Of not being in the safety zone

I want to believe in God. Yes, I wrote that with a capital G. I want to. I read something a while back, that made my heart wring in pain. Of course, it was pure fiction. But that tiny mass, pumping blood here, there and all over the place, seemed to just stop for some picoseconds and I was left wondering.

I believe in doing everything to the fullest. If I want to hurt the fuck out of some one, trust me to do a good job of it. Sooo good that after a point I get hurt, for all the hurt caused. Again, I assure myself that he/she deserved it. God would have taken a long time to get back to him/her, so I took over the reigns.
I’m my God.

All these lines suddenly seem so blasphemous. I remember when daddy wasn’t well. I’d prayed hard. No, I didn’t go to a temple or for that matter even chant prayers and sit with my hands folded in front of The Idol. But I prayed. Daddy recovered. I thanked the doctor profusely. Suddenly I refused to see anything beyond science. It was science that saved daddy. It was only science. The intention of this post was to be cynical at myself, my faith based on convenience. But as I type this, I wonder if it is really convenience?

Why am I so cynical? I don’t know. Cynicism is a safer state of being and I thrive on that belief.

I wish I had blind faith in something that made me less of a skeptic. It’s more convenient that way; having some one to solve your problems, blame when lost, cry to when alone and forget when safe.