|and i stopped lookin for more appropriate pictures|
one of the perks about being a catholic is that there is a saint for everything. uh-huh. that's right. there is a patron saint for the eyes-- that's gotta be 'ol Saint Lucy. saint for ears, nose and throat-- Saint Blase (this fact really killed me! i really couldnt freakin believe that there is indeed a ENT saint! you know, like, there are ENT specialists!) there is a patron saint for cats-- Saint Gertrude. patron saint for houses, Saint Joseph. and yep, there is a saint for lost objects. remember the litany of Saint Anthony: "saint anthony, saint anthony, won't you please look around? something was lost and must be found." oh i'll be damned, but that prayer never failed me! my gran was the one who taught me how to pray it even before i learned how to read. whenever i lost something, i silently murmured it, arousing giggles emanating from my cousins who must've thought i was a whack job or something. hah! they never knew, never tested the great powers of saint anthony. because of him, our house cat Lucky mysteriously found his way home after two nights of my clamoring for him to be returned to our home. three days later, the feline died on a vehicular accident. it was the saddest thing. but at least he got to spend his last three days being pampered and fed like a fat freakin infant.
oh well. i'm gonna talk no more about all them saints. that's the last time i'll ever write about them. the last time i prayed to saint anthony, that was like six years ago? naah, it's not that he failed me. never. i just stopped praying to him. in fact, i stopped praying altogether. just for the hell of it. nothing dramatic of the sort happened, by the way. i just had this sudden epiphany that praying is not good for your health. ha ha. i'm just kiddin'. like i was saying, nothing dramatic happened, if you know what i mean. i mean, it wasn't that dramatic when my dad died-- i was only nine-goddamn-years old. anyways, i sure did notice that when i stopped reciting saint anthony's litany, my lost earthly belongings were never returned to me. stubborn that i was-- and still am-- i'm never gonna say, or even think of that litany again for all that it's worth. it's too childish and immature (are they one and the same thing? who cares?)
so i stopped praying. that's right. sure i still know all the the popular catholic prayers-- the lord's prayer, the angelus, even the novena of the rosary. every goddamn syllable and period and exclamation marks. yes indeed i was raised and pruned to grow into the perfect catholic. that i am NOT, now.
i stopped praying. and i am no longer a catholic. (well, there is no way to formally leave the catholic church, is there? but it just makes no sense to me to remain in it, when i stopped going to church.) being a catholic, yeah it was fun, but i guess my mother exposed too much of the catholic rays on me so that i started feeling its toxins at an early age. my mom-- she is a steadfastly devoted catholic and she mighty loves praying (it was her goddamn favorite hobby) and for every goddamn emergency of my life, the first and foremost thing she always did was pray pray pray. pray was all she ever did! like its gonna bring back my dad, like its gonna make everything okay. well perhaps, to her, but not to me. when i was ten, a dog (perhaps rabid) bit me and guess what mother did? right, she prayed for like ninety five thousand fucking hours after instructing me to wash my dogbite with soap and flowing water. then she took me to the pedia where i got my tetanus toxoid shots and anti rabies. thank god i turned out to be quite normal, not rabid, after that incident. (or was i? more alarming: am i??)
the real problem with me is that i ask a lot of questions. i never stop and if i ever get some answers, i never totally believe them. it can be real tiring but i gotta know the truth not the half truth for all it's worth. i don't want to walk blindly, i don't want to walk again, ever, into something that million others had faithfully but unquestioningly followeded. sometimes, it gets scary, i imagine my geriatric self walking stooped, holding my cane to steady myself, and i still haven't figured out every freaking answer to every freaking question my stubborn head had vamvooshed deep inside of my crammed brain.
i have read the whole thickness of the bible (well, except psalms and proverbs and some of the new testament books) and i never grew tired reading it all over again. long before jesus was born, there was polygamy and fornication and alcoholic beverages and all them what-nots. those times weren't as different as now. i mean, their ways-- human ways. then and now, the same old shitheads roamed and are still roaming the whole vast earth. the bible, they said it was holy but the god the prophets were referring to in the old testament sure did not detest fornicating men and women alike. he sure did love his alcoholic drink which i bet was way much stronger than our beer. the bible sure interests me, of its rich jewish literature, but other than that, it's just a collection of novels and verses that had stood the test of time.
i am a catholic no more. i have lost my religion. is that a bad thing? does that make me less of a human being? i believe in something supreme, something above me and above everything and i rever it whatever it is, although i can never totally fathom it no matter which way or direction or no matter how deep i have to swim through. i really don't give a fuck anymore about all these so-called mores and standards that man had stubbornly made up. way deep inside of me, i know, and am sure that all that really matters is i'm not stepping on some other rational being's live body or dead corpse.
i believe and i do not believe. there are still so many things to learn, to prove and disprove.
some people say i am an atheist. mthrfckng fools and ignorants. i am just a skeptic.