Hello everyone, I have some ideas flying around in my mind. The materials that sparked these thoughts are the following, A Confession by Leo Tolstoy and this video: https://aeon.co/videos/an-ageing-philosopher-returns-to-the-essential-qu...
I highly recommend reading A Confession, but at least watch this video as I know that is easier sometimes. I find that discussions surrounding religion, belief etc are often heated and emotionally fueled. There is a place for that, for fighting for what you believe in and creating the good change you desire to see in this world, but I believe deeply that ideas ought to be played with as well. So I am asking you guys to play with these ideas. I am a christian, I will get that out of the way, and I am well versed in the thought and beliefs of atheism and its view on religion. I don't think the usual out lash is necessary here, and I think I could probably write a more biting attack on religion for myself than you could provide. As a member from the inside I know what can send me off flying into a pit of doubt. I am not here to defend my faith or convince anyone of anything, I want to learn from you people and how you process these difficult questions. Sam Harris said something interesting, how atheism isn't a philosophy, it's just a kind of baseline belief (or lack of belief, that point is made incessantly). This lack of belief in gods does not tell us how we ought to live, what we ought to do and how we ought to behave. We must build something. As they say, "Atheism is only the beginning". Now, I am mostly directing this to people who say that there is an "ought", that human behavior and life ought to go a certain way, that there is something meaningful to carve out in life, and life isn't all for waste. I guess the way I would define meaning would be truth, purpose, direction, and ideally something that is actually real outside of opinion. But I think I am beginning to impose my beliefs here so I'd like to open this space up for people to discuss and share meaning. Anyways. I finished reading a confession, and watched this video today, and wrote the words below. It's just a story, not about me, but I am trying to paint a scene, and I hope you guys can interact with this. A lot of thoughts and influence has gone into this, and not a lot of time in writing, I just wrote it in five minutes and looked it over once (ok twice) so its nothing incredible. There are a few run on sentences. But I think my point is being made and I hope you guys can interact with it. I was kind of interacting with the influences mentioned above, and also from what I gather from the Myth of Sisyphus (I haven't read it yet but will) and the poem Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night by Dylan Thomas. So I am eager to hear your thoughts and I hope to interact with intelligent and coherent thinking, that I may learn, benefit and grow.

I sit in my room, in a nice apartment, in a quaint little district on the outskirts of Hong Kong. Other apartment buildings surround, not too high. There are shops and skyscrapers near too, about five minutes. But here are smaller apartments, meant for habitation. I look out my window, to the right. Through it I see a tall apartment, it looks dark blue with those shiny, reflective mirrors. Behind that, a green hill, the kind that surround Hong Kong. I turn my head forward and look at the wall. There is a small painting, of french countryside. Two fields of wheat are split by a path, leading to a barn on a hill. There are a few clouds in the air, and the whole scene is filled with that angelic, golden afternoon light. This same light pours through my window, lighting the dust aglow, shimmering and waving through the sun beams. When I was a child my brother thought it was magic. That was long ago, and I am alone in Hong Kong. I watch the dust shimmer. And I am dying. And the confession brings tears to my eyes. I am dying and my lips quiver. Tears swell and roll down my cheeks, and I make no sound. I sit there, watching the golden dust, and know I am dying. I feel that I am drifting, disconnected from reality. The framework of life, what I knew to be true and how everything worked, the things that needed to be done, melts in the face of death. Life no longer has any say, death nulls any rule, any plan, any ambition. Watching this dust, the minutes feel as hours. What is there for me to do? I will consume a certain quantity of food and drink before I die, I will sleep, I will interact with other humans, I will rid my body of waste, experience certain neurochemical firings in my mind, and stare at this dust. And then I will die. And what is the point? Why should I complete these certain tasks, fulfill these activities before death? What is it’s worth? It is nothing to me. And looking back, all my life was nothing more than a slow approach towards death. I distracted myself, I worked, read books, sang songs, told myself I loved others. Told myself I had found meaning in my life, I had created a meaning. But these actions were no more meaningful than they are now. There is no meaning, only things going on, only things happening. And all will lay down in the dust of death. I feel that I have been lost forever in a cave, and all my life I have marveled and fancied at lighting matches. Yet the matchbox is only so full, and I am down to the last one. Why should I light it? It will not keep me warm, for so long I have rushed after this world and tried to convince myself I wasn’t cold. I would be an idiot to expect this match to be different. I am a fool, was a fool, lived as a fool. For nothing, in the end. Death is coming, and nearly here, and all my matches were just distractions. Stories, oh how stories should have saved me when sex, family, money and food could not! Yet stories lied, they taught me to see heaven and light when dark and rot surrounded me. I wandered around my cave with visions of heaven like a madman, unable to see what was in front of him. In the name of love! In the name of the spirit of man! In the name of brotherhood! This meaning was delusion. All is waste, made for waste. We build towers to prepare them for the fire. We birth sons and daughters that they may be embraced by the arms of death. Death is our God, and we endlessly feed it. Each day we bring new sacrifices for its altar. We are lured by the scent of life, by the possibility of joy, always just out of grasp! But death is on the end of the line, waiting for us, and it has come to claim me. It tricks us into carrying on; death has shown me for a fool. As if delusion or distraction could keep me from its embrace, now it has come to declare victory over me. It lies there, patiently behind every hit of dopamine in my mind, behind every dose of ephemeral happiness. “Go on!” it says. Enjoy your portion while you can. You will not win, in the end. You will eat your portion and find that that was all there was. And when you have finished eating, and the taste begins to slip from your mouth, and your griefs return, I will be there for you. I will take you away. How I was a fool! No, I should have scorned this portion, I should have looked death in the eyes, I should have fasted. Yet this too, is meaningless. No defiance will open doors to heavenly kingdoms. No resistance or fight, no rage will amount to credit. This too, is meant to satiate, to sedate. My ego can drink deeply from my rebellion, and death will laugh all the same, for it knows it has won. Oh, death, how you have paralyzed me! And what should I do, as I await dying? My whole life I have been dying, waiting for dying, and what should be done? Nothing! This world is cold and dark. Death gives no answers, only promises. It promises its victory. I sit here on my bed, watching the dust dance, and know I am defeated. You have won, death, you have won.

So there's my happy little story!