Why I Pray

Even the staunchest atheist needs something to believe in. Logic, science, the cosmos, peanut butter density, himself - in which case he is his god. Now all he needs is a third ring to form the proverbial trinity. We depend, fervently, on our selected centres, particularly in tumultuous times. And so, we disguise prayers in beneath-the-breath mutterings, in exclamations, in silent gestures, in tension, in hope.

I pray because I still want to believe that the world runs on something bigger than the mistakes and self-interests of humans needing to stroke their ego; bigger than a random event with energy and particles. Here I might verily be falling prey to the deep-seated instinctive need find meaning and make sense of all things but the alternative holds little appeal. Somehow. And I pray because I don't think hope is possible without a speck of belief in something greater than our mere mortal selves.