A few years ago, I stopped believing in the big man in the sky, but not for the reasons you might think.
Growing up, I was never a hardcore christian, and by the time I was 14, I’d switched to Buddhism and then from there on to just spiritual. Even so, there was always a comfort believing in a higher power.
I believed there was something more, and at times I’d think of him as a being. If things got hard for me or my friends, I’d pray to him, and in my head I talked to him like one would talk to a powerful king.
One day though, I experienced something that would change my life forever. I entered cognitive realms that cannot be fathomed in day to day life, in a state only attainable by deep meditation, trauma, or psychedelics. Many refer to these as “religious experiences.”
Regardless, I entered into one of these states where all conception of reality is washed away, the ego dissolves, and all your are left with is the part of you that continues to exist when everything else strips away. To my measure, this is the indescribable part of you that will continue on when you die, and I glimpsed it.
One of the first thoughts that hit me, with all the realization and surety one could possibly experience, was that god doesn’t exist.
