From the Dirt

All religion comes from the dirt.

It starts the same way everything else does — as part of the world, part of us. Something small. Something grounded. A way to explain the sun, the seasons, birth, death, fear, hope.

Then it grows.

It twists. It spreads. It runs in different directions for reasons that have nothing to do with whether one god is right and another is wrong. It grows because people grow it — power, fear, control, belonging, survival.

And eventually it grows bigger than it should.

It puts on too much pomp and circumstance. Too many rules. Too much theatre. Too many intermediaries standing between you and whatever it was you were supposed to be touching in the first place.

At some point, you don’t even know where you’re meant to stand anymore.

Or whether you’re supposed to be standing at all —

or kneeling.

But at its core, don’t we all agree that love is the religion?

Isn’t that the whole point?

“God is love,” they say — and I think that’s the one part everyone accidentally agrees on.

Our gods are our religions, no matter what dances we do when we practice them.

I sit.

You stand.

Those people sing and dance.

Those people feed others and do good deeds.

Different rituals. Same impulse.

There’s no point arguing about it.

We all want the same thing.

Religion is actually the reason I’m an atheist.

But I still believe in the soul — even though I can’t prove it exists.

Because there *is* something we all agree on.

We’re separate from the rest of the earth.

Not that we don’t belong here — we do.

But there’s something about *me*.

And something about *you*.

Something that notices.

Something that chooses.

Something that loves.

Call it God.

Call it the soul.

Call it nothing at all.

But don’t pretend it isn’t there.

And religion is being reined in — you see it everywhere.

The branches are getting cut back.

We let some shit go on for too long.

But when you push too hard against human nature,

it always pushes back.

It just does it slowly —

because it carries kindness,

because it wants to be useful,

because it’s trying to look after the future.

And isn’t that religion too?

It’s just us and them.

And you and me.

Isn’t that religion?

Isn’t religion really about belonging?

Why do we have to reconcile your dance with mine?

Why can’t we just say —

you have yours,

and I’ll have mine?

And if you want,

there’s always room over here.

It might suit you better.

But no pressure if it doesn’t.

And hey —

doesn’t that food smell great?

So stop by anyway.

It doesn’t matter if you stay.

Because we’re all alone in this world,

this universe,

this vast, indifferent cosmos.

How big does it have to get

before we see what it means?

Before we realize

we are nothing —

and this is all we’ve got.