No wishes or resolutions. Just weariness. Gifts and goals only serve as distractions, as places to hide from the ghosts that haunt. Hiding places that have become weathered and torn from overuse are now unable to shelter from the raging storms. With nowhere else to run, I face these wretched wraiths once and for all.

The Criticism of Religion

As terse as Karl Marx's critique of religion is, it successfully encompasses the true problem with religious beliefs in my opinion.

The foundation of irreligious criticism is: Man makes religion, religion does not make man. Religion is, indeed, the self-consciousness and self-esteem of man who has either not yet won through to himself, or has already lost himself again. But man is no abstract being squatting outside the world. Man is the world of man – state, society. This state and this society produce religion, which is an inverted consciousness of the world, because they are an inverted world. Religion is the general theory of this world, its encyclopaedic compendium, its logic in popular form, its spiritual point d’honneur, its enthusiasm, its moral sanction, its solemn complement, and its universal basis of consolation and justification. It is the fantastic realization of the human essence since the human essence has not acquired any true reality. The struggle against religion is, therefore, indirectly the struggle against that world whose spiritual aroma is religion.

Religious suffering is, at one and the same time, the expression of real suffering and a protest against real suffering. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people.

The abolition of religion as the illusory happiness of the people is the demand for their real happiness. To call on them to give up their illusions about their condition is to call on them to give up a condition that requires illusions. The criticism of religion is, therefore, in embryo, the criticism of that vale of tears of which religion is the halo.

Criticism has plucked the imaginary flowers on the chain not in order that man shall continue to bear that chain without fantasy or consolation, but so that he shall throw off the chain and pluck the living flower. The criticism of religion disillusions man, so that he will think, act, and fashion his reality like a man who has discarded his illusions and regained his senses, so that he will move around himself as his own true Sun. Religion is only the illusory Sun which revolves around man as long as he does not revolve around himself.

Hmmm...

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up a whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life... You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' or 'how very perceptive' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. Nothing should be able to do that. Especially not love. I hate love.

-Neil Gaiman

You

I am stumped. As I always have been. That look on your face unblemished. Beautiful does not even begin to describe you. That sparkle in your eyes blinds me sometimes. Ironic I know. And I just want to kiss them so bad. Imbue you with hope in your bleakest moments, inspire you in your personal battles. Maybe tell you the cheesiest pick up lines but mean every word of it. Or sweep you off your feet as though it is the only thing I am good at. I want to tease you about your idiosyncrasies till you turn away in annoyance, just so I can wrap my arms around you from behind only to begrudgingly let go after you playfully elbow me in my side a couple of times. I want to be the one that wipes your tears away when you cry, kisses your lips when you smile, holds you when you feel alone and in heartrending sadness, your overwhelming joy.

I want you. I want you so much. I know I do not have the right to say these words. I do not know you. Not even the slightest. And I will never know you. Not even the slightest. And whenever I think I am over you I see you, only to fall for you all over again. And I'm crazy about you all over again. To me, you are riveting as you always have been. And I am riveted as I always have been. It is funny how the way you feel about me could not be any more different. You think I am revolting. You think I am a creep. You want nothing to do with me. You see me and you scowl at me. You fire off a spiteful glare. You turn around and walk as fast as you can. You would even run if you had to. After how I went about everything, I do not blame you. And I want to forget you. I want to move on with my life. I want to let go. I want to get out of this rut. I want to be strong. I want to pretend that I no longer care. I want to believe I can find happiness elsewhere. I want all of that so much.

But clearly, not as much as I want you.

You

I am stumped. As I always have been. That look on your face unblemished. Beautiful does not even begin to describe you. That sparkle in your eyes blinds me sometimes. Ironic I know. And I just want to kiss them so bad. Imbue you with hope in your bleakest moments, inspire you in your personal battles. Maybe tell you the cheesiest pick up lines but mean every word of it. Or sweep you off your feet as though it is the only thing I am good at. I want to tease you about your idiosyncrasies till you turn away in annoyance, just so I can wrap my arms around you from behind only to begrudgingly let go after you playfully elbow me in my side a couple of times. I want to be the one that wipes your tears away when you cry, kisses your lips when you smile, holds you when you feel alone and in heartrending sadness, your overwhelming joy.

Here I am again.

Here I am again. It's fall now and the last remnants of summer are visibly waning. Vestiges of autumn slowly manifesting on the verdant mountaintop scenery as a precursor to the encroaching cold. Daylight is becoming more scarce giving way to the blanketing night sky. The temperature clearly on the decline with the overcast skies as a reminder. To my consternation I have been relatively upbeat in spite of the gloomy weather. My pensive outlook on life remaining constant, maybe it is just me adapting to this perpetual state of longing. I still tremble when the nights get lonely and despondent. They still haunt me. The fumble-ups that is. Even in broad daylight I wince ever so slightly when they intrude my thoughts. Persistent poltergeists they.

Analogy

I am sick of having my christianity clumped in the same group as the other organized religions out there. For the last time, it is not a religion. It's a relationship with Jesus Christ my saviour and lord. And I believe every word he says.

I am sick of having my mafia affiliation clumped in the same group as the other organized crime syndicates out there. For the last time, it is not a crime syndicate. It's a relationship with Don Corleone. And I believe every word he says.