Woo-woo turns me off

When I say woo-woo, I know it is pejorative. Since I am not trying to make any situation worse, maybe I shouldn’t use the term. Yet, calling something woo-woo gets my opinion across immediately and somewhat humorously (me thinks).

For example, most Catholics believe speaking in tongues and playing with poisonous snakes is woo-woo. Protestants think transubstantiation is woo-woo. To be fair, so do most Catholics these days. But for me, it’s all mystical nonsense and unevidenced claims: woo-woo.

I’ve seen Deepak Chopra lose his shit when the term was used during a discussion/debate with atheists. (Click here to watch the youtube—it’s fun.) His demonstrative demeanor and insistence on his correctness were telling of his deeper persona.

It is in the Merriam-Webster.com dictionary. Woo-woo means something is “dubiously or outlandishly mystical, supernatural, or unscientific.”

In bar or locker-room talk, I would normally say bullshit. While that is too strong, it also makes my point. I’m not trying to be a polite member of society when I say woo-woo. I am unsarcastically letting society know that I am skeptical but aware.

For years I wrote what are called morning pages (MP). I like them and I agree with Julia Cameron that they are therapeutic, but not therapy. I think they are also fun, considering it’s a morning thing. I don’t accept claims for MPs being mystical or supernatural. I’ve stopped writing them, but I want to begin writing MPs again.

According to Julia’s web page, “Morning Pages are three pages of longhand, stream of consciousness (SoC) writing, done first thing in the morning.”

She goes on, “There is no wrong way to do Morning Pages – they are not high art. They are not even ‘writing.’ They are about anything and everything that crosses your mind – and they are for your eyes only. Morning Pages provoke, clarify, comfort, cajole, prioritize, and synchronize the day at hand. Do not over-think Morning Pages: just put three pages of anything on the page…and then do three more pages tomorrow.” (juliacameronlive.com)

All good. I recommend, but.

That kind of SoC involves a lot of letting go and much trust. It is not easy, but doable. I have a stack of notebooks full of morning pages writing. My problem is that I do better when I am more emotional, which can happen any time of day. But mornings are what they are. MPs are (for me) not about politics or religion. They are about me, people, and the things closest to me.

But then here comes the word that makes me step back: spirituality. I am good with discussion of the human spirit. I am not okay with invoking woo-woo. I am not okay with others trying to make spiritual things part of my life even if it is part of theirs.

If they want to believe it, fine. If they want me to accept it, they need to prove it is reality. That does not stop them from using spirits or the forces of woo to explain even scientifically explainable phenomena.

By the way, these woo-woo promoting people make a ton of money selling books, doing personal appearances, and on the lecture circuit. They are promising something. Right? Like a religion? Often, their claims are outlandish (more woo-woo).

All we need to do is believe them.


I Didn’t Know

Twenty-five years ago, I began to find comfort in admitting I was wrong when I realized or thought I was. Who knew? Before that, being right was important. Then, poof—it wasn’t.

To that 12-step teaching (tenth step, admitting wrong) I would add fewer apologies, or saying “I’m sorry” when I was harmlessly wrong. Out of habit, I still say it when I do no harm. But I try not to. I’ve decided apologizing too much might reduce the sincerity of my true contrition when something was mea culpa.

I’ve had ideas. We all do. Most of mine have been based on nothing more than my personal preference or life experiences. When what I thought I knew turned out to be wrong, admitting that simply ended things. Life continued peacefully.

This morning, on his Patheos.com blog, I read James H. Haught’s piece, “Skepticism is All About Honesty” (July 21, 2021, FFRF). Therein, he relates a eureka moment when someone told him the “answer” is “I don’t know.” I recall speakers and teachers admitting temporary ignorance but promising to return after some research. Many did. It is a good way to go.

Haught goes on to write, “To me, the bottom line is honesty. A person with integrity doesn’t claim to know supernatural things that he or she cannot know.” I agree, but my reasons are little more personal and emotional.

Of course, honesty is important. Claiming to possess knowledge one cannot possibly have is not only dishonest, everyone knows of the dishonesty, except for the delusional (as so many are). But when I realized that I could say I don’t know to any question, I felt a sense of relief that is still difficult for me to describe.

I don’t know how the universe came to be, if our solar system was a coincidence, or if there is life in any form after death. I don’t know of life in other galaxies. I have no idea if nature has consciousness or what that might look like. I have no clue about why so many humans are either evil or good. I don’t know if human energy is healing. I do not need to know any of that.

