A Bit of Chemical Poetry

In the vessel, each particle swirls,
Moving fast, in spins and twirls,

A molecular dance, of scale unseen,
Here things happen as in a dream.

Soon they draw near, and come together,
One by one, they meet each other.

The one, long and spindly, like a serpent he,
Will be the victim of our tragedy,

Ancient men, in their perplexion,
May cry "bromos!" upon inspection.

The part he plays, unfortunately,
Is such that he will no longer be.

The other? Why, he is cunning--
Sneaks up behind in a manner stunning,

Be cautious if you do come near,
His name alone inspires fear.

Once he comes upon his brother,
They soon collide with one another.

They dance a dance,
And they do shudder,
For by the end they know each other.

Though neither has remained the same,
Something new may come again.

From this brief duel do spring anew,
Two friends, each one forever true.

For as they change there name, hereby,
Will they remain forever sly.

Tom Stratton (untitled as of now)

Tom Stratton sat looking at the home on the hillside. In the dimming evening light, he could just perceive the details of its structure, giving subtle and warm life to its outline.  As the sun dipped below the tree line, the home began to vanish into the warm night air.  It was a special place, indeed.

Tom was an ordinary man, who did extraordinary things.  For fifteen years he had been a United Nations Relief Worker in some of the most besieged and strife-ridden parts of the globe.  From the middle east to Central America, he had spent nearly half his life helping those whom without him had next to nothing.  Tom never allowed his work to infiltrate his ego; in all things, he was level headed and kind.  He took pleasure in helping those less fortunate.

Throughout his experiences in conflict-ravished nations, Tom had always had one major responsibility.  He, along with a number of others like him, had always lead civilians and children out of combat zones.  After Desert Storm, he helped treat wounded Kuwaiti citizens; In Chechnya, he helped evacuate civilians from Grozny during the Russian siege.  Through all of this, he had seen the cost of human greed and hunger for power.  He was a wiser man because of it.

After fifteen years of helping those without hope, he felt it was time to stop--at least for now.  He had no doubt that he would return to his work one day; yet there comes a point when in helping others, oneself can be left neglected.  This is why Tom bought the house.

The next day he scribbled his signature on the deed, and felt the jingle of the keys as they dropped into his palm. 

“Enjoy, Mr. Stratton.  Its a lovely home,” the realtor chuckled.  Something in his voice almost sounded sarcastic.

“Yes, its beautiful.”

There was a silence.  The realtor fidgeted at his desk, twisting a paperclip.  Tom’s eyebrows raised.

“Is there...something wrong?” he cautioned.

“Wrong? Why, whatever do you mean?”

He gathered his thoughts, choosing his words carefully.

“Well, its like this.  Ever since I’ve been looking at the place, you’ve been acting strangely.  Hell, everyone has been acting strangely.  I mentioned it to the woman at the diner down the street, and she gave me a look that would fry an egg!”

The man swallowed hard.  

“People just get a bit nervous in these parts about newcomers, thats all.” His voice was sincere, but his eyes said otherwise.

“Is there something your not telling me, Mr. Donaldson?” Tom looked at his signature on the deed.  There was no way out of it now, anyway.  

“Its just that...that house. Its...”

“Its what?”

“Its just a little...special.  Thats all.” Mr. Donaldson exhaled slowly.  He seemed relieved.

“Special.  Yes, I know its special, thats why I bought it.  But I don’t think we seem to have the same definition of special.”

Donaldson looked up suddenly, his eyes helpless and confused.  He stared for a moment, then hurriedly began to gather his things. 

“Look, I’m sorry Mr. Stratton, I should never have even mentioned it.  The house is special, like I said,” he began shoveling papers into his briefcase.  

“I assure you, you will enjoy the house immensely, its a fine property for a fine price.  Now if you will excuse me, I must be off!” With that he was out the door and down the stairs before Tom could get another word in.  

