What I Have Come to Believe

By

 

What I Have Come to Believe

There’s a lot I don’t know.

Maybe that’s where I need to start — not with what I believe, but with what I’ve learned to admit. Because belief, for me, isn’t a firm wall I lean on. It’s a cracked window I keep open. It shifts with the light, moves with the wind, and lets the stars in when I need them most.

I’ve walked with ghosts. I’ve touched fear that spoke without a face. I’ve felt the quiet hand of the cosmos press against my chest — sometimes to push me forward, sometimes to knock me flat. I’ve prayed to gods I wasn’t sure were listening. And I’ve cursed the heavens for staying quiet when I begged for sound.

I’ve survived things that should have broken me. And I’ve come out the other side, not divine, not enlightened — but aware.

So here’s what I’ve come to believe.

I believe that none of us have all the answers. That anyone who claims certainty about the infinite is either lying to you or to themselves.
But I also believe that every belief system holds a shard of truth, a whisper of something greater. Call it God. Call it the Universe. Call it Truth, or Source, or the Great What-The-Hell. Whatever name you give it, it doesn’t need your label. It was here before we tried to spell it.

I believe in honesty over dogma, questions over certainty, and experience over blind allegiance.

I believe that wisdom can come from a cathedral or a campfire, from scripture or silence, from a preacher, a pagan, or a child speaking nonsense that somehow feels like prophecy.

I believe we’re all cracked vessels — and that’s where the light gets in.

So if you’re looking for someone who’s found the truth, keep walking. I’m not your prophet.
But if you’re looking for someone who’s still searching—someone who’ll sit with you in the silence, who won’t flinch at your questions, and who’ll admit their doubts with reverence—
then welcome.

I’m not here to save you.
But I might just walk beside you awhile.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

CrackedSapien

By
  First Light The actual first blog post By CrackedSapien I’ve rewritten this post more times than I can count. Each time I thought I had something final to say — something polished, complete, clever — something else would rise inside me: a memory, a realization, a whisper from somewhere I thought I’d buried. And I’ve come to accept something: This blog won’t begin with a “message.” It will begin with movement. Because I am still moving. I'm a man who has seen too much to pretend. A mind cracked open by trauma, curiosity, and a relentless need to understand. I’ve lived with shadows, danced with the idea of evil, questioned the soul, practiced ESP, and stared at the world until it blinked first. I’ve felt invisible forces… and real ones. I’ve watched myself survive, grow, freeze, melt, rise, and stall. So if you’re here looking for perfection — this may not be your place. But if you’ve ever questioned the official story — of the world, or of yourself — then maybe, j...
Read more

Relationship Status...

By
  We Evolved Into WTF by CrackedSapien People ask me, “So... what’s your relationship with her now?” And I just kind of blink. Take a breath. Tilt my head sideways like a confused dog. Because what do you call a person who was your partner, the mother of your kids, your ex, your roommate, and—on some days—still the one person who knows the full weight of everything you’ve lost? We didn’t grow old together like we planned. Life cracked us open early. The system took our kids— all but one. The state said we weren’t fit, and the kind of pain that leaves behind doesn’t ever really settle down. It hums under everything. And yet here we are. Living side-by-side, years later. No longer lovers. Not just friends. Sometimes sharing stories, sometimes just space. Some would say we’ve moved on. Others would say we never healed. But I’d say—truthfully, reluctantly, and with a bitter laugh— we evolved into WTF. And somehow, that , too, is a kind of survival. This website contain...
Read more

The Hayloft Gate or The Barn at the Edge of the Veil

By
  What My Friend Saw Still Haunts Me The Barn That Shouldn’t Be I was maybe eighteen, maybe a little older. Late one night, my friend and I were walking back from visiting a couple of girls in the countryside. We had no car, just our feet and the fading warmth of the evening. Around midnight, the rain started — soft at first, then relentless. The girls had darted back inside. We were alone, soaked, and too far from home to make the walk bearable. That’s when we saw it: a barn. Rough, weathered, silent. It looked about 300 feet from the road. We didn’t think twice. Shelter is shelter. We climbed into the hayloft, laid back in the straw, and tried to let the sound of rain settle us. I did what I often did back then — meditated. Slipped into that quiet space where mind and body start to separate. I’d done it a hundred times. But this time... was different. I felt like I was sinking — or like something was pulling me. Not sleep. Not peace. Something... other. Then I saw it: a w...
Read more