Thoughts on "Afterlife": A Thinking Athiest Documentary

A few months ago a neighbour engaged me in conversation about some obscure "healing" practices such as reiki which she had recently tried. I tried to be understanding, and respect that people have the right to blow their income on pointless crap if they wanted to, and simply stated that no, I'd never tried it because I didn't believe in it. 


This managed to devolve into a lecture about my general lack of faith and how she pitied me, and found my lack of spirituality very sad. Practicing much self restraint, I managed not to snort with laughter, tell her to go fuck herself, describe the extent of my lack of "faith" in her overall intelligence, or have any other such honest reaction. 


This incident, and so many like it I've experienced in my life was reflected so well in the words of Laci Green in the newly released video Afterlife (Available at http://youtu.be/eeMoOJpvUlU ).  


Green talks of how she has had people tell her that her life must be depressing because she is an atheist. I have also had similar experiences: pitiful stares, outraged people who feel they need to "save" me on the spot, offers to pray for me... etc ad nauseum.

While there is absolutely no evidence that there is a "heaven", reincarnation or afterlife of any sort, it seems so much easier for people to accept than that I could be content with the idea that one day I will die, and my body or ashes will rot, be eaten, fertilise a tree or something similarly banal that they would readily accept if it were their cat/ dog/ roadkill they just hit. 


"But you can't possibly believe we just DIE, and that's IT?!" I have often been asked. Actually yes, I can and do. The machine which is the body ceases to function, as with every other living organism, and as cell life ceases, so do we. 


I think it is one of the central reasons for religion as a whole to have been created. We, as humans, have constructed this whole system of stories and "logic" around our own self importance in the universe to deal with the fear of death and the unknown. A "happy fantasy", as Afterlife puts it.


What most resonated with me about Afterlife was the following segment by AronRa, which reflects many of the themes I have blogged about, and what motivates me to write: 


The worst aspect of western monotheism is their system of judgement, where in it doesn't matter how good or bad you were in life, you won't be judged according to your deeds the way you should be. It doesn't matter what an evil selfish, sadistic, bigoted victimiser you were in life; all sins can be forgiven if you but believe.


In being an atheist, some argue that I am only accountable to myself, and this somehow should make me a careless hedonist. What I don't have as an atheist are all the excuses that someone will always love me, someone will forgive everything I do in the future, and that what I do now, while alive, is but a blip in my own existence- I can enjoy "heaven" later. 


This does not motivate me to murder or exploit for fear of a deity's impending judgement or consequences, but realise that everyone contributes to the world in a small way, if not by contributing something positive, as a minimum we can not impede thigns by absorbing energy in harming others; that I have to make things happen in my own life, rather than avoiding chances and praying that all will be peachy or taken care of by some greater being after I die.

Atheists are all crazy!

Thousands of years ago there were some influential figures who claimed to be receiving or channelling messages from deities. These days, if you hear voices, you receive a prescription for anti-psychosis medication and a clinical management plan with a team of specialists.

I was reading through a psychology proposal which featured a measurement instrument, the Connor-Davidson Resilience Scale 25 www.cd-risc.com , at work recently and noted the following item:

3. When there are no clear solutions to my problems, sometimes fate or God can help

People are asked to respond on a 5 point Scale from 0- not at all true to 4- true nearly all the time.

On face value you might think- sure, these seem like reasonable statements, and that any extreme answer could indicate a problem, e.g. "God/fate will always take care of things". 
How many times have we heard about people trusting their gut, too?

Now consider the inverse- the response of "I believe it is never true that God/ Fate will help with my problem". Hmm, what a negative response, you might think on face value. As an atheist, however, I find it amusing that people cannot cope with the fact I do not believe there is a God or in concepts like fate, and feel the need to suggest there is a problem with my sanity for it. 

I accept that many people are religious and have these beliefs, but I do not personally ascribe to them. To have included such an item in a tool designed to measure people's mental state of being potentially rejects the tenet that any atheist could ever be completely sane.

It takes an incredible arrogance to assume that your beliefs or a cultural norm are RIGHT and any other beliefs are WRONG or suggestive of poor mental health. Yet it is the default position adopted by so many.

