Fruits

It occurs to me, now and again, that the worst sin in my religion of origin, is to know of god, and to reject him. As I have. Utterly. With the caveat that I cannot know if a god exists, since that is unprovable, impossible, and relies on belief. I don't think there is one, having seen nothing to convince me, but if there is one as I was taught, then I do reject him. If there is a better description, I may be persuaded of that existence, if not the need to worship said deity.


If I told my mother this, it would be worse, I suspect, than that I am disowned, estranged and persistently, insistently, so. As I have rejected her mothering and advice.

That her willful ignorance and emotional neglect are terrible sins in my eyes, would make no difference.

Best we leave each other alone. What, after all, would be the point. A woman of 90 is unlikely to become open minded, when she has never been so. Not my job, either way.

In the event of extraordinary insight and compassion, I am findable. I'll stick with the odds, though. I'm no gambler, especially not on long shots. I hesitate on 'sure things' to the point of inaction. I'll stick with the fruit of my labors.

Putting in cilantro Wednesday. I hear the snails don't go for it. So, it'll go near the damn hedge.

Good thing I don't believe in hell. I figure this life is all I get, make it good, one shot only. Not going to waste it on imaginary eventualities.