I believe that there is no god, and that the world is more beautiful because of this emptiness.
The way I see it, the universe was created in one of two ways:
1. The universe created itself in an orchestrally coincidental slow-motion explosion of love and fear and sound and sunlight, and the strength and mystery and danger of this world is so much more potent when we have to look to our logic to understand it, instead of to a holy book. Or,
2. The universe was created by a god, simply because he could, or because he was lonely, or because he was bored, and we are all at his solemn and silent mercy.
The idea that god created everything is an okay idea. It means that bad things won’t happen to good people. It means something is waiting with open arms for you when you die. It means that god made the valleys and the mountains and the koala bears and the snow flakes because he had the power and desire to do so. And if he did do those things, well, that is amazing.
But wouldn’t it be so much more amazing, more beautiful, more miraculous if our world came into being of its own accord? Every star in everywhere, every soul on this earth and all the blood cells pulsing through your veins right now have arrived precisely at this moment to keep you alive, to keep you talking, to keep the lights in the sky; and they did it all on their own, perfectly.
I want to stop searching for meaning in this life, because maybe life doesn’t start out being meaningful. I don’t believe that life isn’t meaningful; I just believe that maybe, instead of a god endowing us with reasons to live, we have to make reasons for ourselves. We have to forge every moment of meaning in our lives because maybe there wasn’t any there in the first place…. and I am more than fine with that.
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