Two days later, he was fully moved into his new residence.  Tom’s work had taught him to move quickly and efficiently, and this carried over conveniently into his personal life.  In the dim evening light, he sat on his back patio reading.  The deep Virginia sunset cast rays of orange and red onto the sides of the house, making them come alive as though an invisible painter were splashing brushes of gold onto a brick canvas.  The mist crept down slowly along the hills, tainted red and orange by the evening sun.  He looked up from his page.  The world seemed motionless, suspended but for a moment in a peaceful orange mist.  All seemed well.  Tom breathed a contented sigh, deep and powerful, as one breathes deeply before holding one’s breath.  As he exhaled, the valleys and hills seemed to breath in unison with him; the world seemed ready for sleep.

And then, it happened.

As he glanced back down at the book, he heard a faint tapping on his door.  At first, it was barely perceptible.  He looked up quickly, waited with bated breath, then returned to his page.  Yet, again, the knocking returned, this time loud enough that he was certain it had not been the wind.  Who could be knocking at this hour?  He rose to the door, and as he approached, he could see the outline of a person in the small peep hole.  He swung the door open.

There, bathed in the light of the setting sun, stood a little girl.  She could not have been more than six.

Tom was startled.  What could such a young child be doing all the way out here, alone?

“Hello, sweetheart--what can I do for you?” he smiled.

The little girl looked into his eyes, as though she were searching for something.  He stood, transfixed for a moment, as he waited for her reply.  

She continued to stand there, motionless, speechless.  Her small blue eyes nearly leapt into his own, swimming through his thoughts and searching his heart.  Somewhere in him, a flicker; a sudden memory flashes and then is gone.  Like the blinding light of a flashbulb in the darkness, something pulsed within his mind.  He let out a startled gasp.

And finally, she spoke.  Slowly, deliberately, sweetly.  

“Do you know the way?”

He blinked.  For some unknown reason, hie eyes began to moisten.  He felt as though he were no longer of this earth; a great void stood between him and the world.

He cautiously spoke, unsure of what to say.

“The way...to what?” 

The little girl cocked her head slightly.

“You must know.  Do you know the way?”

He stood motionless.  His mind was blank; he could find no words. 

Something behind him crashed, sending a pulse of sound through the house.  He jumped, heart racing.  Turning towards the kitchen, he noticed it was only a pan falling from the rack.  He turned to the door.

The girl was gone.  He was suddenly afraid.  He raced out the door, down the long wooded driveway, and spun in circles, searching every bush and tree in the dim light.  She was nowhere to be found.

Tom did not sleep that night.  Each time he closed his eyes, he could see her searching his mind, her eyes stepping into his soul.  And each time the heavy darkness began to overtake his lids, that same flashbulb memory pierced his eyes until he was thrown wide awake, trembling.  

The next morning, he made his way into town.   He stopped at the Sheriff’s station.

Opening the door, he peered into the small office.  Behind the desk sat a tall, skinny man hunched over a desk.  As the door shut, he peered up at Tom through a pair of half-glasses.  

“What can I help you with today, friend?” he drawled kindly.

“You the Sheriff?” Tom queried, though he was not convinced.

The man chuckled. “Naw, just a deputy.  Name’s Vince, Vince Martin.  Have a seat, I’ll get the Sheriff for you.”

Tom sat, taking in the rustic nature of the station.  Off to the side, a door opened.  An older man with gray, thinning hair stepped out.  Tall but heavy set, he looked as one would expect a country sheriff to.  He smiled.

“Hello there, friend.  I’m John Watson, Sheriff around here. Have we met?”

Tom smiled back, “I dont believe so. My name is Tom Stratton.  I just bought the old Southerland house.”

The Sheriff and the deputy exchanged a quick glance.  A momentary silence followed.

“Well, pleasure to meet you Tom.  Glad to hear you find our little town so pleasant.  Please, have a seat.  What can I help you with?”

Tom sat.  “Well, I hope you don't think what I’m about to say sounds crazy or anything.  I promise, I’m not nuts.  You see, last night I--” Vince handed him a steaming mug of sweet-smelling coffee.  “Thanks. As I was saying, last night I had a rather strange experience.”

