When I think of all the horrors committed in the name of Jesus—wars waged, lives destroyed, cruelty cloaked in scripture—I can’t help but wonder: Did He come to die for our sins or to become the eternal excuse for them?

Sometimes, it feels less like salvation, more like a divine permission slip we keep waving around while setting the world on fire.

**

I’ve all but abandoned faith in politics, not out of apathy but from a slow, creeping realization that the whole thing is more like theater than governance. 

In this never-ending circus, the clowns outnumber the ringmasters.

Call it aging, or call it clarity. Either way, I no longer mistake the noise for substance. Frank Zappa nailed it when he said, “Politics is the entertainment division of the military-industrial complex.” 

And now, with a reality TV star at the helm of the so-called free world, it’s not even satire; it’s just Tuesday.

Hope hasn’t left the building entirely. It just smokes cigarettes in the alley now, checking its watch.

**

We are stardust haunted by eternity, finite flesh made with infinite yearning. Bound in these breakable bodies, we rattle the bars of our own mortality like caged beasts, driven mad by our hungers, our hopes, and our desperate reach toward something more.

Surely there must be something beyond this, some echo that outlives the dying breath, some ember of consciousness that refuses to be snuffed out. After all, what other animal dreams so vividly of forever?

And if not—if this is it—then perhaps existence is the grandest joke the cosmos ever told: a tragicomic fable where the punchline is our own awareness.

**

With over eight billion souls roaming this planet—each shaped by its own unique blend of memory, emotion, and meaning—it’s staggering to think we ever agree on anything at all. 

Human society is less a symphony and more a bumper car arena: sparks fly, rubber squeals, and everyone grips the wheel of their own agenda, colliding in a blur of noise, need, and vanity.

And yet, somehow, there are fleeting harmonies in this collective clatter’s chaos. A shared laugh. A stranger’s kindness. The quiet of a morning where no one is fighting. 

That we manage any semblance of peace is not just unlikely; it’s a daily miracle. That some of us age, endure, and love through it all? That may be the biggest miracle of all.