Wednesday, 3 December 2014
Yeh today was one of those days, when I just wished that I could believe in any sort of after life at all.
Watching the televised funeral of Phillip Hughes, a man I didn't know, wouldn't have recognised in the street, who played a game I can take or leave, I kept taking myself to task because derogatory remarks about all the religious pomp and ceremony fell like an ailing waterfall out of my mouth.
Please don't think I was unmoved by it all. I sat and had a little cry as I listened to stories about an obviously well loved and respected young man. I was struck by the bravery and composure of the people who spoke, through such sadness, and the intense involvement of all the folk who were there. I felt the utter hopelessness of Mum and Dad Hughes and wondered just how Mum might put one foot in front of the other having lost her little boy. I can only imagine my heartbreak if Belly or Zig died .
She was bereft but at least has the belief that she will meet up with Phillip somewhere, sometime. I have no such belief, and on days like today I do have that religion envy.
I guess it should be a pretty easy sell really. Believe in this God and you will go to heaven, or get to sleep with virgins, or be part of an elite heaven group, or come back as a polar bear or a butterfly. I can see how people grab hold of religion if for no other reason than the comfort to be taken by the thought of afterlife soirees and yes, cricket matches.
But I just can't go there.
I am pleased though that there is so much comfort to be taken by folk who can.