Anaïs Nin

One of my favorite authors, Anaïs Nin, is keeping me company tonight. I have read her diaries - every volume - numerous times.

The last time I quoted her was when my cousin Tommy passed away. I got up, took the microphone from the priest, and recited a poem of hers at Tommy's luncheon.

"Love never dies a natural death.
It dies because we don't know how
to replenish its source. It dies of
blindness and errors and betrayals.
It dies of illness and wounds;
it dies of weariness, of witherings,
of tarnishings. ~ Anaïs Nin"

God.

What God would allow someone like my cousin Stanthoula to suffer for 21 years with a terminal illness? What God allows wars? What God allows hunger and pain? What God allows hate?

I question everything. I don't buy the old adage, the bullshit line religion feeds people, 'believe and don't question.'

Question everything.