Faith

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Fortune. Destiny. Fate. Callings. God.

These secrets of the human race, those tantalizing tidbits that lie forever undiscovered.

These beliefs for which there can never be enough witnesses, never enough stories.

I heard it, they’ll say. I saw it with my own eyes.

But the what-ifs are always stronger.

. . .

Do you remember- those days when we told ourselves that if we wished for something hard enough, it would come true?

Those nights where we’d close our eyes, clasp our hands together, and murmur, again and again, this secret wish, willing it to life.

Or maybe pluck an eyelash, hold it against our thumbs, whisper a prayer with our breath.

Please, we might have said- to who, I’ll never know. I’ll do anything.

This silent desperation: I’ll do anything.

The world was simple then, a game of trade, an eye for an eye. If we did this mysterious ‘something’, plucked enough eyelashes, it was only fair- we reasoned- only fair to give us what we wanted.

Those countless conversations about what you could ask for, why some things work and others don’t, what we’ve done wrong.

The incessant questions, us bent over, trying to figure everything out, as if belief was just a puzzle, and if we shifted the pieces around enough times, everything would finally make sense.

The moments of hysteria, telling ourselves that it doesn’t matter; so, so close to giving up.

How long did it take us to understand? How many times did we have to be burnt?

. . .

And here we are today.

The inevitable shattered faith.

Maybe it happened in a single instant, a flash of light, eureka. I’ve had enough.

Or perhaps it was the cool receding of a wave, a void that stretches out further and further, until you realize the water’s all gone and it’s just your feet are steady on the sand again, free from the pull of the ocean.

Here we are, edging away from the fire, once burnt, forever shy. Some things just can’t be forgotten, can’t be forgiven.

Learning to rationalize, to justify, to reason.

Bred with well-thought-out opinions, cold facts and frigid certitude.

Bled out of all blind belief, all idealism.

We learn to forget, the magic of a faith in something that might not exist.

We learn to forget: that exquisite moment of the leap, not knowing whether you’ll come out the other side whole. But we were broken too many times.

. . .

Now: eyes wide open, opening doors with knives clutched behind our backs, sleep with daggers resting by our side.

Burn the bridges that have let us down so, so many times before.

We are level-headed, sober. Our feet steady on solid ground, in control.

Isn’t this what we’d wanted? Isn’t this safer, more prudent? Haven’t we finally figured it out, that there’s nothing worth trusting but ourselves?

But here’s what we’ll never tell you, here’s what we’ll never admit.

The jealousy, the sneaking doubt, it never truly leaves. When they say: I heard it. I saw it with my own eyes.

We’ll snub and dismiss, scorn and sneer. How naive, we might say. It’ll never last.

But inside, those flickers of doubt; singeing, searing doubt. Pretending the doubt doesn’t exist, as if it’ll disappear if we ignore it long enough.

The doubt, the what-ifs, the maybe’s, that eternal second of hesitation, that single leap into the void.

Belief. Tantalizing, taunting, tormenting belief.

Them, with their iron-clad blindness, leaping from the cliffs, coming back whole, euphoric. I saw it with my own eyes.

Us, with our memories, our scars, snickers and sneers.

Faith, this single, impenetrable divide, soaked in blood, brewed in death.

Faith. Belief. Trust.

I heard it. I saw it with my own eyes.

How long will it take for you to understand? How many times will you have to be burnt?

Fortune. Destiny. Fate. Callings. God.

Soaked in blood, limbs strewn all over, skulls lying discarded, forgotten.

Where’s your evidence?

Where’s your faith?

I don’t believe in you.

You, You, You.

Where is your faith?

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Photo by Fischer Twins on Unsplash

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