When someone tells me, “There must be something,” such as a god or consciousness, I ask, “why must there be?” There certainly might be, could be, or we may like there to be. Something may feel good or be comforting about ideas. I get that. Indeed, there may be a cause or a reason for things that happen. But I’m not feeling the must, as in compelled by fate or natural law, or any other definition of must.

I’m unopposed to differing hypotheses or opinions, but that is what most proposed answers are, something less than a theory. If there is scientific evidence, proof, or if a concrete theory is developed and tested, that would be wonderful. Until then, I don’t know. If I find out, I’ll get back with you. I assume you will do likewise.

I cannot say I am sorry that I do not believe what others do, or that I think something true they may deny. If I am wrong and someone convinces me of that, fine. It happens. If I learn something I did not know, even better. But if no skin was removed from any part of anyone’s anatomy (or wallet), I am unlikely to apologize for being wrong. I was wrong and I am not sorry.

Xin loi (xin lỗi, pronounced zin-loy) is a polite Vietnamese phrase which literally means excuse me or pardon me. I like it. However, during the Viet Nam War, American soldiers used the phrase sardonically to mean something like sorry about that (or worse). When I’m mistaken, I’d like to say excuse me or pardon me. But, since xin loi was hijacked, I will settle for saying excusez moi, perhaps with a wee touch of snarkastic arrogance, for which I am so sorry.


Poem: Holy Knickknacks, Batman

Also posted on pluviolover.com.

Got my Indian Buddha statue
the next day
after some Catholic Answers lecture guy
told us it was a mortal sin to have one.
First Commandment (Catholic version), no less.

My graven image now sits with my Dragon Chalice,
lion statue, and cowboy with horse bronze art,
family photos, among other things.
He’s been lotus sitting around my house,
mostly in my room, for more than 20 years.
The best years of my life
have been with Siddhartha.

My family has concurred many demons.
I’ve beaten cancer (for now), completed 15 marathons,
written hundreds of poems, cheated death
and heart disease (also temporarily),
lost twenty pounds (several times),
and today I mark 75 years since I squeezed
through Mom’s birth canal. Sorry, Mom.

My mother claimed I was a contrarian.
Dad said I was only half-Irish and my sibs
considered me a spoiled brat (that’s still true).
The (younger then I) lecturer from the diocesan chancery
died two years afterwards.
Wrong statue or just superstition, I guess.


Allegory: The Man in the Room (2.0)

Note: I first published this allegory a year ago on the Our Literary Journey blog site (before I started this one). Based upon the comments at the time, it was well received. Some of you will remember it. For those who haven’t read it, here it is with some edits and corrections.

The Man in the Room (2.0)

I don’t recall exactly when I learned a man was in the room. I’m sure someone told me.

For years, I watched as other people behaved as if they knew he was there. This was serious business. People (called martyrs) died because of this man. As a child, I never doubted what I was told about the man in the room. I not only believed he was there, I also knew a lot about him. He was old with a long gray beard, but handsome. He was quite distinguished and grandfatherly.

The man in the room was more important than anyone, even more than the President or the Pope. The President, and especially the Pope, also believed there was a man in the room. The Pope even had secrets that the man had entrusted to him. The man in the room was even more important than I was, or my parents, or any king.

Everything was about this man.

People wanted me to devote my life to the man in the room. We gave up things and made sacrifices either for him or to him. We did good things, like give money and stuff to the poor and needy because the man in the room wanted us to. The more we showed that we cared about the man, the better we were treated by our teachers, preachers, and parents.

The man in the room made the rules for everybody. He picked special adults and told them what the rules were for all of us. Everyone I knew agreed that there was a man in the room, and he was in charge forever. He was super powerful. He could do anything. He was in total control of everything. He could be invisible and even bring dead people to life.

He had always existed and always would.

Eventually, I learned that the man in the room made everything; even me, and you, and the Pope. I learned that he made me for a reason. I was to love and serve him and to do his will outside of the room. Everyone was. Even people who didn’t know it were supposed to serve him. That was my first world view, my purpose for being, but I didn’t fully realize it.

People would talk to the man in the room. Sometimes, they would ask for something. I was taught how to talk to him. I did this for a long time, but the man never talked back to me. Apparently, he only talked to certain people using his thoughts. That made sense. I sometimes asked the man for things. I was told he was always watching me, so I assumed that was why he never gave me anything I asked for.

