an arbitrary period determined by the rotation and orbit of a nowhere planet on a boondock star, on the outer edge of an unimportant galaxy. Et cetera. I share my birthday with, on various years, an equinox, the International Day of Peace, the last day of summer or winter, and Yom Kippur; the independence of Belize and Malta; H.G. Wells, Stephen King, and Bill Murray; and the publication of The Hobbit and Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. People believe in things. The human mind can find circumstance or meaning in tea leaves, in coins or cards or the movements of birds. I can have faith. Und ich darf das, ich bin auch nur ein imperfektes Mensch.
I believe I am real. I believe in the truth of my perception: that what I see and experience is real to me, that what I feel is real to me. I can only know with certainty that i exist. This is a starting point, if as well a historic echo. I don't mind. I believe there is an external Truth, but it is filtered through sense and electricity and I cannot touch It, i cannot get all the way there even with everything in the world to access, there will always be something bigger and smaller than the human mind can understand ... I am reading The Brothers Karamazov and the faith keeps hitting me. Maybe together we can get closer.
My aunt wrote a book about Jesus. My aunt is dead now but I want to call her and shake her and say, Aunt, your god loves you, don't you know this? Wake up, and look around, and breathe - Your god adores you. I have every confidence i have. This is my experience of the world, the same way I can see fingerprints or clouds or trees, the same way I can taste an apple, i can know that love is real the same way I cannot smell the color blue or hear a banana. Aunt, i never thought to say so before. I'm sorry.
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