Streams of Consciousness

  It rained hard this night. And that means quite a bit coming from me; I live in a Canadian city where the summer is fractured by raging thunderstorms that shake windows and illuminate the skies for hours. But it rained hard tonight, here on the border between France and Italy, and it was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. At home, the thunder booms. Here, it sounded more as though some great whip was being flung at the sea below. It crashes here.

  Or maybe that was something that wasn't typical, something special. Neil Armstrong passed away today. Maybe that was the Earth weeping his inevitable fate, the fate of all life that finds itself on this blue expanse we call home. Weeping that the first man who stepped on what is quite probably a piece of the Earth itself had to go further than any other astronaut can. Maybe our planet weeped because we, that life that had taken so long to bloom, had reached its ancient sister, and so had finally bridged a gap of sorts. And now this bridge was collapsing once again.

  I remember that when I was younger I didn't believe in the moon landing. I was completely convinced it was a grand performance staged by a desperate government. I held this belief for a long, long time. I guess I'm still not fully convinced in its happening. I don't think we "normal" people will ever know if it truly happened, not until we set foot on the Moon and see for ourselves the footprints left behind so many years ago. There's no atmosphere on the Moon, and so no wind to sweep those footsteps away. 

  But I have faith that it happened, because if it did, there are only good things to say.

  I wonder where astronauts go when they die? Maybe Neil Armstrong is on his way to a second Moon, one that none in the realm of the living have ever seen. A moon that is kept hidden by our ignorance of the inner (or perhaps outer) machinations of the Universe. I'd expect that that moon has a fresh gelato stand, because even astronauts get sick of freeze-dried ice cream. Maybe they each get a little space station to live in.

  Am I religious? I would say yes. I would say I'm a Christian by definition. I believe in God and in Jesus, and that Jesus is, in fact, the son of God. Although I'm confused as to who the true mother is here. But I also believe that the Sea has a consciousness all its own, and that if you mock it, it will answer accordingly. The lightening that tonight brought sharp blue arcs crashing into the coastal mountains seemed alive. It seemed to be making its own decisions, haphazard as they may have appeared. I also believe that praying for forgiveness will not cleanse you of your sins. Bringing something good to your fellow humans cleanses you of your sins.

  I don't believe in Hell, and I don't believe in the "cloud city" image of Heaven. I prefer to believe that when we move on, we live in peace with the Earth. We are free to roam it in whatever way we see fit, under the condition that we act as guardians towards our loved ones still in the realm of the living. I hope to watch over the people I love when I pass away, to protect them when they truly need protection.

  So I guess I have my own modified version of Christianity. But I am immensely happy to have faith in it. Faith is a shoulder to rest on.

  I don't know what love is. That's what she told me. That we are too young to know what love is. But how do you know when you know what love is? How can we separate the lies of our mind from the truth of our heart? 

  But then again, I don't believe in loving someone without being loved in return. What is the point of spilling everything we can find in our soul if there is no one to appreciate it? I believe in the possibility of convincing someone to love you. However, I was not able to do that. I say 'love' because I am a romantic. 

  I guess I'm over it. But I miss our conversations, the ones that would sometimes go on for hours. It hurts because those conversations don't happen anymore. I don't have conversations like that anymore.

  It ended because it didn't start, but before it ended (or started), I wrote differently. I wrote like the rain that crashed tonight. I wrote the sea, the sky, the mountains, the men, the women, the children, the eyes, the orange sunsets, the veterans, the snow, the lovers, the donkeys, the mattresses. I wrote because I needed to, not because I wanted to. My infatuation leads to sublimation which leads to creation.

  After it ended because it didn't start, I decided to write a story about Cupid shooting people with a sniper rifle. Absolutely no connection, I swear.

  That's what the rain made me think about. It made me question my beliefs and rest in them. It made me look at the past year of my life and remember how sublime sublimation is; how wonderful it is to create without wanting to. It made me realize I'm missing something right now, but I'll find it eventually.

  You can believe what you want, but I want you to look hard in yourself and tell me that the rain has no soul.