Trumpet of Doom

But concerning superstition: just because other people believe something, does that make it okay for me to buy it too? What if they’re wrong? Why follow the lead lemming over the cliff? Delusions can be dangerous, even fatal if you’re not careful. It’s like gambling on a shot in the dark or Pin the Tail on the Donkey. A person opined to me once that our nation’s leader is the Antichrist. He backed down when I asked him if he was serious. Another time I was told that the Executive was trying for a dictatorship. And people say excitedly that politics is dividing families and that there will be civil war. People talk about it as children do Santa Claus. People turn their wishes into reality and call it a belief. I remember doing that when I was seven years old. But one Christmas Eve I tested Santa Claus— and he failed. I stayed awake all night long and never heard the reindeer hoofs on the roof. Finally the pixie dust in my eyes dissolved and the magic went away. Ever after that I trusted investigation if I wanted to know the facts. The schizophrenic illness has nothing to do with the rest of my life. I’m just a skeptic.

No Facades

There’s more to life than lemon drops

So blogging seems quite dumb;

The pleasantry of lollipops

Has left me feeling numb.

The superstition of the age

Has worn my patience thin;

Psychology is all the rage

But the answer comes not from within.

Mental pain’s like anything

You cure by taking a pill;

Putting on a happy face

Makes everything worse still.

I don’t believe in devil or god

Or that I am possessed;

Medieval notions go away!

By you I’ve been oppressed.

I’ve had it with your attitude

Of skipping ropes and sunshine;

I’m moving to a latitude

That offers me more gratitude.

No Longer Children

Six thirty. It has taken me some time and effort to sort out my thoughts on Christianity. I think there’s an instinct that responds to religious stuff around me, especially set to music. It’s an emotional knee jerk, very powerful, and it’s the basis for my delusions. Unamuno asserted that religion is a thing felt and not cogitated about; a thing of passion. But when I do think rationally about it, I can’t reconcile myself to my perceptions. I don’t know whether to call religion a superstition or something stronger. I grew up thinking it was the former. My mother used to reassure me that things on tv were only a story when I was a child. The key word is “child.” By the time I was nine years old I saw through the illusion. And I stopped believing in Santa Claus. I haven’t recalled my childhood like this in a long time. Am I to understand that the grownup perceives more accurately than the child? Wordsworth turns this on its head in “My Heart Leaps Up.” But can we take Romanticism seriously anymore? It’s the riddle of the Sphinx. This is just my own personal struggle with what I believe. It appears to me that humanity as a whole is growing out of its illusions and moving towards maturity, which means dispensing with superstition. It’s up to every individual how they want to believe, but for me, Christianity isn’t the answer. So I guess my problem is solved.