The Truth about Heaven and Hell

I’m not going to discuss whether they are real or not. It doesn’t really make a difference or add to my colossally unnecessary and outlandish impending rant. What I’d just like to throw out into this cyber never land is this undeniable tidbit of truth: We do not choose to be born.

Two people get together and get drunk or high on their own ridiculousness and choose to bring us into this world, and we’re supposed to bear that burden? We are forced to be here. We do not make the active choice to become people who inhabit this dying planet. Our lives are chosen for us.

A lot of things are chosen for us, actually, and several of them are things that could potentially lead us to hell. Our personality traits, the things we are good at, the circumstances we grow up in, the people who are shoved down our throats; These unavoidable realities make us who we are.

That doesn’t mean I’m making excuses for those of us (myself included) who turn out to be pretty shitty people in general. That’s not my point.

My point is that the concept of Heaven and Hell is absolutely unfair. We did not choose to come here or be the people we are, and yet we are expected to behave certain ways, meet certain expectations, so we don’t screw up our afterlife.

An afterlife that we also did not ask for.

This is like being forced to take a job you never applied for and being asked to fulfill duties you do not particularly want to fulfill, or being asked to repeatedly say thank you to someone who did something for you that you did not ask them to do.

Alright. Thanks for the unrequested solid, man. I appreciate it. Let’s move on.

The concept of mandated prayer sometimes blows my mind. Not only am I saying thank you for things I didn’t put in a p.o for, but I am also saying thank you for things I have that I actually worked to get? I am supposed to say thank you for the job I have, and the money I make, and the person I’m seeing? I have difficulty understanding why things can’t just be cut and dry–you did this, so you earned this–and that’s it. Why does there need to be divine intervention? What even are miracles really?

I know I sound like an infidel, or ingrate, or condescending atheist, or whatever you’d call someone who thinks most religious people are cracked, but I am actually a creationist.

I just think that the afterlife is a shitty concept that forces me to engage in activities that I find banal and unappealing. I don’t want to attended masses, and I don’t really want to fast, and I don’t want to memorize holy texts.

Believe me, nothing would make me happier than deciding “god” is just a fairytale social construct invented by people who want to control the world, but I can’t. Every part of me is, much to my own chagrin, chock full of unfounded certainty that it’s out there waiting for me when I kick the bucket. I’m going to be all up in that Judgment Day Family Unfun Day, admission ticket clutched in my hand, journey to the pit all but certain.

Bet all my posts will be printed on the back of that damn ticket, too.

I am so screwed.

My hair does not do well in heat.

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