The world feels different at night when all the people and bullshit go to rest. I am alone with my thoughts and can feel comfortable being me. I don’t need to deflect from the constant intrusion of christianity upon my life. I don’t have to hear empty platitudes of misguided people who think they understand everything about everyone and dole out insincere phrases which only make them feel better.
At night, I listen to the sound of the coal cars rumbling through town and the wind blowing, gently shaking my windows and the trees. This time is mine. I have no obligation to be doing anything. I read. I write. I breathe.
The peace of mind that comes with the stillness rejuvenates me for when I have to hear, yet again, the religious undertones of unhelpful advise, such as, “we need to give people grace,” from people who don’t understand the disgusting, jarring landing of that religious tome onto those who do not believe in your fictitious fables stolen from older tales of fire and brimstone.
The silence brings opportunities to learn about the wonders of the world where I am not pressured to conform to the religiosity of America. I am not judged, belittled, or dismissed for my lack of “faith” in a non-existent entity. I don’t have to decide on the “pick your battles” argument because there are no quarrels in the stillness of the night.
It is unfortunate I can only be me when I am alone, surrounded only by the hum of refrigerator or the snoring of my cat. There are no attempts at manipulating my mind. There is no one trying to convince me their way is the only right, true way.
In the serenity of the night, it is quiet. I can choose to step outside and watch the snow fall or look up at the stars and gaze at the beauty of the universe. I exist silently here. There is no need for rebuttal to inane religious bullshit. I simply am.
I make a cup of English Breakfast tea and watch the steam rise and twirl into the air. Its warmth soothes and refreshes me. I take a sip and take pleasure in listening to Puck purring while Londo stares at me while impersonating a sphinx. I bask in the simplicity of the moment and smile.
My brain begins to settle as there is no need to be on defense in the middle of the night. My cats do not proselytize to me. They do not attempt to insert christianity into every facet of American life and then criticize me when I call out their Bronze Age religion as bullshit. I do not worry about being forced to hear their empty phrases of “giving others grace,” or how they inject religion and its phrases into every day life. I do not have to make a decision on whether to wade into the minefield and explain to them their god does not exist or let them continue to live in their delusion while their beliefs infect every facet of my life.
The only arguments in the middle of the night is how much of my comfy Grogu blanket I will have to share with Puck as I open a book to educate myself instead relying solely on the wishful thinking of a book written to control the masses.
I contemplate my recent hike on a trail few travel. The crisp December air wafted through the curls in my hair, cooling me as I walked across the ground where crunchy leaves notified nature of my arrival.
I am lucky to have been born in this time, this place, where I am allowed to speak and choose my path in life. I am still close to being property, but have a few rights, including the opportunity to press for setting the construct of a wrathful deity disguised in fancy writing few take the time to comprehend.
I think about the recent blizzard and the pillow of quiet vomited onto the land. Even in the early night, when I travel to work, the white softness that fell from the sky tamped the noisy nonsense as I made my way through empty streets toward my destination.
Back at home, there are no religious-isms. There are no demands I conform to a belief system, a dogma, sect, or cult. There is only “be kind to one another.” I take a deep breath and enjoy the solace of the night and how it enhances my limited moment on a pale, blue dot in the universe.
I feel whole in the muted, hushed tones of night. There is no one misunderstanding my trauma, claiming they’re better than me simply because they believe a fairy tale. It is me and the universe, alone and together sharing the knowledge of the cosmos.
The sun will come up soon. Cars and trucks will be crunching in the snow left on the streets where squawking snowplows do not roam. Buildings will be packed with people and noise and opinions of how I should believe, how I should act, how I should be.
I will wade through the noise and find a place with no humans or human-made things, where I can walk in silence, sit and write, and let my head clear of the nonsense society expects. My soul will return to its calm, rational state. I may experience a soft mist of rain upon my face or admire the colors in the sky as sun the rises and paints yellow, red, orange, and pink hues along the horizon.
We’d be best to remember we are always part of nature and look after it. It is there in its stillness we remember who we are. There is no need to involve an imaginary being as its maker or punisher.