Monday, November 18, 2024
I sometimes will catch myself feeling guilty. What does that take? – a feeling of guilt. It’s an inner courtroom drama. First, there must be a law that you’ve laid down with the word “should.” Secondly, there must be a violation of said law. Thirdly, there must be a prosecution. Finally, a defense is made. Next comes the deliberation.
“Your honor, we find the defendant guilty as sin and we recommend burning in hell.” Once you’re sentenced to hell, you try to continue to justify your guilt. You go to the parole board and make your case for release and they deny it, snickering at your plea. “You crossed the line, you must burn.”
What line did you cross if not one that you drew? Guilt is a feeling that you deserve to be blamed – but blamed for what? Do you blame yourself for existing? Is that your parents’ fault for conceiving you? Maybe it’s their parents, or their parents’ parents. How far back does the finger of guilt point?
Perhaps there is no guilt, and the blame game has no declaration. Does the buck stop somewhere? It wasn’t me. I didn’t choose this life, this body, this circumstance, this time in history. I didn’t set up the conditions and link them together inextricably. If I play the blame game, I’ve got nothing – no declared winner. It could be that this whole thing is innocent, and doing is not causal. After all, the latest science is telling us that freewill isn’t real.
Perhaps one day, we’ll all realize how blameless we are. Am I going to step up to the mic one day? I just don’t think the buck stops with me, but merely passes through something I call “me.” I didn’t choose to be here. I’m not certain there is a choice at all. It’s that so-called lack of choice that sets me free.