The L word

I was watching Agony Aunts on ABC iview today (great show) and giggled wildly with familiarity at many of the topics they discussed- one of which was the first time someone uses the L word (that's "Love" for anyone who has been living under a rock so long they aren't familiar with the phrase) in a relationship. Hearing the Aunts' stories got me thinking about my own experiences, few and far between as they have been, with the use of the L word. 


The first time it ever arose was when I was 18. I had been dating a guy for about 2 months, and had spent pretty much every moment together since 3 or 4 days in. I can't actually remember how the L word came up initially, other than it was used a lot from that point, and by both of us. What was more poignant was that it was the reason we broke up a few months later- in his words, because he loved me too much, and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, BUT felt that he hadn't "lived enough" yet. I pretty much took this "living enough" as a spreading the wild oats metaphor, as I knew he'd lost his virginity to me, and according to all reports he then went on to shag around like there was no tomorrow. About 6 months later, he came crawling back and said he wanted to get back together, but by which time all of what had been special between us had dissolved for me with the knowledge that sex and love were concepts for him that he could so easily separate.


The second time I told someone I loved them was really quite awkward, in that the reaction I got was first, "Oh, thank you.... [and then, as an afterthought, with a quizzical tone] I...love you too[?]", which was immediately followed with a feeling of regret hanging in the air. Me- wishing I hadn't gone there when he obviously wasn't on the same page, and him, for saying something he perhaps didn't mean. 


Its a very vulnerable moment, exposing yourself emotionally and hoping the person won't drop punt your heart when you do. Even if they don't mean to- it hurts, not having the feeling reciprocated, and leaves you a little bit more jaded and hesitant each time.


So I told myself after that experience that I should not use such terms so liberally, when I wasn't sure how they were going to be received. So, the third time it came up I waited a considerable amount of time, and started to believe I was never going to hear it- and after I'd been with my partner for about a year, at a very intimate moment I told him I loved him, and he said it back. Only it felt forced and fake. Perhaps I said it just to see what he'd do, or because I wanted to kid myself that the relationship was going well. I really don't know looking back, but at the time it satiated some need. It was then only really used at times of conflict, like after a fight, or as an excuse- I just treated you like crap, but I love you, honey. 


The day I packed my bags and had bought my plane ticket to leave him, he used it again as perhaps a last ditch effort to save the failed relationship. (insert Judith Lucy's voice "I never thought I'd use the corny phrase, but sometimes love just isn't enough"). The relationship had been truly crap for the preceding 6-9 months (see Ye olden days- the Strangling), and I felt bitter towards that use of the L word- as though it was an attempt to manipulate me, and my trust of it eroded a bit right there in that moment.


When I entered my next serious relationship is was with gusto- feelings so overwhelming they blinded my judgement. I really didn't see it coming, falling so fast for someone while still quite raw after coming out of a 2.5 year relationship which had been so punishing. So, when we'd only been dating for about 6 weeks- one night it was hanging in the air, almost tangible, and I could see the words forming on his lips- I stopped him mid sentence: "Don't! Not yet- I'm not ready for that!.". So he didn't. Ever... in the next two and a half years we were together. In my stubborn determination not to be the first one to drop the L bomb again, lest it not be returned, neither did I. 


The next time I heard it I didn't expect it at all. It was a fast, intense relationship which, although enjoyable, I hadn't taken very seriously. So after about a month together he told me he loved me, then, just as quickly, I found out he was engaged to someone else (and had been the entire time- scum bag)!


Since then, I had one relationship in which, although it lasted about 18 months, there was a complete absence of love. Almost a complete absence of sex too. Tip for life- as much as a friendship may seem like a good basis for a relationship, if that's all there is, it isn't going to work. 


I wish there were some greater pearls of wisdom to take from all of this, but I find myself still unsure how I'll face the situation if it ever arises again. Perhaps my bitter, jaded experiences of being hurt will make me try and logic away any such irrational silliness like "love", as it can't be trusted. Or perhaps I'll be able to let myself go, fall into the feeling, and let my sheer and utter terror be carried away with it. 

Fighting with the Biological Clock

Growing up, I never thought I'd want children. In fact, the idea of having children seemed like something for breeders- dumb centrelink-queuing bogans, and something for the stupid people to do. People who had a brain, as I [ever so modestly] perceived myself to be, would grow up to be career women, and have interesting, exciting, jet-setting and, importantly- childless- lives. This was not only how I thought it would be, but how it should be. 


