Tuesday, May 26, 2015

How do you know when something is dead?


It aint got a heart beat and it's body is cold. No warmth in the eyes. Not even a flicker. No wind in the lungs, thus, no words. The life less shell remains, but the intelligence is gone. Perhaps I have been wrong? Perhaps Pablo has been right all along. Perhaps there is a spirit in these seasoned bones.  An eternal flame that continues once the flesh retires. After decades of disbelief, the wheel of life turns and grinds on the truths I've held so dear. The pieces shatter and I suddenly see myself standing on clouds instead of solid earth. Logic, reason, sight, taste, touch, these are all the tools with which I have grounded my atheism. Am I a reflection of a creators creation? Am I an assortment of cells engineered by random design? Or is there actually a lofty holy hand in all of this? If I were created, then the creators signature is in the valves of my heart, the blood that keeps all limbs alive, and the spark of intelligence in my mind. I must say, I have my doubts of the eternal, but I no longer subscribe to the science of atheism with even a micro cell of belief. 

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