My sister gave me a St Christopher. I asked if I could have one. She chose one and it's fine. I have already gotten over its intense shininess and my unfamiliarity with the sensation of wearing what amounts to jewellery around my neck. I am almost never self-conscious about it any more. Forget it's there. But I still have to ask myself why it is there.
I wanted it as an affectation. I don't even know what I believe, or if there even is any point believing anything. Our thoughts on the issue one way or the other are hardly relevant. And even if you do have an opinion, articulating it, even to oneself, seems like an exercise in futility. We could never know anything anyway, not with complete certainty. We have to rely on our own perception, and trust our senses, even, in the belief of people who tend more toward the fantastical, trust some innate, may-as-well-be-make-believe sense, which arises from who-knows-where. Our perception could be some film printed behind the eyes and laid out for us like a poisonous sustenance from birth.
Anything could be possible. There is almost certainly no god. Not in the conventional sense. And almost certainly not in any other sense either. So wearing a bit of metal is pointless also. Yet I like it. It is my St Christopher. I know it has no magic power, but I like the story of a giant man ferrying the needy across a river. The idea of selflessness is definitely worth observing.
But none of those things matter really. It is an affectation. If a character in a movie can wear one, and my life proceeds apparently in as much of a whacked-out mode as any movie, then I feel I can wear one, too. Lying on the grass forever would also be an option. Baking in the sun, devoid of motivation, sweating furiously from action that drives on always trying to speed up the end, that is also an option. I am generally unsure how to face this life.
Yet still, I like my St Christopher. It is my own affectation. My shiny bit of metal. Jewellery round my neck, and I am almost unselfconscious about it, though not quite. Forget it's there, sometimes. I should thank my sister for it.
I wanted it as an affectation. I don't even know what I believe, or if there even is any point believing anything. Our thoughts on the issue one way or the other are hardly relevant. And even if you do have an opinion, articulating it, even to oneself, seems like an exercise in futility. We could never know anything anyway, not with complete certainty. We have to rely on our own perception, and trust our senses, even, in the belief of people who tend more toward the fantastical, trust some innate, may-as-well-be-make-believe sense, which arises from who-knows-where. Our perception could be some film printed behind the eyes and laid out for us like a poisonous sustenance from birth.
Anything could be possible. There is almost certainly no god. Not in the conventional sense. And almost certainly not in any other sense either. So wearing a bit of metal is pointless also. Yet I like it. It is my St Christopher. I know it has no magic power, but I like the story of a giant man ferrying the needy across a river. The idea of selflessness is definitely worth observing.
But none of those things matter really. It is an affectation. If a character in a movie can wear one, and my life proceeds apparently in as much of a whacked-out mode as any movie, then I feel I can wear one, too. Lying on the grass forever would also be an option. Baking in the sun, devoid of motivation, sweating furiously from action that drives on always trying to speed up the end, that is also an option. I am generally unsure how to face this life.
Yet still, I like my St Christopher. It is my own affectation. My shiny bit of metal. Jewellery round my neck, and I am almost unselfconscious about it, though not quite. Forget it's there, sometimes. I should thank my sister for it.
"I like the St Christopher!"
How to explain the way it makes me feel. In life you don't often get a chance to witter on as if someone is listening. And even when you do get such a chance, unfamiliar nonsense, as if spoken by someone else, comes out. Unless of course some, again alien, inspiration appears from the back of not doing anything at all and you say something you agree with, surprising yourself.
"I like the St Christopher" will have to suffice, but probably won't do the trick.
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