The sun is restrained behind tempered-steel clouds and the wind bites like stinging insects, but the day is still beautiful. I am sitting outside a coffee shop trying to ignore the cold and write my thoughts. People are bustling about, doing this and that, preparing for their various holidays, spending excess money to show their loved ones just how much they love them. I think it would be nice if it was an excess of kindness and love for all living things that was redistributed at this time, rather than simply wealth designed to represent love.
Ah, yes, but that is such a tall order! I don’t understand religion, and never have. I don’t understand what would drive someone to kill or hurt another person for not believing in the same things or in the same stories. Does it really matter which religion a person subscribes to? Or if a person even claims religion in their life at all?
I believe in life. LIFE is my religion. I don’t know how the miracle of life began to exist, and I don’t need to ? that’s what makes it my higher power. I believe in showing your loved ones how much you love them every time you see them or speak to them. Life is precious and short – too precious and too short not to love and be loved.
Alas, I am not even a perfect preacher for my own religion. Sometimes my own anger, or sadness, or pain or misgivings prevent me from spreading my own love. I should only hope not to judge fellow people based on what or whom they choose to worship, or the form that their worship takes. I should only hope not to be judged for my own religious or spiritual beliefs. Maybe I cannot tell the world to love and be loved, but I can tell my own loved ones.
I believe in life, and I believe in love. Don’t you?
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