Sunday Without God
The only charismatic leader for me is the snow falling arbitrarily into small alcoves and the tops of pine trees. My god lies within my mind and I strengthen my belief by thinking how fortunate I am to continue living on an earth where the taste of water is sweet and the smell of honeysuckle even sweeter. Fresh cut grass in the summer is my book of Revelations and the birth of a grandchild is my Genesis. I need no bureaucratic rules for existence. My need to exist is compartmentalized. It lies within my small section of this world, so peaceful, yet so real.
Reality lies within the thinking brain, not the talking lips of talking heads on Sunday morning. It's preached to me in the cool western breeze and the blissful clouds passing through my vision for a moment, one precious moment. Life is one precious moment. How I treat it is up only to me. I choose not to blame a god for my bad luck nor do I choose to give him credit for my good decisions. How illogical of me to thank someone else for what I have done or curse someone else for the misfortunes of existence. I choose to face reality, not to coat it with homemade chocolate chip cookies.
Yes, I love Sunday mornings in the quiet of my mind and I can love it without a god. I love it so much better without guilt, without the name Jesus piercing through my scrambled eggs. I love it without giving a false gratitude for my pancakes and jelly on toast. No, Sunday is fantastic with just my dog and I. When my wife awakes, I will love it even more.