Entries Tagged 'Atheism' ↓

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I read a lot of Atheist Blogs.  I read them almost every day.  I like the fact that I can keep up with what is going on, as well as feel somewhat a part of something..being somewhat connected, even though don’t always participate in the conversations.  I’m no activist — I don’t speak out much — I haven’t had much to say on the subject, other than I am an Atheist.  And if people don’t like it, they can fuck off.  Yup..that is my mentality.  I think I have lived with it for so long that pushing my own thoughts, feelings and general lack of any respect for all organized religion out there for the world to hear — I just got tired of aruging.  But….  I should be more vocal.   I’ve been too damned quiet about it.  Perhaps standing on the roof of the local church (and there are 2 on the street I live on, 4 within 5 blocks of my house), might not be a great idea, but I think, in my own limited way, I should speak out more.

My reason is as follows — I read a few posts on My Sister’s Farmhouse that really inspired me.  Rechelle, the author of the blog, has recently become an atheist and has written a few really amazing posts.  She wrote a parable about her experience, the end of which sent me to tears:

She especially knew that she did not believe in the bible.
Because the bible was completely full of shit.
So she walked away from her church.
And she went back to her dark house.
And she tore the curtain off the window.
And light streamed into the room.
And she danced in the golden beams.
And warmed her hands in the silvery streams.
And the glorious light bathed her mind and filled her heart.
With the truth. The truth. The truth.
There is no god.
And it was good.
It was VERY GOOD.
And yeah…
She was going to die.
But she was not going to hell.
Because there was no hell.
When she died… she died. It was over. That’s all.
And it made every second of her life much more precious.
Because now, every minute needed to be spent well, spent carefully, spent honestly and spent joyously.
And also spent telling the christian homeschoolers that they are COMPLETELY FULL OF SHIT TOO!
And that is how I (the woman in this story in case you couldn’t tell) became an atheist.

See?  Damn, I just teared up again.  Her article entitled “Former Christian Apologizes for Being Such a Huge Shit Head for all Those Years” was just fantastic.  I look forward to seeing what else Rechelle has to say. She really has inspired me to write here more often on my own thoughts on being an Atheist.

I really wish Rechelle well on this new journey into life that she has jumped onto.  There will be times she she feels totally alone — losing that community that a church gives you is hard to do — so, in case Rechelle happens up on this non important post of mine,  and just because I felt like it,  is a list of the Atheist blogs I read keep up with:

• Atheist Ethicist
• Atheist Media Blog
• Atheist Revolution
• Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster
• Daylight Atheism
• Debunking Christiantiy
• Friendly Atheist
• How good is that?
• Mr. Diety
• Pharyngula
• Proud Atheists
• Reason Weekly
• Richard Dawkins
• The Religion Virus
• Unreasonable Faith

A few links from this blog:  My Atheism and Death and Grief as an Atheist

My absolute favorite bit by Rowan

I was taught from a very early age to believe in a heaven, with a god, and the angels playing golden harps while floating on clouds.  Heaven was where the  people we loved went when they died.  Heaven was where you aspired to be.

• Be good, so you will go to heaven.
• Don’t be bad, or you won’t get into heaven.
• God is watching you from heaven.
• There is an angel from heaven  right beside you, helping you.
• Jesus is in heaven, and if you are a good girl, you will get to see him when you die.

Grief for a death was consoled by those thoughts.  Grandma is in heaven now.  Grandpa is with all the people who love him in heaven.  Aunt May is in heaven and an angel now.

I was taught to believe in those things, so that when a death came, I could handle the grief, because heaven existed, and I would be able to see that person again.  I didn’t need to be sad, but happy for that person – they were with god now.

That did help me when I was 7, and my grandfather died.  He was so important in my life, and the thought that he was watching over me, the thought that I would get to play with him again, consoled me.

As I got older, and more deaths happened in my family, I utilized that same idea again and again.  They were in heaven.  I would see them again.  It wasn’t so bad.  They were looking down at my tears and unhappy about it, so I should stop my crying. And I did.

