The one true atheist

In order to function in society, I must believe the lies. This is my reality paradox.

What is the one true atheist to say?

I watch with admiration as the humans around me cleave to meaning. Would I had the ego to stand as an arbiter of the universe. How do you do it?

I see you all – Dawkins, Hawking, Erica, Ada, John, Joan, Rene, Mozart, Mo, Iseous, Moshe, Ahura and Socrates. You spoke your truth, even if that truth was only a construct of your time. Your children in this time pretend the same.

What will the man of mud say to the scientists and sentimentalists? I see you all. I love you for your childlike faith, it has served your people well. Your words were not true, but they were true enough.

I see you all , genetic progenitors’ mine. Blood of my blood. Rapists and reactionaries, revolutionaries and loyalists, tillers of the dirt and builders of stone. Women of silence and of dissent. Pillars of strength and people of pustulence. Whores and heroines. My Homo Sapiens and your antecedents, the Neanderthals evident in my European roots.

To my 17498005798264095394980017816942 ancestors, do I say: “Well done! Behold the Homo Nihilus of your rutting?”¬†Would that I could impute some meaning to your successive successful intercourse as your other offspring have done, even if only to worship the gods of genetic science. If only I could cling with more than the limpet’s lust to your fallacies and lineage. If only I were not obstinately I. If only I could see myself as more than an accident of probability.

I see you too, my evolutionary brain. Willing as you are to believe in magic and the music of the spheres. You seeker of patterns; you seer of shapes in the shadows; you son of Rorschach.

I feel you groan at night. I feel your impassioned, wistful strumming at doors of unreason. I feel your winter chill, your thrill of novelty and desire. I am aroused at your humility. Your empathy is admirable. I have seen you slow-dance with those the others would call demons. You have flirted with the monster’s mother and seen that she was good.

Let us call you Satyr and observe our slow decay.

I see me and all my devious machinations. There is no hubris in the soon-to-be-dead man. No pride in the dust so constituted.

What is the one true atheist to say?

Let him prey with sincerity at the alter of the one true G-d.

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