Apparently I wrote this down in the middle of the night last week. I don’t recall doing so, but I agree with my half awake self. Here is my most disgusting confession ever:

I realised recently that I’m no longer an atheist, but nor am I a theist. Even agnostic has the wrong ring (although technically, yeah)


I feel like puritanical atheism was a protective capsule that helped me rocket clear of Christianity’s magnetic pull. But once I had been free for a while, once I realised I wasn’t going to be dragged back in, I started to find the capsule was a little too tight for my liking. A little claustrophobic. Frankly, kinda boring.


I want my mind to wander where it will. I want to hold my beliefs lightly without dogmatic attitudes about what should be believed or what shouldn’t. When it comes to huge questions – questions that science offers no real answers on – I claim my absolute right to indulge in wild imaginings, crazy theorising, and to believe in things I can’t prove if they bring me joy and do no harm.


Call it agnostically-inclined-crypto-pagan-meaning-lust. Call it horseshit. Call it half-baked woo.


I don’t really care what you call it. The wind is fresh and clear, the sun is almost sleeping, and I see firelight sparking somewhere, distant among the trees.

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