The problems came for me when I realized I wasn’t falling for that anymore.  I became an atheist at a young age, and have never rectified the solution to death and grieving.  There isn’t a heaven.  There isn’t a god.  There aren’t any angels with harps playing beautiful music.  There is just a dead body, sad people, and an empty loss.

For a long time, I was in a place in my life where I could put any emotion away, be it sadness, or anger, and let it go easily.  I buried my feelings, deeply.  I could not allow myself to feel, or my life (at that time), would have fallen apart in to a mess of pieces.  So when death came, I just put the sadness, the loss away with the other emotions and feelings I had.  My atheism sustained me then, because I didn’t have to *feel* sadness at a death.  I had buried it.

Then divorce came.  And I finally could allow feelings back into my life.  I’ve had to learn, and relearn, how to deal with them.  It hasn’t always been easy for those people in my life.  I am sometimes too emotional.  Sometimes not emotional enough.  It is a learning process for me.  During this time, I really have not had to deal with death.  The grief and sadness that it threw at me was rather unexpected and strong.  I wasn’t prepared.

Which brings me the point of this post.   An important woman in my life passed away at the age of 73 and her funeral was yesterday. 73 might be old to some, but she was never old.  She was young in her heart, as well as her actions.

I went to the casket and felt like had forgotten what it was I was supposed to do. She looked like she was sleeping – so lifelike.  Her red dress looked perfect. Her badge there beside her.  Pictures of her playing on a video next to the casket, with beautiful music and flowers surrounding her.  Her family behind me, in the first few rows of the church.  There for the mourners to greet, comfort, and be comforted by.

And there I was.  Thinking Fuck. She is dead and I won’t ever have the chance to sit with her out in her lawn chairs, in the heat of an August summer day, in the cool shade of the maple tree. No more being able to listen to her stories or hear her good advice, while sipping orange kool-aid.  I won’t get to tell her news of my son.  I won’t get to get a hug from her again, with the whisper in my ear from her, saying “Everything will be okay.  Take it from this old lady – I know it’s the truth.”

Here is where I am supposed to say that yes, I know I’m not supposed to feel that way.  Because she wouldn’t want that.  Because it is selfish to feel that way.   But screw that.  I AM sad.  I am selfishly sad.  I am selfishly feeling an emptiness inside.

Death is really the one area..the one aspect of having god/religion that I envy.  The ability to not be so sad.  To have that dreamy illusion that you will be with that person again — see that person again.  That the person is in a better place.  That they are with the ones they love.  That they are in some sort of heaven.  That death is just a beginning to another life. And you know for sure, deep down, that  when you die, you will be reunited with the people you love, who love you, and all will be wonderful and grand.

Blah blah freaking blah.

Instead, it’s just Fuck and selfish sadness.

My boyfriend gave me some good advice earlier tonight.  He said, very gently to me, that one alternative was to think of all that a person had accomplished.  That I should not think of how sad, and empty I feel at the loss of this woman, but instead, think of what a great life she had — how fulfilling it must have been, and all that she accomplished and achieved within the time she had.  Think of the jobs she had of which she was so proud.  Think of her children, and how great a family she raised.  Think of what a fulfilling life she had.

Which is excellent advice.

Except, uhhhhhh…. There is that pesky selfish sadness again.

I’m honestly at a loss here.  I don’t know how to allow myself to feel any sort of comfort in her “accomplishments”.  I mean great that she lived this life, and that she did good things, had good children, was a good person…..  But now she is dead and gone from here.  There isn’t a heaven where I get to wave at her while she is surrounded by angels playing those golden harps and her family.  I don’t get to return her silly smirk, as I walk on a cloud towards my own family and friends.

I’m really kind of pissed off that I was not taught how to deal with grief, other than to think of heaven.  Yeah.  That pretty much sums this whole experience up for me.  Pissed off and selfishly sad.

I wonder how other atheists deal with death.  What are the tricks?  What do they tell themselves when they stand beside a casket?  How do they console themselves?

I really wish I knew.

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This article/post is being published here because of another article I want to write about — Atheism and grief.  I felt that a bit of a precursor was necessary.

