Hoàng-Ân
AN ATHEIST HOLIDAY
In a cave vaguely somewhere between the foggy firmaments, not even Zeus, the Greek Olympian godhead knew about the existence of an Asian goddess of weavers. She was born from the vagueness of unanswerable riddles and the confusion of seeking for a question to be asked. The substance with which she sorted and weaved into the tapestry of Socrates's Form* is the logical process of self-knowledge of both the gods/goddesses and humanity. Both the immortals and mortals were being treated the same under her skillful fingers.
There in the cave, cool and deep inside the core of existence, lighted by the etheral shaft of the mind, she conscienciously recorded the story in the souls of all beings. She pondered while her fingers threaded the fabric of thoughts and emotions into patterns of myth. Either the products made her smile or think deeper than even the immortals' convoluted system of remaining hunger to be propitiated by the mortals. The irrational ways of faith and their faith burdened her logic. All the restlessness in seeking satisfaction for the senses baffled her.
In one moment, she discovered the mind of a young mortal who thought in the rhythm of poetry. He was captured by Venus and imprisnoned at the edge of a cliff at the end of high Olympia for refusing the goddess' love. He sang and made up words to relate his joy of being freed of the bondage of love. He is proud of his liberated heart and composed psalms and hymns to praise the width, length, height, and depth of his freedom. But the weaver-goddess could only detect her sense of loneliness and aloneness in his voice and not his joy of detachment. Then, the goddess realized that she had fallen in love with the mortal poet. Her concentration dwindled. The rhymth of her loom gradually went out of syncth. And the immortals and their human worshipers lost their sense of self. Chaos reigned as those beings waded in the oblivion of confusion and sense of lost, including her beloved mortal, hanging onto the edge of the world.
As soon as her beloved human poet's mind lost its artistic flow, the weaver-goddess felt for the first time the feelings of disillusionment and desperation. She left her loom and ventured out into the outskirts of the firmaments. The world turned her into just another mortal. Yet, she did not bear the spirit of a believer or a worshiper for she has known the limits of the immortals' minds and hearts. She came to the cliff. As soon as she rescued her beloved poet: they looked into each other's eyes and realized that they both are unbelievers and therein their liberation from the human bondage to worship. They parted and the immortals lost their immortality and the whole world collapsed for they too had lost the power to invent any race of rulers to believe in and to worship.
*Socrates' Form: Socrates invented this concept: for everything that exists there in the virtual world exists an abstract perfect form of it, i. e., the ordinary definitions for an apple have in the absolute world of perfection a concept for the apple: an apple no longer just a fruit to eat, or the biblical forbidden fruit. In Christiandom, Jesus is the Socrates' Form for humans.
