As I passed by the gates of a posh village, I saw a poster of a resplendent Jesus with his full-beard, flowing white robe, bleeding heart crowned with thorns – the works. I began to think about the cult that bears his name. How did it come to this, that a Jewish misfit should be revered this way?

The Middle Eastern origin of the Christian cult was evident in the poster. I’m not a fan of Middle Eastern things – Semitic, Arabic or otherwise. Some people give that part of the world too much credit. Hogwash. I’m sure that if all traces of Middle Eastern civilizations were erased from human history, man would have been the better for it, if only because that would have spared us from the idiocy of Islam and Christianity.

I can rant and fume against religion till I’m blue but I might as well be throwing rocks at the moon. As Voltaire said, if God did not exist, man will need to invent him. A part of me feels that man is hopelessly a sucker for religion. Yet, there’s a lingering thought that religion might just be a passing phase. After all, by evolutionary standards, man is young. I wonder if I’ll still be around when he comes of age. Fat chance. I wish I can do something to hasten the process.

I had a friendly chat with a lawyer a few days ago. Our conversation eventually drifted to law, politics and ethics. I asked if she knew about John Rawls and his "justice as fairness" theory. She had no idea who he was. That surprised me although, to save her from embarrassment, I said it's okay. John Rawls is probably taught in political science rather than law. She laughed. She told me that her prelaw was political science but she never heard of Rawls then either.

I mentioned this to another friend and it dawned on us that Philippine education is more fucked up than we thought. How can they not teach John Rawls in law school or even in political science?

There was a time when I hovered between being an agnostic and an atheist. I was leaning more towards the latter but something inside held me back. I didn’t know if it was prudence or an irrational fear. I remember it was during a sudden rainstorm three years ago when I finally embraced atheism.

I was spending a warm lazy Sunday afternoon at home. I could hear an approaching storm as the rumbling thunder announced its coming. Soon, I heard fat droplets of rain on the tin roof. That year’s summer had been particularly warm and the torrent was very welcome.

I stripped down to my boxers and went to the yard. The rain was cold and bracing. I turned my head upwards and stared at an awesome sky. Clouds that roiled like dark swollen things in a high wind obscured the sun. Bright lightning occasionally lit them followed by a loud roll of thunder that seemed to shake the ground. I began to reconsider my imprudence.

But here was a good time to test myself – to find out how much religion I still had left in me. I looked at the angry sky and in a low but steady voice I cursed God. I cursed Jesus. I cursed Allah. I cursed whoever brought the weather. I cursed Mary for good measure. In a clear firm voice I dared whoever felt offended to strike me down with the lightning that seemed to flash more frequently then. I stood my ground.

The storm passed oblivious and I lived. The test was not meant to prove whether a deity existed or not. I did it to see if I can cast away years of religion from my mind. The rain diminished to a trickle and I toweled myself dry. I was free.

Come walk with me this hidden path;

let us wander through its winding.

A random finch sings yonder

an unmeasured melody.

Forget awhile the wearisome and familiar;

leave others to their frantic commerce.

We shall find soothing shade ahead

under some forgotten tree.

The trail is uneven and rock-strewn;

the stinging brambles generous.

Yet see the purple wildflowers

dancing in a lazy breeze.

All roads lead to their own favorite places,

or perhaps they will join another.

But for a precious little time

come travel this way with me.

This piece is my first sincere attempt at poetry and it seems so amateurish. I am not a poet as you can see. I am more inclined to essays, although I make no claim of being good at that either. I can appreciate how painstaking it is for a poet to pour his emotions on paper. I feel it takes a fine skill to choose the right words as well as a strong spirit to fashion them into beautiful lines – qualities that I fear elude me. Be kind and forgive this philistine his trespass into a solemn art.