In which the writer is plagued by the supernatural

I don’t believe in magical thinking, and yet I find myself being careful what I say, in case my words somehow change the course of the physical or metaphysical world. I suppose that means that there’s a disconnect between what I think I should believe, and what I fear – I know I’m supposed to eschew the idea that my thoughts can influence events external to my own mind. However, I honestly fear that certain types of words or thoughts open doors to a mischievous universe that takes perverse delight in making us face what we most dread.

I didn’t mean for a whole month to go by without posting, because I am very serious about getting this blog going and keeping up a certain pace, but I’ve been quite distracted by the universe and my magical thoughts, which seem to somehow be able to influence it.

I feel quite ridiculous admitting this – I know that I’m a speck, and that the universe doesn’t care about me and won’t notice my eventual demise – but at the same time, I can’t shake that primitive, nagging idea that it might be me that’s making these annoying things in my life happen.

I actually find myself really knocking on wood sometimes, and asking others to do the same. Saying certain things makes my chest tighten and triggers my anxiety.

I’ve been reading a lot about how we think in the 21st century, how it’s all about quantifying and providing proof, and yet…it’s not. People fall for fake news and false statistics, fail to check sources, don’t realize conflicts of interest. For a society that’s supposed to be so quantitative and scientific, we extend a lot of good faith and positive assumptions when it comes to the source of our ‘knowledge’.

I’m going to end that thought there, otherwise I’ll write a missive on the false prophecy in the modern era, and I don’t think anyone living in 2019 really needs that.

Just came to say that I’m here – and that I just deleted the words ‘the universe hasn’t gotten me down yet’ because I was afraid that by writing it, I’d make it happen. But I can’t make it happen – if something happens to me that is beyond my control, it’s not because I failed to knock on wood, or somehow influenced the things around me simply by thinking a thought or having a feeling.

I’m working very hard on not censoring myself because despite a life saturated with science and math and quantification and a deeply held belief that gods do not exist, I still retain a deep, primal fear that supernatural forces will hear me, and throw my words back at me in some tragic Shakespearian way.

That said, I don’t want to overly suppress that primitive side. I think it’s that part of us, be it actually physical or not, that opens us up to being able to connect to the world, because it’s that part of us that wants to understand where in the hierarchy of the world we belong.

You’d think science would explain that to satisfaction, but I think science alone is a cold, distant lover – the kind that seduces you and leaves you wanted more, but doesn’t give you more, no matter how hard you try to convince it to. We need the warmth and nurturing of imagination.

The downside to imagination is that, as much as it nurtures us, it also likes to hide in dark corners and jump out screaming “Boo!” at the most inopportune times.

I’m here, watching my intellect and imagination constantly challenge each other to duels to the death, knowing that neither of them can really die.

I had a snappy ending to this, but I deleted it because I think I’ve tempted the universe enough for one day.

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