OK, I thought I was done too, talking about the apocalypse, but I am not. I have been thinking about it a lot lately and no, I have not been stocking up on canned foods, bottled water and warm clothes. Not for Harold Camping's still-on-schedule-for-October-21st apocalypse. His prophetic ball of fire that will engulf the Earth, logically and mathematically speaking would be the sun, turning into a supernova. It will happen someday for sure, but I have a hunch that some scientist with empirical evidence will call that there's something wrong with the sun, using empirical evidence to back up his claims and not only the Bible. But hey, it's religion right? You must to have faith if you want to be saved.
Faith, what a strange concept.
After the bright, sunny, May 21st apocalypse we had (that I spent hiking, eating, chilli dogs, drinking beer and playing video games with friends), my new favorite false prophet came up with this theory to save himself from the inevitable truth. God's judgement on the world was spiritual. The end of the universe is still on program, but in his endless mercy, God has spare the Earth of five months of living hell and will end everything with the big fireball, blah blah blah. It's very nice of God to have spared me the volcanoes and the molten lava, but there is something I don't get. How do I know if I have been saved or not? Do I have to know it in my heart? Accept Jesus-Christ as my savior? Because if it's going to get me an entrance ticket to heaven, I'll hitch a ride with any motherfucker. Jesus, Satan, Azazel, Marduk, Ares, Odin, anyone with the wheels to get there. What Harold Camping is saying right now, is that salvation is for sale. At least, that's how I understand it.
That is bringing me back to Freud's idea that the most perfect moment for a human being is being in his mother's belly. Everything after that is pain and separation and religion is an attempt to recapture that feeling of peacefulness. You know, like when you were a child and your mother caressed your hair and told you: "Shhhhhhhh....it's all right, everything is going to be all right". There is something in your reptile brain that loves these words, that give them power over you. It's something you want to believe really bad. I don't know about you, but the most exhilarating moments of clarity I have are when I understand this is not true. That no one will be saved and that you carry the responsibility of who you are on your shoulders all the time. Nobody will fish you out of the gutter unless you have something they want. You have to figure it all out on your own, no matter if you have rich parents or you're an orphan with a dream. It all ends up on your tab.
To me, this is the most beautiful part of being human. Realizing that you won't live forever, that you are not an image frozen in time. You're a decaying sack of recessive traits, like Henry Rollins would say and the only upside about it is that you are alive and you are somewhat unique, so there is something you can do out there before croaking. It's terrifying to know that you're a mortal, that you are falling to pieces, but it's the truth about who we are. You have to find your own way to beat death, because no one is going to do if for you. It's not going to be all right unless you build shelter and provide for yourself. And there's no guy with a beard upstairs who's expecting you for dinner on October 21st. I'm not saying that there's no one in the big office, but he doesn't have a long white beard and if he has two cents of judgement he's going to kick your ass back down and make you start it all over again.