I was the youngest child, and even youngest of all my cousins until an "accident" when I was about 10. As the accident lived about 3000 kms away though, I had very little contact with anyone younger than myself, and found kids to be loud, annoying, and didn't see why anyone would want them. I imagine this was somewhat influenced by my mother who always seemed to regret the time she had taken to have children, and the negative impact it had had on her life, career, travel aspirations etc and kept her locked in an unhappy marriage.


My involvement with children was limited to none until I moved overseas and worked as a teacher. As a 20 year old, fresh out of uni, I have to admit that my motivation to teach overseas had very little to do with wanting to teach, and more to do with providing me with the means to live overseas. 


Suddenly, I had a few dozen kids aged 5- 15 giggling and running around me on a daily basis, curious to meet, see, touch and torment the first white person they'd ever seen in real life. After my initial discomfort with the alien nature of this interaction, to my surprise I not only tolerated, but enjoyed the time with the kids.


As I made friends overseas, many of whom were older than myself, I spent more time with babies and toddlers, as my friends started families. 


Then as I reached about 24, an odd realisation struck me, and I found myself thinking "I would quite like a child one day". I laughed at myself when I realised how unlike me that thought was, and dismissed it almost immediately.


Much to my chagrin, when I was younger, so many people had scoffed at my attestations that I didn't want children, saying with a chuckle "just wait 'til you're older". I found it condescending, somewhat insulting to my intelligence, and disrespectful toward women who make a conscious choice not to procreate. 


Now, as much as I truly hate to say it, even through gritted teeth you won't hear me utter this much: They were right.


It hasn't been a miraculous overnight epiphany; no revelation after meditative self exploration- more of an erosion of what used to be- like barnacles growing on the base of a ship, gradually changing the way its parts are able to move, dragging on it's progress through the water,  almost imperceptibly slow in the changing of its course toward a new direction.


I still find myself wishing at times that I didn't want children- as being a single 30 year old woman, there are plenty of people who are only too willing to remind you that you have less than 10 years left. "Experts" who crap on at length in newspapers about how women's being "too picky" or selfish is ruining the fabric of society by not breeding on their desired schedules (See Post Don't get pregnant, won't get pregnant, can't get pregnant). Occasionally some kind person will accompany this with a comment about the biological clock or, my favourite: "Tick Tock!", with an ever so well intended clock-ticking finger gesture. 


Guess what finger gesture I feel compelled to respond with?


Not wanting children would make life easier. It's one goal where there's no promotions through merit or hard work. If you say you want a job, you study, apply and work hard- you'll get it. You say you want a baby to a date and he's  run out the door before you blink. The more pressure or focus you put on it, the less likely it is to happen, but forget about it altogether and it may never happen. Catch 22.


Being "that age" it seems that every week (or this week, every DAY) someone either announces their pregnancy or gives birth. As happy as I am for my friends, there's this overwhelming sense of envy that it's not me and anxiety that, especially since the cancer, it may never be. 


I used to laugh at the "pathetic" women I would see cry around babies, or when talking about them, and now, at work today when another person made their joyous announcement, I have become one. 

Karma is a fickle bitch.

Ye Olden Days #4- Getting Rogered

Crystal methamphetamine or "Ice" is a drug which is rising in popularity. It has some pretty horrendous side effects which users may not be aware of, from extreme paranoia, to feeling like bugs are crawling under the skin (which often results in users scratching off their own skin).


In 2005, I got a vivid insight to what Ice can do to not only the user's life, but those around them. 


It must have been around June 2005, after returning from a few years overseas, when I was looking for work in Sydney and went to stay on my brother's couch for a couple of days. He had two flatmates, one of whom, named Roger, had recently been fired from his job.


From what I understood, the job had been lost because of poor performance- generally not showing up to work, and acting quite strangely over a period of several months. Add in a few things like forgetting to shower for days on end, and it raised a few eyebrows. Eventually I believe it was quite obvious to a lot of the people there that he was heavily using drugs- could not be relied upon to get the job done any more, and was creating quite a disturbance for others in the company. 


The unfortunate part for us was that my brother was also working at the same company. As we later learned, it seems that Roger believed, in his Ice-addled state, that my brother was plotting to ruin his life, and was a key factor in his being fired.


