I recall laughing in an empty room once.
I was sixteen and in the hospital, laying in my private room in the pediatrics ward, praying aloud when I realized, “Ha!” I realized I was talking to the ceiling. And it struck me as ridiculous. And I laughed and laughed and laughed. And that was the moment I gave up believing in god. Because it suddenly struck me as ridiculous to believe in this invisible faith reliant being that bestowed good and horribleness in such an apparently arbitrary fashion. A being for which the answer to every paradox was simply “you have to take it on faith.” And everyone would tell me that I was so lucky to be alive, that I had been spared “by the grace of god.” Or they’d tell me how they’d prayed for me, like they should get some sort of credit for that. Like “thank you for so obviously saving my life by praying for me. If you hadn’t prayed for me. god would’ve just let me die, but since he holds you in such high regard, he spared me just as a favor to you…” And it always baffled me that god was supposedly responsible for survivals and remarkable near misses and miraculous recoveries, but never gets any credit for the accidents or tragedies themselves. Either he’s just a sick,sick bastard or else he sure goes awol alot. Does bad shit happen because god was on his coffee break or something? Or better yet, does it fall in the category of “trials” and “crosses to bear?” Like humanity is a big science experiment, a big glass antfarm with god there reflecting sunlight through magnifying glasses at us to see if we’ll burst into flames or not. What kind of sick, demented bastard would invent a deity of that sort? I for one prefer to take stock in theories of random chaos. Random Chaos is a lot more forgiving. All hail the Church of Laughing Out Loud In Empty Rooms. And yes, I realize you’re supposed to spell the word “god” with a capital G.
In a twisted state of mind,
Corbid