SEEDS OF LIBERATION
I sifted through some old compositions from my days as a Christian, special ones my mom kept, and in them I saw the seeds that would one day grow and lead me to where I am now. A poem, "The Lost," expressed a passionate despair over the fate unrepentant sinners would face. I can remember the emotion - a piercing and haunting heartache - that was engendered by the thought of an impending doom towards which so many traipsed in blind ignorance or confusion. I can see that even then I was too compassionate to remain a Christian indefinitely. I'm too tenderhearted for damnation; it stands opposite me on all imaginable spectra.
In "A Psalm," I indicated that God transcends my mind so that I cannot know him. I had no idea how this one simple thought, once matured, would wield such a force against the idea of intimacy with the divine. I could never know a god and as such cannot love a god, and nothing in the world can change that. Not that a deity's love was ever easy to quantify; now I understand it to be quite impossible. It's an empty, meaningless expression encompassing all possible interpretations of every subjective experience one ever has. There is no knowing the divine through the subjectivity, so there is no knowing the divine.