I was born a cradle Catholic, and until I was 14 years old, I really didn’t overly question the existence of a God.  I had a few times questioned the priest when he taught.  And I’d gotten in quite a bit of trouble with the Nuns at the Catholic school I went to because I questioned them, and questioned the teachings they thrust upon us. (Oh, Please.. 40 days of a flood and  a big ark??  Rising from the dead — if that could happen to some guy purportedly Gods son, why could my Grandpa not come back from the dead — I checked, every time we went to the cemetery — just in case).

I was lead by the ear a few times by Sister John to stand against the brick outer wall of the school during recess. Once when we played “Noahs Ark” on the monkey bars, I was playing Noah’s wife, and everyone drowned because I figured if there was a God, he’d save us when I pulled the plug from the bottom of the ship/monkey bars.  Back to the wall, lead by the ear I went.  I was not a trouble maker, just a trouble “questioner”.  The things I was being taught never seemed to jive with me.  Not the way my parents, the priest, or the nuns wanted it to.

I didn’t just decide one day not to believe in god.  Circumstances of my life caused me to really question god and religion. And by the time I was 14, religion had became something I had to do in order to live in my parents house.  There was no way to get out of it.  My father was very proud of the fact we were being raised catholic, and going to a catholic school.  My mother was involved in some sort of women’s group (cleaning the sacristy/alter area I think).  So there I was on my knees every Sunday, and confirmed into the Catholic church in my senior year of high school because that is what good daughters do (especially those that don’t want to get into trouble, nor cause it).

When I was about 15,  the priest loaned me books on history, and religion – perhaps thinking I really would not read them.  Not only did I read them, I read as many as I could get out of the public library (small town, so there weren’t many).  I didn’t stop either.  I learned about religions.. why/when/how.  I looked at it objectively, like a problem to solve.

I sat in the priests rectory office one day with a list of questions I had written down, and worked on over the course of about 18 months.   I was sure the priest could alleviate these fears I was having, could really give me the answers, and be able to make me understand where I went wrong.  The priest was exasperated with me, and told me that  “You just need to have faith in God, forget what you “think” you have learned, and forget this silly little list. Faith in God will bring all the answers to every question you could possibly think to ask.”  But by this time,  I had come to the understanding, in the back of my mind,  that god was an invention of man.  What the priest could not understand was this:  The questions I had were not for me to understand, but questions with which the answers could persuade me there really was a god. I really wanted to feel like everyone else, and be satisfied that there was a god.  “Have Faith” was his answer, and I simply could not do that. I could not accept that.  I wanted answers.  Real, honest to goodness answers.   My mind just would not wrap around the abstract thought of “have faith” as an answer to anything.

I moved to New York when I was 18, and religion stayed in Nebraska.  I dutifully went to mass with my family when I was visiting them, but otherwise, I never went.    I was married in the Catholic church, because that is what my husband and family wanted and expected.  Our son was baptised in the church, again  because that is what his father, and our families wanted and expected.  When my mother asked if we were going to church, I yes’ed her, because I knew if I did not, I’d not hear the end of it.

For the next couple of years, I was still questioning, and unsure of what I felt, what I knew to be true, vs. what felt comfortable to me.   It was  hard for me to balance out.  On one  hand, it was more comfortable to believe as other people did — in a god. But the truth was, I just didn’t.  The other hand knew too much… understood too much, and all religion did was create unanswerable questions.  But the answers did come — not from books, but from my own self. The answers came when I put down the books, put the fear of what my family would think away, and finally.. really.. allowed myself to be what I really was:  an atheist.  A quiet one, though.

In all this time I never pushed my own thoughts, questions or beliefs on anyone.  I never judged any one’s beliefs (okay.. maybe the fundies, but that is just different).  I was comfortable being a lone atheist, and out of respect for my family, allowed religion to be part of my child’s life, to a certain extent.  For a long time, I kept quiet about it, writing about in my journals.  Finding my way, word by word, page by page.

Although this is not the first time I have mentioned my atheism online, or even on this particular blog, this is one of the first times I’ve written about it for public view.   As I said at the beginning of this post, this post was written so people who read my future posts will understand a bit of my background.  Because.  Well….Because I’m kinda tired of keeping my mouth shut.  I’m kinda tired of allowing others beliefs to overshadow my own.  And because I have some things I need to say.

Watch out ;)