This particular night I was staying there, I had gone out for some drinks with friends, and come back to the apartment at about 2am, at which time I heard music playing in Roger's bedroom and smelled the distinct aroma of weed being smoked. I took up my place on the couch and tried to get some sleep, but with the noise of the music I couldn't drift off. 


A while later, Roger emerged from his bedroom wearing a t-shirt, swimming goggles and a beanie... and that was all. No pants. No underpants. Despite the strangeness of this scene, I suppressed a giggle, and tried to ignore him and get some sleep. 


For about 10 minutes he wandered around the kitchen, which was attached to the living room and fully visible from where I was lying, mumbling to himself: "Going to the spa, going to the spa... I'm going to the spa... doo doo *humming*. Yes a spa, lovely, going to the spa... going to the spa.." etc ad nauseum. Although it was almost 3am by this point, there was a spa in the complex and it was feasible that he could have accessed it, so my mind was trying to ascribe some semblance of sense to the situation and assume this was what he was intending to do.


Then after pottering around pants-less for a while, he returned to his bedroom. Not long after I smelled something different, unlike marijuana and more chemical in nature. 


I must have drifted off to sleep for a few minutes, as next thing I knew he emerged from the room again, but this time he was dressed in full army camouflage uniform, with big black boots and an altogether different demeanour. There was no more humming to himself; no talk of going to the spa. 


Roger walked into the kitchen again, and put his hands on the bench, head bent forward, as though serious and thoughtful. Something about his mannerisms made me feel very uncomfortable. He began talking to himself again:
"We are all defined by our actions. What we do defines who we are. Therefore my name is Kill-Mick."... and this he repeated several times.


My brain started racing, tired and trying to find some logic in this incredibly bizarre scene, while at the same time thinking "Oh fuck- my brother's name is Mick."


It was at this point Roger opened one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out a large knife, then proceeded to drag it back and forth over the edge of the granite benchtops, sharpening the blade. 


He took the knife and marched down the hall towards my brother's bedroom door, and I began to panic. This was a man who was clearly out of his mind, armed and had just stated his intent to kill my brother.


My heart racing, I grabbed the only thing in reach I could possibly use to defend myself should he also come for me- an empty wine bottle which was sitting on the coffee table next to me, and my mobile phone, and went out on to the balcony to call the police. To leave the apartment I would have had to go past Roger and draw attention to myself- and it was clear there'd be nothing I could do to stop him.


As luck would have it, Mick had locked his bedroom door that night. Roger stood there knocking on it and trying to get in for a few minutes, then went back in his room to have another hit of ice.


As I described the situation to the police- man armed with a knife, saying he's going to kill someone, on drugs- presumed to be Ice- I heard the sirens start even before I'd hung up the phone. Full credit to the NSW police here- they were at the apartment within 3 minutes.


My brother had, quite fortunately, slept through the whole incident. He came out of his room bleary eyed, wondering what the noise was about, and why the hell the police were in the apartment.


Despite Roger being taken away by the police, put on overnight lock up, and restraining orders placed so he "couldn't" come back to the apartment or my brother's workplace, it went on for another few years. There were phone messages left for us describing exactly how he'd like to disembowel us and dance around in our entrails, and other such glorious deaths he planned. Several times the apartment was broken into, things were stolen and notes were left, just so we knew he could get us any time he wanted.


Until eventually, after a few years a friend sent us a notice they'd seen in the newspaper- an obituary for Roger.  I can't say I even feel bad about celebrating his death, although he was 

only 35 years old, as it couldn't have happened to a more deserving individual.


*Some names/ identifying details have been changed.

Gay, Atheist and other marriage

There has been a lot of buzz about gay marriage lately- both in Australia and overseas. While the issue is not new, it seems to bring all the zealots out of hiding to tout their "wisdom" loudly at the rest of us.

