I don’t know why, but the very thought of that makes me physically sick, because that news is a betrayal of the entire universe.
I’m not the only one, then, who is sacrificing much for this jump off the cliff.
You’re sure you want to do this?
Am I sure I want to do this, to lose myself in this undiscovered country?
What do you really think about love?
I don’t know. I don’t know anything.
I’m afraid to say this.
as I ponder life’s serrated edge…
Love is strange. Stranger even than you think it is.
All right. Here’s an example.
I’m not totally clear about the circumstances in which I lost faith in God. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in him, or in the validity of organized religion, or anything like that.
I just couldn’t trust him anymore. Believing in God doesn’t keep pain away or stop the shit from happening or guarantee every experience to be meaningful and cathartic. It’s about faith, I know, about building iron certainty on a foundation of mostly hope, and that simply seem too paradoxical to work.
I don’t know. Anyway. God was more and old and inevitable, impersonal bastard that was simply a part of life than a source of succor and strength. I still believe he exists, surprisingly enough, considering all of the other gods I’ve met. It’s probably a matter of perspective. God for me is the narrator, the sequence of cause and effect.
I believed this a while ago, as much as I believed in anything.
But a few nights after she had left, I prayed.
I suppose it was praying. It was the holding of my heart in my hand, the opening of self, the longing…
I prayed to a God that I didn’t trust or even believe would set the situation right, and the only reason I can thinking of for this is love.