I am not very religious, in the traditional, organized and partitioned sense. I think my reasoning is similar to many other people's: It seems to me that most major faiths attempt to distill something that is inherently mystical into some Divine Explanation. The point of the mystery of faith is that it can't be filtered into neat little compartments of Dogma or Doctrine, because the more you try to pin concepts such as 'God' and 'Everlasting Life' down, the more you are bound to be mistaken in one area or another. Especially considering all of humanity is inescapably fallible. So when we, as humans, try to dictate the Divine into neat little handbooks called the Bible, or the Kabalah, or the Torrah... the most they could possibly be is a tool for learning and expanding awareness. Unfortunately, many of them tend to come off as a series of 'Do this, or else' cautionary tales, if taken literally. So there's my issue with organized religion. Well, one of a few, and not too terribly original at that... but hey, this is my Diarylnad space; I felt inclined to jump on the shaky soapbox for a bit of a rant. :)
Anyhow. I went on an impromptu roadtrip with my roomate Ashlee yesterday. We were seized by this left field urge to drive pass our house, pick up four Red Bulls (damn taurine; I am hoplessly addicted) and some gas, and get the hell out of Dodge, so to speak. I blame it on the '80's Classics' CD that Logan burned for her; it's terrible the impulses that wind around you when listening to Richard Marx or Mister Mister on a good stereo system.
And away we went...
It was cleansing. Cathartic. Mind numbing, in a good way. How cliched can I get here? Point is, the mountains are my religion. So is a sunset on the Pacific, a stream running through a Virginian forest, or Spanish Moss entertwining around a five hundred year old Floridian Oak. Stability in a world of flux. Inspirational, impartial; a double edged-sword, the beauty and terror that is the cycle of life. Truth is, I like my religion to speak volumes to me without ever uttering a word.
As we were driving, and I was staring slackjawed at the sheer drop offs and rolling hills, there was a song playing, by Spandau Ballet.
The chorus was, 'I know this much is true'. And all I could think as I looked out the window was:
Exactly.
Make any sense?
11:38 a.m. - 2001-05-07
Recent entries:
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