One of the most extreme condemnations of marriage equality was recently inflicted on the world by Paul Cameron. Cameron has long been an anti-gay hate campaigner, but in a radio interview he recently summarised the extent of his bigotry, and its religious origins, as such:

"..homosexuality is the one sin, or the one habit, that is 24/7. It is homosexuality all the time... Mark my words clearly; the long term goal of the homosexual movement is to get every little boy to grab his ankles and every little girl to give it a try. They will not rest until every one of our children at least gets to try, has the opportunity and maybe is forced to at least once experience homosexual acts. There is no retreating from that, they made it very clear earlier on—now they don’t take about it—but that’s what they want, they will not be happy until they get it, marriage is just a step along the way."

http://www.lgbtqnation.com/2012/05/paul-cameron-suggests-obama-is-gay-demands-gays-be-imprisoned-before-they-rape-kids/

From a scientific standpoint, I hope that more start to speak out and discredit Cameron's ridiculous "evidence" against homosexuality soon. A good example beginning is:http://psychology.ucdavis.edu/rainbow/html/facts_cameron.html
I think the irrationality of the main arguments against these common, usually religiously based, conservative, right-wing diatribes against gay marriage was summarised beautifully, with humour and sarcasm, here: http://littlelioness.net/2009/11/12/ten-reasons-why-gay-marriage-is-wrong/

In many countries, until the 1970s (although still continuing in some), there were laws against interracial marriage, yet to those of us born in or after the 1970s, such racist views seem ridiculously outdated and almost unimaginable. In my own family, being born of white, western European descent, we have now welcomed Taiwanese, Persian and African American family members by marriage... shocking! *Gasp!*?... or- in reality, it barely gets a second thought, as it should be.

So WHY should anyone be so opposed to gay marriage? Perhaps it's Bible verses such as "Marriage by God’s design is the union of one man and one woman" (Genesis 2:18) that inspire it?

If it is for religious reasons, on the assumption that marriage "belongs" to for example Christians, then why not so vehemently oppose inter-theological unions? Or marriages of other theology groups, such as Buddhism, who do not follow a deity, or even those most evil of all folks- such as myself.... the Atheists? Or, for that matter, anyone who has ever had sex- after all, Deuteronomy 22:13-21 states that "A marriage shall only be valid if the wife is a virgin. If the wife is not a virgin, she shall be executed."

Good- yes.. let's embrace the hatred, and discourage the foundation of what most people associate marriage with these days: not the Bible, or tradition, obligations or fear of social retribution, but LOVE.

In having legislation such as the Marriage Act 1961 in Australia, Governments have bought in to being part of the arguement. Although the original design of the Act was from the dominant Christian influence on society at the time, this is not a reason to retain it in its outdated, dsicrimanatory state which does not reflect the views and needs of current Australians.

As for those like Cameron who will continue to pollute the world with their hateful rants- I'm all for people having differing opinions, but if you cannot find a logical, defensible evidence base other than ignorance and hate mongering, then ever so kindly, do shut the fuck up.

To call or not to call?

As a woman, you reach a certain point where you assume at least 50% of men who ask for your phone number will never actually use it. This proportion decreases exponentially if you 've slept with them prior to the number being requested.

Many women have shared with me their ponderances as to "will he call?", and while this reality is one which is often complained about by some, its not entirely unexpected when a week or so passes, and it no call is received.

There's many theories on why:
- often it involves alcohol  at the time of the number being obtained vs sobriety later
- the prospect of sex seems reasonably obtainable at that time, yet too much effort later
- they change their mind
- they really weren't that interested to begin with
etc etc

I can also think of plenty of the following variety of conversations from the female side:
- I gvae him my number because I'd feel guilty if I didn't
- I gave him my number because I was drunk
- I don't know if I actually want him to call
etc.. often accompanied with a feeling of relief when a phone call isn't received.

All of this said- I was really quite surprised when the following occurred:
- A few weeks ago I met a guy while out on the drink
- Apparently gave him my phone number (I actually have little recollection of this event, but due to the fact he called me the next day it's reasonable to assume that I did). 
- went for coffee later in the week
Then..
Four days later I received a phone call from said gent... to tell me he is thinking about moving interstate and isn't sure he should be getting involved in anything because of it, and asking what did I think about that situation?

To the best of my recollection, I never even exchanged saliva with him (am pretty sure of this!). After having gone for one coffee, it was a whole new level of awkward trying to say what I thought about it, given that I hadn't! Being as I am, I then developed a case of verbal diarrhoea trying to make up a reasonable answer, and probably told him quite bluntly that I really hadn't considered anything more than perhaps another warm beverage with him at some point. 

I am now more of a proponent of not calling if you're not interested- it far less awkard for everyone!