More than that O circular one, I have no wish to be saved. Long before it became apparent that religion was, the timid and fearful’s reaction to the finality of death, or the narcissists rejection of their mind-numbing insignificance, I was appalled by the message I was being given.
It was starkly focused when I read the words to Amazing grace, specifically the last verse;
When we’ve been there ten thousand years,
Bright shining as the sun,
We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
Than when we’d first begun.
Having struggled (as a child) with the chilling realisation that dying meant extinction, forever, an eternity of non-being. Religion was a siren call, but this verse made me realise there are worse things than personal annihilation. Much rather Shakespeare’s;
The solemn temples, the great globe itself—
Yea, all which it inherit—shall dissolve,
And like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind.
We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
What right thinking, self-aware, intelligent creature could submit to such a horror, time without end yodelling to the glory of such a bloated ego, one who created us for that explicit reason?
No! I was born for endless night, and gladly so