Entry XIII--Relapse

A little over 2,000 years ago:

The sharp seven-inch nail was driven by hammer through hand in a surprisingly fluid motion, and christ cried out in mortal pain.

Christ’s median nerve instantly severed, the hand paralyzed...

Some 10,000 years ago:

A solitary figure stood on the top of the hill during the pitch of night, as he struggled to put his fledging thoughts together.

He thought about a dream he had the night before last.

That’s all he’s thought about, since he awoke from it in a cold sweat.

It was the most vivid, lifelike experience of his life, yet he was asleep.

He dreamt he was flying above the village, above the hunter-gatherers, who struggled even more vainly for food than normal.

But he didn’t just fly over the others, that wasn’t the amazing part, for he has done that before in his dreams.

It’s that while soaring skyward, he was able to continue going up, beyond the clouds and the stars and the moon, until he was in the heavens. There he met friends and loved ones that have since died; the mother of his offspring, his father, and a hunting companion who perished during a particular bloody hunt.

They were all there, and so vividly real.

And since then, all he can think about is that maybe his…dream…lives on after death. Others in the tribe have suggested it, the more intelligent ones, the ones who go off into the wilderness and ingest certain plants and come back a little bit smarter than everyone else.

He believed there had to be more than this life of suffering and pain and struggle, one that always seemed to end all too abruptly.

There had to be more...dreaming.

Back to christ:

The blood from the messiah's forehead, wrought by the crown of thorns, streamed down into the blood freshly gushed from the hand wound.

And that holy plasma dripped off the equally holy fingertips down to mix with the blood from christ’s leg wounds, extracted from being whipped--after christ was sentenced to execution--and all the time whilst dragging the crucifix towards Golgotha.

Dragging that precious crucifix towards destiny and fate. Towards death.

That's all I got. Incomplete, but it'll have to do.

It captures the essence of the fictional element of this essay. I can expand on it later, when I have more time.

And have got to get started on the nonfictional element.

christianity represents the hatred of life, always has been.

It demonstrates this innate hatred each and every time it is applied to any aspect of life.

Look no further than its primary symbol, the crucifix is the depiction of a dead son of a deity, sacrificed to absolve mankind of some artificial system of ‘sin.’

It’s the religion that gets people to accept and even welcome, the notion of death.

It’s the religion that imposed the dark ages and slowed the progress of science and medicine to the point where we could be basking in immortality, but we’re still condemned to a brief lifespan plagued with diseases that should be long gone.

It’s safe to say that if christianity didn’t represent the hatred of life, this book might not be necessary.

Atheists and freethinkers alike may argue that the fundamental flaw of christianity is its employment as a measure of control. Philosophers would posit it’s the false morality. Still others (especially feminists), protest its patriarchal suppression of women and minorities. Then there’s the pro-science faction of society that views christianity as a legitimate threat to progress.

All are valid arguments, and all will be explored in the pages of this book

But underlying them all, ultimately, is the hatred of life

There. That'll do for now. But I had to get something down on the 'hatred of life' concept. That's as important as faith. This one didn't come so easy, though. There are plenty of weak spots and it's still incomplete, and the dramatic impact is lacking in the fictional introduction.

Actually, the hatred of life is more crucial than faith, which is an element of every religion that worships a mythical deity. (Tree worshippers don't require faith to venerate their gods, for example). But the hatred of life is particular and unique to christianity.

That's why the pressure will be on to deliver a more unified essay that's a helluva lot more developed.

In keeping with the intent that this book actually get at the root of the hazards of christianity, this is the essay exploring the psychology of christians. What makes them tick? What’s their motivation? How do they maintain their faith in the face of overwhelming evidence stacked against them?

And, the biggie:

Why the hell do they need to control others?

(That question can certainly be asked of institutions beyond christianity, but the question will be addressed in the context of this essay).

christians reek of desperation. They're desperate to prove christ is real. Teaching creationism is one example.

Ironically, many hardline christians reject psychology as a psuedoscience, conveniently ignoring creationism's uber-erroneous scientific conclusions.

That desperation fuels their rationalization. It makes them ignorant, an ignorance built upon arrogance. It also makes them dangerous.

The freethinker doesn’t have to prove a thing. The freethinker doesn't want to prove a thing.

Christians have a need to attach themselves to something larger than their own lives. Before they become born-agains, they may have drifted from religion to religion, from self help philosophy to guru. Hell, they may have even dabbled in communism and experimented with hallucinogens.

They find strength only in numbers and never in self-determination. Charting one's own destiny is to be inspired by the devil.

Of course, fear and guilt have long been staples of christian thought processes.

Their decision making process is predicated on if the action will please/displease their alleged deity.

The christian mindset is a pollutant of the culture at large, make no mistake about it. It clouds intellectual honesty (if not outright disposing of it).

Their arrogance is another particularly distasteful element to their arrogance.

Now, one might accuse this very author of harboring the same arrogance, just pointed in the opposite direction, and that would be fair. Sometimes I end up at the edge of the fine line between arrogance and passionate conviction.

I also had this in mind to follow the rhetorical question posited early:

Why the hell do they need to control others?

Because of hell, they would say. Trying to save souls from hell. The ends always justify the means when it comes to christianity.

Not sure if I want to leave in the quasi-confessional bit about my being arrogant.

The essay on psychology is going to be a bitch, there's so many possibilities. It was all I could do to keep from going off in a million different tangents while I was writing that bit.

There's hardly time to come close to finishing it. Eyes are getting weary and this is due tomorrow.

No, I never did the outline, but I'm not ready for an outline yet. I need to get some of the actual writing down before I worry about organizing it.

And no, I haven't actually finished any of the essays. Closest I came was with the Hollow Knight and faith, my original inspiration.

Since then, it's been like solid ideas having been flowing in and out of me, like a macrocosm of what happened while I was just writing that psyche piece. Can't stay focused on any idea for any length of time.

That could be a byproduct of not having written regularly for such a stretch. And it's not just one subject I'm tackling, like an essay in the past would have been. I've got to consider ten subjects simultaneously.

And that's another thing--haven't even decided on the ten essays yet, another reason there's no outline.

All I've got are pieces; incomplete fragments of essays. It's not the cohesion she was seeking.

That's the understatement of the century.

But I'm not going to start some half-assed outline now at 3 AM.

That's one thing I can say about everything I have written to this point--that it doesn't lack for integrity. For better or worse, it's my heart and soul and brains on those pages.

Now I'm just rationalizing. Because part of me knows Ms. Cabal is going to be pissed that I didn't do what I promised I'd do, when I was on my knees in her office.

But does she really expect me to take that shit seriously? Does she even take it seriously?

I mean, it's a good motivational tool, but I can't imagine it's a lifestyle thing with her.

She's a billionaire heiress and a serious book publisher, it just seems like that whole bondage domination shit would be beneath her.

Bottom line is, I'm writing some good shit, it's just that I need more than a week to pull it off and dammit, she should accept that.

I was charged, on such a roll after our first meeting. That whole ‘Hollow Knight’ scenario just poured out of me like empty promises out of a preacher’s mouth. Since them, I’ve gotten a lot of great ideas, surely Ms. Cabal will see that. She just has to be patient.

No matter what, I'm going to win her over. I have to. Shit, she needs me to write this thing.

Who else is she going to get? Who else has my particular perspective?

No one, and she knows it.

So I don't have it written out just the way she wants, too fucking bad.

Whew. Take a step back and think about what just thought.

Need to be concerned about balancing passionate conviction and arrogance in my real life as well as my prose.