I knew people went into the room to see the man. One day, I decided to follow some people, hoping to see him. When I opened the door and stepped in, I saw no one, not even the people I had followed. It was an empty room and there was no man or any person to be seen. I wondered why I had seen no one else and why he apparently left the room when I entered. I had been assured that he always remained in the room.

I decided to find out why I had seen no one in the room, especially not the man I was searching for. Since everyone was so positive about the man, I was sure that I had made some mistake.

After leaving the room by the only door, I decided to ask my mother why I had not seen the man. Mom got nervous and seemed upset. She told me to ask my father. I did. That was a mistake. Dad became angry and sent me to my room. He told me that next time he might beat some sense into me.

I decided to try a more neutral person.

I asked one of my teachers who I could trust if there was a reason that I couldn’t see the man. I could see the irritation in her expression, but she kindly explained to me that if I could not see the man, it meant that I did not believe strongly enough. I needed to have more faith. If I believed strongly enough, I would see the man.

As I asked others and I talked with friends, I realized that some people did not see the man either. A few of them never went into the room, or they denied any room existed. But they never told me that there was not a man to be seen. Most others told me that they did see the man. I was told that those of us who did not see the man were at fault. The issue was our lack of faith. And my lack of faith was evidenced by the fact that I asked too many questions and talked about it too much.

I thought the problem was clearly with me. I could see the room, but never saw the man. Others did. I needed more faith. I simply had to try harder.

If others could see him, why not me?

Years passed. I lived my life and almost forgot about the man. However, the man in the room issue never went completely away. People began to assume I could see the man, just as they claimed. I stopped talking about him as though I could not see him. In a way, I lied by pretending.

For a while, I returned to the room often. I decided to ask a man in the room expert if there was reason for my failure and if there was anything I could do. Again, the blindness was my doing. If I would believe more, I would see him. That still made sense to me.

I wondered how to have more faith.

Since I was certain that there was a man in the room, that it was my lack of faith that prevented me from seeing him, I decided to take even more drastic action.

I became a man in the room fanatic. I joined organizations. I took all the classes and attended all the learning groups I could find. My expertise grew and qualified me to teach classes to both children and adults regarding the man in the room and the things they should do to be better followers. Eventually, I became a man in the room leader in a large and important relevant group.

I held firmly to the belief that there was a man in that room. Finally, one day I saw the room again. No one could have done more than I to be a true-blue follower, believer, and expert. I had not seen the room in years, but then one day there it was.

That was my moment, my time, my life-long goal of seeing the man was to be that day.

I proudly opened the door and triumphantly marched into the room, and there sitting in the chair in the corner was me as a child.

The child looked up and said, “I have been sitting here your entire life. I wanted nothing more than to meet the man in the room. For over 50 years, I have waited and searched, while you have worked and prayed and believed. But, look around. There is no man in this room and there never has been. I have gone to other rooms with the same discovery.”

I felt broken and deceived. I had wasted so much of my life hoping to see a man who never existed. Again, I walked out through the only door. When I looked back, the room was gone. I thought, and I wondered, and read and studied all the possibilities. I felt myself changing. I began to say negative things to people regarding what may be in the room.

I had lived most of my life with almost constant thought about the man in the room. Over many months I slowly became a person who openly expressed doubts.

Then one day a friend asked if I still believed that there was a man in the room.

I looked at my friend and said, “For more years than you have been on the earth I have searched for the man in the room. I did more than enough. I have decided that I was deceived. After a lifetime of trying to find a man, it is my conclusion that he does not exist and never has. The man is a myth and has always been.” I was relieved to know that I had finally found a truth that escapes so many.

One day, someone else asked, “What is the point of you saying that there is no man in the room?”

I responded, “There is no room, only one told in stories. There is no man, invisible or otherwise. Too much life is wasted over nothing. Either there is man, or there isn’t. Faith is irrelevant. Belief does not make it so any more than failure to believe makes it not so. It is reality based upon evidence.”

Another man overheard that comment. He approached me and said that I may not make such a statement if I have no proof that there is no man in the room. He said that I was asserting a fact that I could not prove. He wanted me to say that I only believed or assumed that there is no man in the room.

I objected by claiming that I was asked a question (what is the point?) to which I provided my best answer. I postulated nothing. My answer to the question is not an affirmation that there is a man, but an admission that there is no evidence that there ever was a man in the room. Since he was not in the room when I looked, that was all the proof I needed. The fact that others believe there is a man in the room because someone told them has no bearing on reality. It only supports what they already believe.

