God, I just can't stop writing tonight.

The other night, while tending to overgrown eyebrows in the bathroom I overheard the program on TV. As usual it was tuned to the station I've dubbed the "Jesus channel" and two priests were debating contemporary issues. In the course of their discussion one man mentioned how the more educated a person is, the less likely they are to believe, and that these highly educated people like to stereotype believers as ignorant. I found this to be an interesting idea. I also found it to be mostly true.

I'm not implying that religious people are ignorant. I just think it gets harder to believe the more you learn. The history class I just finished opened my eyes, to say the least. I had no idea Jews began as a polytheist people. I began to see religion for what it really is: an answer to questions we can't answer on our own. I think we all need to believe in something that is greater than ourselves. If we were to put all the responsibility of the world on ourselves and try to answer everything using the capacity of our mortal minds we'd all be crazy. I believe in a higher power but I don't call it Catholicism or Christianity or Buddhism. I feel this is where the problems lie, in the labeling of it all. My mother likes to consider herself a devout woman. Walk into our home and you'll find several rosaries strewn on her desk and night stand. There are DVDs and books about Jesus, there arebible verses in magnet form on our refrigerator and a large painting of Jesus himself on the floor of my mother's bedroom, waiting for her to clear a spot on the wall. Yet my mother is not a forgiving person, nor is she free of judgment or sin. Everyone judges and we all sin, but she judges others, she hates others like no pious person should. She curses, she gossips, she yells, she hits, she loses her cool; all human faults which religion is supposed to curb. I don't like being told what to do, and I especially don't like being told what to do when it comes from the mouth of a hypocrite. I feel that she and many others use religion as a crutch, not a guide. Instead of using Christianity's tenets to build a better life, she uses them to rationalize her behavior. Besides, she's a saved woman, she can do whatever she wants. She can yell and hiss for hours, she can curse till she turns blue in the face and it doesn't matter because she's going to heaven, and I'm not, because I don't pray on the rosary. I remember one of the very first times I doubted my religion. I was young, no older than ten. We were being taught that it is our duty to travel the world and convert others to our religion. But how do we know that ours is right and theirs is wrong? I thought. I never asked that question. I knew they'd tell me that ours was right because God said so, because the Bible said so, and that was it.

For the second summer session I am taking a literature class and my professor is a sheer genius. He is one of the most learned and remarkable men I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. The way his voice floats gently around the room, the way he forms sentences is just brilliant. His words are like a soft silk blanket falling on dry skin; I could listen to him speak for hours. He's the kind of person who makes you really think, the kind you don't want to disappoint. The way he praises the American authors we're studying makes me want to go out and write a book. I've always wanted to write a novel but I've never decided on what I would say. I suppose I could fill an encyclopedia about dismal part-time jobs and indecision, but those aren't matters people really care about.