Full of universal freedom and love.

 

 So much fabrication of things that otherwise might have been true.  

You know, I often have scoffed at people who hold Religion dear but it's not really Religion that is the problem, but the innate ignorance that goes with it. So many, are controlled, manipulated to scorn those who don't follow the teachings, having never fully read the bible themselves. Those that go to church, relying on the sermon of the day to teach them what to say or follow. Now there's no need for Religion. There's no need for fabrication. No need for the campfire stories of demons and hell. There's no need for it. There's no need for stories of Adam and Eve, or of Noah and the flood, or of Sodom and Gomorrah. There's no need for tales of Holy lands and promised lands. So much bloodshed has been carried out in the name of stories, that are like Children's bedtime stories (some for older kids). And it's scary how many adults will fight over these stories as if they are "The ultimate truth". What they fail to do is just to look around and within themselves for truth. The truth is there for all to see, so why do they allow themselves to be consumed by ancient fabrications? As if there is some moral fabric that all must adhere to in the pages of one ancient text. Sure, they are interesting stories, but stories nonetheless. It often sounds like the God they are worshipping isn't based in the stars and celestial in nature, but rather that of a tyrant in a palace commanding his subjects to respect his majesty or else. It seems more like bootlicking the blood off a tyrants shoes, than a celestial divine being, full of universal freedom and love. 

Existence more palatable than despair

What is there to say? It feels like no matter what I say or do that I often feel isolated, no further forward. The fire that once stormed in me feels like it fizzled and went out, and now, it feels like nothing. Even my anger now feels hollow, like a mirage of a feeling I'm trying to feel. I say words, but it feels like no-one is listening. I decant my heart out on the page as i fumble about for an audience, and say things deemed oppositional to governmental morality. The fire in my eyes is distant. The soul so affixed in rage, that brewed a thousand fires, nothing but glass. I look to the heavens for answers, but all I see are little beads of light in the dark. The nothingness consuming every relevance, as I keep trying to find a way to make this existence more palatable than my despair.