Baptism - A Journal Entry

I am scared of the enormity of reality and the scale I occupy in it. Oftentimes, I find my head splitting, and it is inexplicable. How do I capture these feelings?

It is like closing your eyes, and the black is infinite, and you have no limbs nor mouth. You are a fickle dot, flying without direction, flailing and yet staying static, because your movements hold no magnitude. When you sleep, you sample time-blind death, but you are unaware of it. How absurd it is for the hours between midnight and morning to pass in the second of a blink.

I marinate these thoughts in the back of my skull, and wish I wouldn't, wish I had the choice not to. They linger like background parasites, and I feel like a madman. I hold no delusion that I am the only special one plagued by these thoughts; I am in a standard existential crisis, made for a common psychology book. I wish I had a God.

I have entertained the idea more times than a Catholic. I have prayed. There were a couple of times when I observed God's perfectly imperfect design and felt called to have faith. Faith is not truth, but philosophy; and in the case when truth is by its nature unknowable, one's remaining crutch is philosophy.

I was thirteen when I declared God's nonexistence. He is made up by people who are afraid, people who cannot come to terms with mortality, so they dream up comforting visions of eternity. I have scorned them, thought them stupid. I knew everything at thirteen; now, I know nothing.

I am considering swallowing my agnosticism. With a tail between my legs, I have become that adult I thought foolish, that who believes out of fear, not principle, not truth. But, to my younger self, I have come to find that saneness requires a taint of insanity. 

What should keep me grounded, when confronted with the smallness of my being, but illusions of grandeur? There is so much I do not understand. Maybe, just maybe, there is a God. There is a God whose form and intention may far surpass my own sense of understanding, the limits of my physicality.

I have always felt uncomfortable with people's certainty about the form of the lord. He is this; this is what he wants; this is what he said in this specific time. I am reminded of Miriam Defensor's quote, "Text-mate ba kayo ni God?"

Imagination exceeds the limitations of human understanding. And fuck it, I will say, if absolute faith drives a person, then truth becomes a far-off secondary. My faith is not built on bricks, but feathers. I cannot convince myself to believe in the bible, but I can acknowledge, and draw strength from the possibility of a form that appears divine to my very limited sense of being. Maybe a form that created everything. Maybe, in a stretch that seems to me absolutely illogical, a being that can make my existence feel more than a fickle dot's.

Maybe, the cure for insanity is the foolishness of accepting a divine.