My conclusion is different than their belief. No one ever told me that there was not a man, only that there was. When I tried to find the man, or to ask why I could not see him, no one said he was not there. They only told me that my inability to find him was my fault.

I no longer believe what people told me. But since I did everything I could, and I did what they told me I must do, and I still did not find any evidence of the man, I concluded he does not exist.

One of the things that helped me with my conclusion is the Hans Christian Andersen story, The Emperor’s New Clothes, and the resulting idiom regarding pluralistic ignorance. I should have known from the beginning that there was no man to see because I could not see him. That should have ended it. But I did not want to accept that what people were telling me were the same lies they had been told.

Almost everyone I knew insisted that I was wrong. When I realized that the Emperor was naked, I knew why I wanted there to be a man in the room. I wanted there to be a man, and I wanted him to be as I was told he was. I wanted to be like most people. I’m not.

Now, I know the truth. I need no proof of what does not exist.


Why I Decided to Identify as Atheist

At my first job after college graduation, I worked with two guys about my age. One was my boss. The other was a guy named Spenser. One day as we walked to the car, Spencer asked me, “Are you a Christian?” I thought it an odd question, but Spencer was an odd man. I said yes. He then asked if I had accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. I tried to explain that Catholics don’t use that phrase or see baptism in quite the same way many protestant denominations did.

Then Spenser informed me that unless I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior, I was not a Christian. I had been baptized at eight days of age, had the sacraments of first confession and First Holy Communion, believed that the consecrated wafer was the actual body and blood of Christ, and I took my middle name during the Sacrament of Confirmation in honor of Saint John the Evangelist. I had prayed my ass off for over 20 years to Jesus, to his mum, and (mainly) to his biological father, as well as to other long-forgotten saints. Spenser’s got saved point of view seemed shallow simple to me. However, here in the Bible Belt, it remains the trope de rigueur.

Yet this smugly self-righteous graduate of Ouachita Baptist University and ordained Southern Baptist minister, refuted my claim based on how he and his denomination defined members of the world’s largest religion (Christianity). The differences were how Spenser and I defined a Christian based upon our diverse cultural and religious backgrounds. Despite our hairsplitting points of view, when someone identifies as Christian, Muslim, Jew, or as members of most religions, we generally form a somewhat accurate idea of that religious claim.

For religious purposes, I am forced to classify myself as a none. Apostate Catholic is not an option, even if true. My rejection of all religion is not the same as no preference, but I don’t make the lists. I am ok with Atheist, but it is not a religion, even though some numbskulls claim it is. Since athesit identifies me for what I’m not, I wish there was a better word. There’s not.

Thus, I identify as atheist. I also use skeptic, nonbeliever, freethinker, heathen, or whatever synonym fits the situation. Today, Spenser would be correct. I am not Christian. Some believers who came to know me before discovering my unbelief said I am was one of the good (or nice) atheists. Sometimes that aspect of me can be called cooperative. But I hold a dim view of religion, which would make me neither good nor nice in their view

I avoid the less-offensive terms like agnostic, humanist, or non-religious, even though a case can be made for each applying to me. I eschew the term spiritual because it is confusing (even among atheists) and has its own baggage. The stigma associated with embracing atheism (or any form of religious doubt) troubles me because even as a believer I never shared that negative view most others held of atheists.

I openly identify as atheist so that I can help others understand atheists and atheism. I would like to demonstrate that I am no better and no worse a person because I believe in no gods. I would also like to think that by being open and out I can encourage others to step forward and claim their truth.


Why Do You Believe?

A lady who phoned the internet show, The Atheist Experience, said, “I cannot imagine how anyone could be an atheist.” Despite a long and patient discussion with the show’s co-hosts, she never really changed her view, outlook, or conclusion of what it means for someone to identify as atheist. She saw atheism as the rejection of an existing god, of her own personal spirituality, and the exact opposite of what she believed. She saw it as the flip side of the same belief coin that she applied to herself. When the hosts would try to explain her error, she would interrupt with defensive or attacking arguments. It’s entertainment.

Watching the show is a good lesson about human nature and communication. It is educational. However, for many believers, the puzzling question is indeed how anyone could not believe.

When callers identify as believers, they are usually invited to explain why they believe in a god, have some specific metaphysical world view, or follow a certain religious tradition or dogma. This is usually when there are silent pauses on the part of the caller. That’s understandable.

