“Logic is neither an art nor a science but a dodge” –Stendhal
I thought about what I said in a class discussion I once had, I was not telling the truth, not the whole truth anyways. As I sit here now thinking about why I do what I do and why I said what I said that day in class, I realize that I did not choose to say it, I was raised to say it, against my will. This is the real who, what, and why I am. I am a child who has not seen his dad in thirteen years now, a child whose childhood was spent listening to his parents yell and hit each other, spent getting yelled and hit. Needless to say, there was little magic in my past and today I seem to be unable to let any magic enter my life. In class I said that I look at the world through eyes of pure logic, doubtful of anything that is mystical because I believe that it has the potential to inspire the worst in people. I attributed the world’s problems to the spiritual, to those who defend their faith, a faith that is placed in printed text, spoken word, and tradition. I said this because it is true but also because I am insecure. My past has convinced me that what is unexplainable is often unpredictable, unreliable, and possibly dangerous. I frequently find myself cursing those who follow their heart instead of their reason, mumbling how much better the world would be if they did not. I occasionally feel like it is not a very pleasant world that I perceive, I often feel alone in my ideals. For this reason, I have been going to bible studies every other week for almost a year now, talking to peers about their spirituality, trying to find one of their reasons that I could quietly borrow. I am missing out on something that was taken away from me as a child, deprived of, something that I am skeptical that I will ever attain but find myself relentlessly trying to acquire nonetheless, faith.