I’ve met those people who were outwardly and openly mad at a God they weren’t even quite sure they believed in, and respected their stance but seen right through their bullshit. I liked their angle, but couldn’t play it out loud.
I felt like looking each of them in the eye and hitting them with a bold and infamous “I see what you’re doing here”.
But I didn’t. I never called them on it directly, I just observed them and studied their moves quietly, from afar.
Wondering, how long it was going to take them to come to the conclusion they were merely mad at themselves, maybe for not believing in something greater until they needed something they couldn’t explain to blame for their choices, circumstances, patterns, thoughts, and life as a whole.
Even on the good days, I practiced a socially distant brand of spirituality, and this was well before Corona. I showed up to confession late, with a mask on, and still only told half-truths.
I guess I figured, fuck it, the priest has done far worse than me and I doubt he’s told a soul. Guess that was just more projection turned defense mechanism.
I fought divine forces until I got tired of flailing my arms aimlessly.
Back to the wall, out of breath, I looked my demons square in the face and hit them harder than they ever had been. Much to my surprise, they buckled.
You should believe more and blame less — for you — not me or them.
Trust me, I’ve tried calling both sides of that coin as it was in the air — you’re better off calling it before the game starts.
With faith, friends, family, hope, and help on your side, you become the divine force you always half prayed for in times of trouble.
It’s heads I win, tales you lose, in your favor — for a change.
All I know for certain is my life is better when I’m conscious of it, conscious for it, have a conscience, and conscious contact with something I believe in.
It’s easy for me to forget to remember, both who I am and who helped me become that person. That I love that person today, a day at a time.
Meaning the person I am, as well as all those special forces and hard moments that helped me — or at times forced me — to become it.
I found out the hard way, praying is easier than pointing fingers.