The Mirror and the Image

Well. Here we are again.

It’s Zach, by the way. I know, obviously, that you would know that. By definition, really. But it’s necessary this time. Not for you. For everyone else. You see, as you also know, I’m doing this thing with Leah – a blog project. We’re supposed to alternate posts each week, and be inspired by the post prior. Last Friday she wrote a post about a guy in a long black coat, who kind of reminds me of me – the me on the inside. Anyways, in this post, the man goes into a church, in a story about his struggle with God and Truth and all that other mother-jazz, as Franky would say. It got me thinking, about you.

I haven’t spoken with you in quite some time. It’s been a while. Pride got in the way, for one. Heh. Yeah, the irony doesn’t escape me. It just makes me smile.

It’s because, of course, I don’t really believe you exist. I’m an atheist... or at least, I really like the label. I like it when people take one look at me and say “oh yeah, he’s a hardcore atheist.” I like to be the approachable one with the strong arguments for atheism. And what’s more, I have them. I believe them. Sooooooo that kind of makes me feel like I’m betraying myself when I talk to you. Silly, I know. But still. We’re only human, right?

Let’s get into it, shall we? I’ve heard it said by believers that it doesn’t make sense to talk to something or someone that you claim you don’t believe in. I mean, if I honestly didn’t believe you existed, then how can I talk to you? And if I reply with “well, I don’t think I’m talking to the Christian God as philosophically defined, but I am talking to something, some kind of entity” then they still win. I’m still lying about being an atheist.

Heh. What games we play. Don’t you ever get bored of them?

Of course, if I honestly don’t believe there’s anything, then I’m psychotic – talking to imaginary beings. It would make as much sense to talk to Deadrious, or Tekkorin, or Meynovich, or any other D&D character.

But I was thinking about it in the shower, as you know I often do, and I think I really do prefer the latter. You’re a part of me. You are that strange event horizon between the world as it is and the world as I perceive it to be, personified. Is that the right word? Event horizon? I think Locke had a name for it to, in his epistemological theories.

It’s strange, writing to you instead of just talking out loud like I always do. Like proper “prayer”. It’s different.

Anyways. Made in your image. You’re made in mine. It works both ways, which works. Of course, it must. I always talk with Cody about the “completeness” of a picture that Christianity paints, when given its proper dues. It’s beautiful really. And if I’m to assert a worldview of atheism that’s rational, my picture must be just as complete, if not moreso. Of course, it is – because all of the completeness that Christianity has, atheism piggy-backs off of. Like I also always say, disbelieving in the objective existence of You doesn’t mean sweeping all of Christianity, or more properly, all of faith, under the rug. It means that there is a better, alternate explanation for all of it, including the incredible human spirit and devotion and sacrifice and love that’s involved. I’ve gotta say – an atheist’s portrait of you is pretty fucking amazing.

When we’re not being pig-headed and arrogant, of course.

If Micheal Buble can write a new hit song, in which he’s talking to a girl he hasn’t met yet, I think I can talk to you and share it with others. He’s making millions off of his imaginary girlfriend – his personified object of devotion. A written post of a prayer to God – a personified world – isn’t that much worse.

It’s just struck me. It’s the realness. It’s the realness of it that’s scary. See, when I imagine writing a speech to the world, it’s once removed from me. But when I’m talking to God, written or otherwise, objectively existent or subjectively personified, it’s talking to the most intimate parts of me. I’m naked here. I’m, as Leah might put it, radically honest with myself. I can’t say “my friend” here, like I do with all of my other writing. What I mean is, I can let my writing reveal parts of me. I can write intimate thoughts, fears, passions. But I don’t name names. It’s a writing device that I enjoy. But when I’m talking to that ethereal existence – God - I’m talking to (and with) that intimate part of me. And there are no writing devices there. There are only names. There is no Fear, capital ‘f’. There is just fear of not finding a job. There is no Sorrow that is some abstract feeling, dolled up with pretty words. There is simply the sorrow of wanting to be held by a woman. There is just me.

It’s just comfy. There’s really no more to it than that. I’m an atheist. I don’t believe that you actually exist. But it’s comforting to talk to you. That’s it. That’s enough.

I wish I could convey to the readers the incredible transparency in that last paragraph. I actually could feel myself floating as I wrote it, much like I always do when I’m talking to you.

Remember that night on Kate’s balcony a few years ago? I wrote about it the other day. I’ll never forget it. I remember how wide Katherine’s eyes grew when we read a passage from the bible about your greatness and then the thunder outside practically shook the house. Man, did it ever rain that night. Do you remember my concern those days? Of course you do. I was so passionate. So driven to get my own mind under control. And I was really upset that I couldn’t cry. That’s what I was thinking when I went out to the balcony. As it began to rain, I felt like it was unfair that I couldn’t cry, and yet the whole fucking world was crying. But then it kind of felt like you were crying for me. Those tears were kind of for me and by me at the same time. I don’t know. Point is, I don’t forget that moment.

That’s what we do, right? You and I? We reminisce, and we dance.

Of course, you and I dance like partners in crime. Real dancing I do with the Muse, and She’s a she. A woman is much better at those sorts of things. Plus, I like chasing girls. I don’t give a shit about men, really. The three of us make quite the holy trinity. Hell hath no fury, right?

We all need a little fury in our lives.

I need a little fury in my life. A little kick. That’s why I turn to wind and rain more than sunrises and sunsets, I suppose. People often point to sunsets and say “that’s why I believe in God.” I always find it a little quaint. I see what they’re getting at, but it’s a little far off the mark. You’ve got to look in people’s eyes to really see where and why you exist. I hate looking at myself in the mirror. Still do.

I won’t lie to you. I’d like to talk about how I’m going to roll up my sleeves, and how you and I are going to team up and do some real damage in the future. I’d love to talk to you like I write, full of hope and ambition. But I can’t promise that, so I can’t say that. Realistically, you’ve always been the one with the road map, not me.

We’re a pretty unique team, you and I. I hope you know where we’re going.

Weather’s been great lately. Thanks.

I’ll talk to you later.

Dear Lord,
So far today I've done all right. I haven't gossiped, I haven't lost my temper, I haven't been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish, or very indulgent. I'm very grateful for that. But in a few minutes, Lord, I'm going to get out of bed, and from then on, I'm going to need a lot more help.
Amen.

- Morning prayer I saw at my friend’s house.