Coded dark.

Sunday 11 May 2003

Screenshot The Sims

Pic of the day: I sent my Sims to church today, but myself I did not go. Don't I wish it were that simple! That I could pay someone else to negotiate with God on my behalf. Perhaps get a group rebate. But no.

Fear

I was running away. I could not see anything behind me, there was no time to look back, no time for any distraction. Were they coming after me? I had run for a while already, surely they could not have followed this long? The houses in front of me were coming closer, just a little bit more and I would be safe! Safe ...

ZAP! I was dead. Actually, only my DAoC character was dead, zapped by a ghost. Boy, I hate those ghosts. I am so going to kill them all. Even so, the shock of the event sent a jolt through my physical body all the way to my fingertips. I bond way too strongly with these characters, I guess. That, and I'm a very cautious person. Or cowardly, more exactly.

***

There are those who say that people are religious because they are afraid of death. I think there is a lot more to it. But that is certainly one reason. Personally I have a very bad relationship with death, but even so it was not the end of life that scared me. What scared me was that it may not be the end. That there may be a judgment after, where I would get what I deserved. It did not help that I was raised in a Protestant society where God was portrayed as torturing people forever, even people who weren't all that bad. (I am not sure how it is in other Christian sects, but my impression is that almost all of them except Jehovah's Witnesses do this. Some just try to not be too loud about it, as it kinda upset human rights groups and such.)

I don't want to be tortured forever. Actually I don't want to die at all, but it is still far preferable to being barbecued by the god you tried to worship but didn't qualify.

***

So how do I feel about it now? With each year, I grow a bit more certain that God wouldn't do that. On the other hand, with each year I grow a little less certain that there is a "God" as we used to think of him at all. On one hand, I have seen miracles, sort of. The problem is, if a miracle happens often enough, it is not a miracle anymore. It is just a rare but natural event, like people who recover from cancer or arthritis, stuff that shouldn't go away. And yes, I've been in danger often and prayed to God and I am here. That is pretty convincing. But then again, if I were not here I wouldn't write this. And one day I am not going to be here. I cannot base the existence of God on my survival ... one day I am gone, but the idea is that God remains. Otherwise it wouldn't be much help.

I am going to die sometime, and I don't like it a bit. I don't even like it when other people die, but of course it helps if they are old and have kinda gotten used to the idea. And I guess as I am growing old, I am getting used to the idea too. With each passing year, I am feeling less and less sure of a future. I am laying less and less plans, and as regular readers will know they are really few and short now. But there is still a long way to go before I can say I don't consider my life worth a word. If I am to die this year, it will probably still be while screaming for someone, anyone, to help me.

But with each passing year, there is less to cling to. I won't say I have less stuff than I used to have, I guess I would if I found some not too costly way to get rid of it ... but there would still be stuff left. But I am less and less attached to it. The things themselves don't please me much. There are still some things I do with the stuff, that I feel attached to. Like playing computer games or taking parts in debates online, for instance.

But my contact with the human world grows thinner over time. I got a mail some days ago from the girl I use to call my best friend. I sure have enjoyed every hour I spent with her, although they have grown fewer and fewer. Perhaps I'll meet her one day this summer, if SARS doesn't come to Norway before then. (She would probably have to work, then.) I sure wouldn't say no to meeting her again. But ... I can live without too. And die without, if that's what it comes to. Even if I never see her again. There is no one I cannot live without. There is no one that binds me to the world anymore.

The door is closed, and it closed so silently, so softly, like the brush of a cat's tail pushed it closed. I am not sure how long I have known it, even. But even as I failed to become a god, so now I have failed to become human. I have the body, even the instincts, but not the illusions that go with the job. Well, not all of them. Enough of them still to be scared. But a little less each year.

Perhaps, given more time (not that I can take that for granted, but one can always hope) ... perhaps one day I'll look up and say: "I'm finished here. Whether I pass or fail, here's my answer. This is who I am." And then, I won't ever be scared again.

But I still don't know the answer. I still don't know who I am.


Yesterday <-- This month --> Tomorrow?
One year ago: Reversed menace
Two years ago: A veil-label
Three years ago: It need not be love
Four years ago: Thirsty

Visit the Diary Farm for the older diaries I've put out to pasture.


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