As a kid growing up in religion, my early 30s have called me to address a question that I had been told had ONE definite answer. Call me naive, dutiful, or thoughtless - the idea of purpose or why was I here had an answer… to do God’s will.
But when God becomes questionable, religion falters in its self-discovery, and the easy answer becomes doubtful.
First of all, how did we get here? We just weren’t here, then we were. Just as simply as I close my eyes and go to bed, lack of awareness, suspended in unknowing, so too will I return—forever. As I was in darkness before, uncreated, unknowing.
Who decided I needed to be here? Did haphazard elements randomly form creation? Did they continuously do so until higher-order beings existed and then give us a break? Does that mean that as luckily as one sperm is chosen out of millions, so too is my presence luck?
Like animals, I’m here to eat, work, sleep, then go back into the ground of which I came.
How depressing.
How much sense it makes that humans would concoct stories and faiths to motivate us to do something more. What else would we have to hope for? Or many of us would just sit in the sorrow of nothingness. We are nothing and will return to nothing.
Why am I here?
To live and to die.
It may just be easier to stick with faith.
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