(Recovered from the old Zero journal, original post date 11 July 2001)

There’s been an awful lot of Bible study going on in my house for the last few months. I’m sort of obliged to put my two cents’ worth in from time to time, and finally the question was put to me: What do I really believe?

Maybe some background is in order. When I was young, my family sort of belonged to the RLDS church. If you haven’t heard of the RLDS, they represent the other half of a fracture in the original Mormon organization from almost as far back as the beginning of Mormonism itself. I was never particularly devout, mind you. I, as I suspect many other children have done down through the centuries, absorbed what I was taught since I didn’t know any better and it seemed like the thing to do.

Years passed, and while I was still sort of vaguely Christian I didn’t really have any basis for it other than not having really thought about it too much. I had other things going on, growing up.

Throughout my adult life I’ve had any number of opportunities and reasons to look closely into what could be called my soul. There’s no burning conviction. There’s no divine light of inspiration. All that remains, then, is a basically gentle but mildly scarred soul that is perfectly happy finding its own way in the world without relying on a mythical superbeing.

So what’s the nutshell? As of this writing, I don’t believe in any god or gods. I am willing to accept that there may very well be a deity or a number of deities in this universe. So far as I can tell, though, they don’t speak to me in any way, nor do they directly affect my life. I have no religion, and that suits me right down to the ground. What’s more, I’m not going to be browbeaten into attending a church, any church, on the basis of some vague fear that is usually expressed in terms of, “What if there IS a God, well I’d better go to church just in case.” If there really is a God, I suspect he’d sooner punish me for hypocrisy than welcome me as a faithless worshipper. And I don’t sing all that well, anyway.

So there you have it. If I have to sum up in two words or less, I’ll call it “aggressively agnostic.” I have nothing wrong with the idea of God in and of itself, so don’t go thinking I have some sort of superiority complex. I will point out, however, that more atrocity and stupidity has been committed in the name of various deities than I could ever hope to document in a year’s worth of journal entries.

I invite comment and discussion on this subject, but don’t get too carried away. I’m not here for you to “save” or “show the light unto.” I get along with my fellow man and woman just fine until they feel the need to start preaching unto me, and then my flesh starts to crawl. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

(Recovered from the old Zero journal, original post date 26 June 2001)

Over the last few months I’ve started thinking long, gloomy thoughts about who I really am. When it comes right down to it, I’m just an average guy. Sure, I’m a bit smarter than some other people. I’m a bit dumber than a number of others, so it all kind of balances out in the end. I’m neither tall nor short, fat nor skinny. I’m not hideous, but I don’t turn heads either.

All in all, it’s not quite where I wanted to be. Then again, I’ve spent so much of my life in a kind of bizarre dreamscape that I probably had no other destiny in store. At any point in my youth I might have learned how to stand up for myself, how to look at myself in the real world and be willing to take steps to improve.

It didn’t work out that way, of course. I’m me, and that’s not saying a whole lot. No, I don’t think I’m a terrible person, but I’m not terribly great either. Again, average.

I suppose what I have to do now is start evaluating what my real strengths are. Determination and drive aren’t among them, that’s for damned sure. I am able to understand many kinds of things, but applying that knowledge seems beyond me. I have a highly developed sense of humor, but it’s been developed in such a way that nobody else shares it. I have a basically kind and gentle nature, but it’s offset by years of frustration and by a basically selfish streak that can’t be denied.

What about all these years of dreaming? I can’t stop now, of course. I’ve been dreaming since my first self-conscious years; it’s a habit too well ingrained to set aside. Is it time to start over? I have a lot of my own emotional values tied up in my dreams. Maybe too much, but again it’s too late in the game to change the rules entirely.

What it all comes down to is that in the end, I don’t like me all that much. I rarely descend into self-loathing, but it’s been known to happen. And now that I’ve achieved a kind of realistic self-appraisal, I understand why I don’t have the kind of social standing or personal graces that I envy in so many others.

It’s the issue of being able to live with this newly-perceived reality that is the next big question. Oh, I’m pretty sure that I can… but each day is a new test of the new old me.