In day-to-day life, believers are seldom challenged to explain or show how they arrived at some theistic view, so they are ill-prepared to logically present salient facts regarding their belief (often a certainty to them) and how or when they came to such a conclusion as there must be a god. The internet is replete with arguments defending belief or faith. Those I have read are fallacious illogical tripe that eventually falls to pieces before melting into a just because it’s true and I have faith defensive stand. Or worse, because the bible says so.

I like to hear people explain why they believe in a god, a higher power, an invisible force or energy, or whatever it is that causes them to conclude that the high and mighty one exists. It reinforces my own conclusions. However, I do find most honest explanations refreshing for two reasons. One is that, while I’m comfortable with what I think, honesty and sincerity feel good. The other reason is that I get to listen to someone talk through what they believe. So, here are some of my favorite reasons why people do believe in god.

  • I don’t know why. I just do.
  • Ninety-five percent of all people believe, so I must be right.
  • God personally spoke to me or showed himself.
  • Things exist (universe, people, magic). The only possible explanation is a god.
  • I define god however I like, and that is what I believe in.
  • I prayed for something and it came to be, thus proving to me that there is a god (what else?)
  • It is beneficial within our society for me to say I believe and to act that way because it brings social privilege, economic gain, and personal protection.
  • It is what I was taught as a child. I have always been a believer.
  • Everyone will hate me if I do not say that I believe in god. I would be rejected and ostracized, as I have done to others. (That could also be a closeted atheist.)
  • I don’t want to spend eternity in Hell and I’m afraid of dying and other things.
  • It is just obvious that god exists. What else could it be?
  • I’m hedging my bets. If there is a god, I win. If not, I’ve lost nothing.

I think most people who believe in supreme beings and spirits make their claim for cultural reasons. Those reasons are based upon social and educational factors (indoctrination), not on intuition or logical analytical thinking. Therefore, many fundamentalist religious groups want to teach intelligent design as science and religion in public schools. Apparently, they agree with me about the indoctrination part. May I suggest additional required courses in argumentation and basic logic?


It’s Not Me

I used to say, if there is a god, it’s not me. I now joke about my mid-life crisis being long ago. That time has passed. There was no crisis. What do those two things have in common? Timing. In my forties and early fifties, I needed to change my behavior. During that process, my other mantra was do no harm. I was sure that I often did. I needed to stop.

I was caught up with being a poster-model for the middle aged, American adult male; the father, husband, friend, boss, or whatever people wanted me to be. It seemed right, until it wasn’t. I thought I was normal.

My focus was on my family, my job, and my role vis-à-vis what others wanted me to be. I was a responsible breadwinner and patriarch. I was also seriously dysfunctional because I was not true to myself and may have behaved god-like. So, if there was a crisis during my midlife years, it was with my world view and something of an existential WTF?

I can’t honestly go with crisis here because I thought I was fine. I got through it, and things worked out. That’s how it usually goes, but disasters happen more today.

For the record, this was serious shit. At one point, I recall having suicidal thoughts. I was unconcerned with what any god would think about that, but I placed a high value on what everyone else thought. Luckily, I managed. They were just my thoughts reflecting frustration and an internal transition. Good things, as it turned out.

My past adult years remind me that I’ve always been of two minds—sometimes dissonantly conflicted. I would not have recognized or admitted it to anyone except that Christopher Hitchens made the same confession. I am not like Hitch, but when I read in his last book that he was of two minds, I thought: Good god man. At least two! It was not so much the road less traveled for me as it was that they both made sense, and I was split going both ways. It didn’t work very well.

I couldn’t have untangled things by trying. During that time of my life I began to look deeply to religion from what I still consider my rational point of view. I became interested in what many call eastern religions (really philosophies) and ways of thinking (Zen, meditation, centering prayer, introspection, and the spiritual self) to deal with life and all the challenges I faced. I read books about such things and tried every suggestion I could manage. I still think it all helped me in some way.

This eventually led me back to my Roman Catholic religious roots and 12 years of immersed participation. I regret nothing of those years. I am thankful for all I learned and the opportunities I had. I gave it my best effort, and I held nothing back.

I knew before I left what would happen. It was a graceful exit in that I kept my commitments and moved to another state due to a job change.

