choice grows, as does the apparence of my inability for decisive action. I feel now myself, my life, the world, and my lack of godly knowledge culminating slowly in some horrifying crescendo, the ending to which I cannot for the life of me bring myself to fathom. Can the intense, evasive, permeating, ephemeral instants in which we reside and pass through, clinging desperately to hold to even one, really be all we can wish for, all we must live for, the answer to every question ever asked? I just don't know. And if there is an attainable and comprehensible solution, explanation, reason, anything - how to prove it? How to know it with every fiber of one's being without a shadow of a doubt? And if one does choose to believe it but allows the doubts to accompany them, purely through reason of being but a human and unknowing, are they thus to be condemned? For the seeming impurity of their belief? Or is one to claim nonbelief because of the existence of these doubts, though knowing nothing else in which to believe? Which is to be condemned? Both? Neither? Do either, by claiming one thing or the other, lie? Is there even time to find an answer to this question? Is it worth while to ask? Questions such as these linger on the outskirts of my questions of god. I ask myself if I am to live. Why should I? Why shouldn't I? I can see myself already in the past tense - someone who had lived and is gone. If anyone knows of me, that person who existed, what would they say? A sigh and a shake of the head. A silent drawn out breath. A twitch of some obscure facial muscle. Have I already lain my unbreakable path before me? Am I irredeemable? I do not wish to think of these things. I want to choose the unchoosable: inconsequential inaction.