Many years ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with absolute proof of God’s existence. I went back to sleep and woke the next morning remembering that I had proof, but not remembering what the proof was.
Being the agnostic that I am, I have to move forward without any belief in anything and disregard the memory.
If God wants me to believe, they have to resubmit their proof of existence.
And then one day, nearly two thousand years after one man had been nailed to a tree for saying how great it would be to be nice to people for a change, a girl, sitting on her own in a small cafe in Rickmansworth suddenly realised what it was that had been going wrong all this time and she finally knew how the world could be made a good and happy place. This time it was right, it would work, and no-one would have to get nalied to anything. Sadly, however, before she could get to a phone to tell anyone, the Earth was unexpectedly demolished to make way for a new hyperspace bypass and so the idea was lost forever.
A friend and I were on a phone call and discovered the meaning to life. Absolute, certain, irrefutable meaning of life. There was no questioning it, no misunderstanding it.
It is gone. Neither of us can remember it. All we can remember is that the conversation started by me describing the “cloacal kiss,” the mating method of chickens.
Neither of us were high or drunk or (above normal) sleep deprived.
Many years ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with absolute proof of God’s existence. I went back to sleep and woke the next morning remembering that I had proof, but not remembering what the proof was.
Being the agnostic that I am, I have to move forward without any belief in anything and disregard the memory.
If God wants me to believe, they have to resubmit their proof of existence.
Maybe in writing. In triplicate.
A friend and I were on a phone call and discovered the meaning to life. Absolute, certain, irrefutable meaning of life. There was no questioning it, no misunderstanding it.
It is gone. Neither of us can remember it. All we can remember is that the conversation started by me describing the “cloacal kiss,” the mating method of chickens.
Neither of us were high or drunk or (above normal) sleep deprived.
I discovered the meaning of life during the comedown from a bad mushroom trip.
There is no meaning of life, and that’s ok because life doesn’t have to have meaning to be enjoyed.
probably to valiantly but ultimately fail to defeat entropy. to do actions that hold back entropy at all cost
I gotchu fam https://medium.com/@viridiangrail/the-memetic-proof-for-the-existence-of-gods-e5d103234fc7
That sounds like some Lovecraftian story: briefly glimpsing knowledge beyond human limits, then losing it forever.
Amd then go violently mad about it