Fate's Appointed Rendez-Vous : 02.28.03 @ 3:08 pm

I've been staring at this text box for some time now, trying to form the words I want to say in my mind, yet they seemed to have been lost somewhere between when they formed in the shower this morning and right now.

A thought, a pondering - of fate, of life. I, like many of my peers - are at crossroads in life. What we decide now decides our future.
Or does it?

It's funny that I'm not religious at all yet I fully believe that everything that has happened was meant to happen for it shapes who we are as an individual and who we are as a culture, as a society.

Yet does this mean that we have control over fate or does fate have control over us? Is there a fate, or only What Was Meant To Be? Why do we feel the need to name it, to call it something tangible when it just is what it is?
The need to have tangible beings is what caused this mess called organized religion to believe in.

One day man was sitting on a rock, thinking. Why was he here? Why did the sun hurt his eyes? Why did the sun set and the moon rise? How can he make this less hairy more talkative creature that is like him but seemingly more intelligent obey him?
Thus, religion and God was born.
Generations after this, using the creative minds that our species are known for, created stories to explain everything from the Great Flood to why we speak different languages.

In my mind, it is from this need to simplify and name things so we can understand them that many of our society's problems come from. If we could just accept the fact that some things - like the origin of the universe for example - can not be explained in a way that we can comprehend.

This is not to say that we shouldn't question the world around us, that we shouldn't wonder things, but explanations without solid proof are silly...

I'm sorry. I did not mean to ramble about nothingness yet again. I have nothing productive to say and nothing productive to do. Yet. I feel the urge to write coming upon me again. Terrible thing, this urge is. Why was I cursed with such a desire for the written word? I can always start to weave the story yet never manage to tie the knots to end the rug and it always unravels before my eyes...

/A

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