Cubicle Existentialism

When did anomie become your Beelzebub? When did the nihilistic shadows in your mind take the shape of an archaic demon? Your God became a substitution for your art, a depthless void to pour your love out to. He is not listening. Perhaps he never was. 

You constructed a framework to systemize the spiritual behaviors innate in all mankind. The faithful to be set apart from the faithless. But you have flown too close to the sun. The truth was there all along. When I looked to the stars and felt small you told me it was because I was looking upon the face of creation. Why then did I read your God’s word and not feel that same stirring? 

Just believe their eyes seem to scream. Let down your burdens and fall into grace. I yearn to, to drop all my inhibitions and take up the faith. But at what cost? Can one make their heart believe that which their mind does not?

I said I seek the truth and you asked if I imagined truth and seeking first the kingdom of heaven were incompatible. I said I imagined they were. 

‘Sometimes when all is stripped away I can only isolate the fact that God is all that makes sense,’ you said.

You smiled weakly and for a moment our eyes locked in a moment of recognition. We were so near each other, our souls reaching out, shrouded by a thin veil. We could bicker and fight or take our seat at the center of the continuum; at our most rudimentary we only knew that we were fearful of what we didn’t. You clung to your God and I clung to my art. Something bigger than us that would immortalize our life. I envied your faith and your God’s mission of peace and reconciliation. The mission of my life was less about imbuing it with purpose and more about counteracting what I believed was it’s intrinsic lack of purpose. 

I am prone to bouts of crying. My soul often weeps alone, aware of its own isolation, a blip of conscientiousness on rock afloat in the cosmos. It longs to cry ‘my God, my God why have you forsaken me’ for even to be forsaken would necessitate my being seen by God at all. Wouldn’t that be enough? To be seen?

Lying on the floor I give the burden of proof to its rightful owner and say a humble prayer of forgiveness for my skepticism lest anyone is listening. The freedom of agnosticism has a beauty to it; one is simply an open vessel for the truth to be filled by the Creator or to be enriched by the created.

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