I will always be angry about the obvious sexual and cover-up scandal in the Church. I think every Catholic person should feel shame and remorse. Every person of every religion, or of none, should feel anger because of it. But the perv priests and the complicit, lying bishops had nothing to do with me. I did not leave religion because it had failed or that men behaved criminally.

Following the move to another state and my new job, I became religiously inactive. I had time to ponder, read, and to ask myself questions. I was sure that I did not believe in any god and probably never had. I was more certain that all religions had been created by people. I began to realize that I had wanted to be like my ancestors and people I knew. Even my practicing a religion was me trying to be what I thought others (dead or alive) wanted me to be. I am grateful that what I did eventually led to my clear headed giving up.

There was still no existential crisis. I was finding comfort dealing with what I saw as reality and defending it with my own truth in discussions, much to the vexation of some others. I was aware that I was moving toward embracing atheism, but I would not have stated it like that. I would still say, if there is a god, it’s not me. I was still working on me; on my tolerance and patience; on my understanding and knowledge.

Today, I try not to take myself too seriously or to cause problems with the things I say or do, but there are those moments when I feel that I may be giving others a vote concerning me being myself. That was the root problem in the first place. I’m sensitive to letting anyone mold me at this age.

On the other hand, I don’t want to be a jerk. It’s not me, but it happens.


A to Z Blog Challenge: Good God of Glossolalia’s Ghost (G)

God or gods – are:
(1) In Christianity and other monotheistic religions, the creator and ruler of the universe and source of all moral authority; the supreme being.

(2) In certain other religions, a superhuman being or spirit worshiped as having power over nature or human fortunes; a deity, goddess, divine being, celestial being, supreme being, divinity, immortal creator, a demiurge or godhead; maybe an image, idol, animal, or other object worshiped as divine or symbolizing a god.

(3) An adored, admired, or influential person.

(4) A word used for emphasis or to express emotions such as surprise, anger, or distress, such as, “God, what did I do to deserve this?”

God of the Gaps – is a religious argument presented to fill scientific gaps of knowledge. This fallacy assumes that an act of God is the explanation for an unexplained phenomenon, which is a variant of an argument from ignorance fallacy. It’s nuts, but it gets worse.

Ghosts (poltergeists) – are alleged disembodied spirits of dead persons. A poltergeist is (literally) a noisy spirit. People believe ghosts exist, but they don’t. The idea is fun, the stories are scary (fun), and Casper serves a purpose. But the reality is there are no ghosts. Sorry.

Glossolalia – is speaking in tongues, which is semantically and syntactically unintelligible speech. If one is schizophrenic, it is called gibberish. If one is a charismatic Christian (including some Catholics) it is called the gift of tongues. I think it is crap and many believers agree with me. Mumbo-jumbo which fails to rise to the more respectable level of woo-woo. The trick is to maintain one’s composure when one of them starts this crazy shit.


I don’t even want to know. Good grief!



A to Z Blog Challange: We Were Fung Shui Farting (F)

Farting in church – In first grade, Jimmy Sauer and I were punished by a nun for laughing in church. She didn’t know why we lost it. We were held after church ended. I was sure my father would kill me. He didn’t. Jimmy was the one who started it when he farted.

Fung Shui (foong shway) – makes sense. Shocked? For us to live in harmony with our environment rather than against it is what this ancient Chinese philosophy is all about. However, the exploiters of new age woo-woo would not miss the opportunity to scam us with paid-for fakery. There is more fake fung shui out there than real, so keep your bull shit flag close at hand. Be skeptical.

Faith – My adult son was fretting as we drove home due to our gas gauge showing empty for a long time. When we pulled into our driveway at home, I said, “Oh, ye of little faith.” He had good reason to worry. We were driving on fumes. I got lucky. Faith is a non-rational belief contrary to the evidence. Very often people equivocate faith and belief with conclusions which are fact-based upon lack of evidence. I say there are no gods because there is no evidence they exist, Roman and Greek mythology notwithstanding. That is not faith, it is based purely on evidence, or the lack of.

Friggatriskaidekaphobia (Paraskevidekatriaphobia) – Our next one is in September of this year. This is the morbid, irrational, and superstitious fear of Friday the 13th. This may be the #1 superstition in America today. There is even a web site; http://www.friggatriskaidekaphobia.com/

There is also a similar word for fear of the number 13 (triskaidekaphobia). Some people do not have enough to worry about, right? Apparently, when you can pronounce it, you’re cured.

This video is a must watch and listen.

He who farts in church sits in his own pew.