I couldn’t let go of the idea of God
until I had a steady, adequate paycheck.
Even through my first marriage, and the
arrival of kids, the need persisted. A loose,
spotty, fumbling attachment.
Let me start over.
The idea of God left me — passively on my part,
and completely — once I had a reliable paycheck
and a secure relationship with myself.
I don’t think religion is an opiate of the masses;
that’s overstating it. I do believe the effect is placebo.
Who wouldn’t, in pain, without sufficient power or control,
pop a harmless sugar pill? They gave me
Vicodin when I had my wisdom teeth out.
Some people’s pain is much, much worse.
Insufferable oppression. Excruciating loneliness.
Injury — physical, emotional, moral.
Hunger. The death of dreams. The absence of love.
They say originally, there were no interventionist
deities in Buddhism. But when it evolved
from a religion of the elites to one of the
masses, prayer, ritual, and miracles
found their way in.
Some/times people cannot survive
without supplication.
I still feel a little guilty, or is it scared,
not capitalizing “god.”
Maybe I still want to know that should ever I need
it again, Someone is there.
