A Memoir on Religion

I was born with religion.

My faith was unshakeable.

I led a life of utmost piety.

It became part of me,

As central to my identity as my own name.

But it was the faith of a child.

Wide-eyed and yet still blind,

Seeing it only for the wonder it held.

But the fantastic side of it was enthralling.

And I would give thanks in one Name always.


I grew up and grew out of my religion,

Shedding it like I would an old shirt that no longer fit.

Admittedly it was strange.

Changing my religion was much like changing my name,

Easy to do but difficult to get used to.

Until I did I felt lost, without any bearings.

But I didn’t despair.

Eventually I got used to my new religion, or lack thereof.


In the time since then, I have become less blind.

The mist rose from my eyes,

And I began to see other sides of religion.

How men took it and scarred it in hand,

Forming weapons and shields with it,

Attacking others and defending their prejudices with it.

I’d never imagined that you could use religion for torture.

But with age came learning,

And I saw it happening all around.

And I mourned for the faith I thought I knew,

I cried for the abuses I saw.

But I soon found that these things were part of life,

And it was better to find the good in things.

And I learned to focus on them.

I was no longer blind to the darker side of religion,

But I consciously chose to not look too long at it.


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