The same look was again exchanged.  

“How so?” the Sheriff moved his chair closer.

“Well, round about nine-thirty, I got a knock on my door.  Naturally I was quite surprised to have anyone visit me at all, considering I just moved here, but I was especially surprised to have a visitor that late.”  He sipped the coffee.  “Thats good. Whats in this?”

“Just a bit a’whiskey, makes everything better.  Anyway, continue.” 

“Well as I was saying, I got a knock on my door last night.  When I opened it, it was, if you’ll believe me, a young girl.  She couldn’t have been more than six!”

Tom detected the slightest flinch from Vince and the Sheriff.  

“Really now?” John stroked his beard. “Go on,” he seemed interested.

“Well,” Tom took another sip to steady his mind, “she hardly spoke.  And as soon as she was there, she vanished.  I ran down the road; looked everywhere.  She was nowhere to be found.”

The Sheriff seemed surprisingly unfazed.

“What I’m asking, sir, is if anyone has gone missing recently.  This girl could have been lost, for all I know.  Hell, my home is so remote, I don't know what anyone would be doing out there that late, let alone a six year old child.”

The Sheriff took a deep breath. 

“We’ve had no reports of any missing persons, Tom.  Now I’m guessing that maybe it was a group of local kids playing a prank on you.  Maybe some teenagers out camping with their little sister decided to have a some fun with the new guy in town.  I wouldn’t worry about it too much.  If I hear anything though, I’ll let you know.”

Tom couldn't be sure, but he thought he noticed the Sheriff’s hand tremble, almost imperceptibly, as he reached for a pen.

 “Here’s my number, if anything ever happens again, don’t hesitate to call me.  Like I said though, I wouldn’t get too bent out of shape.  Kids here sometimes like to have a little fun at someone else’s expense.  God knows there isn't much else to do around here.” The Sheriff and the deputy laughed.  Tom tried to smile, but felt confused.

Before heading home, he stopped at the small store to buy a few things.  At the counter, the kindly looking older woman began to chat with him.

“My name’s Marsha, and my husband Bill and I own this store,” she said proudly.

Tom smiled, “It’s a fine establishment. My name is Tom Stratton.  I’m a bit new here; just bought the old Southerland home.”

The woman, who was placing groceries in a bag, jolted slightly, dropping a small jar of cherries which shattered on the floor.  Her face went slightly pale.

“Oh my, I am so sorry! I just get a little clumsy sometimes,” she moved to clean up the mess. 

“Let me,” Tom offered.    

“Oh, how nice of you.  I’ll go and get you another jar.”

As he drove up the densely wooded road to his new home, Tom’s mind began to drift to the night before.  Out of the corner of his eye, behind a tree, he thought he perceived the faintest movement.  The shadows, he thought, are getting to me.  The sun is setting, after all, and thats the time when the mind plays tricks.

Later that evening, as he sat in the cool evening air, his thoughts again continued to wander.  The flashbulb memory which had struck puzzled him.  Try as he might, he could not place it.  Yet he knew it was rising somewhere within him, trying to be let out and recognized.  Something in the child’s eyes had stirred it within him; had awakened a memory deep within his mind.  Yet he still could not place it. 

Sleep, shallow but satisfying, slowly overtook him.  He dreamt of the past, of the places he had been.  The people he had known.  The lives he had touched. 

Somewhere in the night, long after the deep orange rays hid behind the mountains, he awoke startled.  The living room was dark and still; the only light came from the flickering candles he had lit on the mantle.  A cool breeze swept through the open french doors leading in from the deck.  He breathed out a deep sigh.  It was the epitome of the stillness and silence of the dead of night.   

The candles flickered.  

As his eyes became heavy once more, and as the breeze fluttered past his face and neck, something stirred.  A voice, a whisper, floated in on the wind.

Guide me.

His eyes widened, searching the room.  In the darkness, broken only by dim candlelight, something stirred.  At the base of the wide, curving staircase, a shadow shifted and sighed.  

He sat up, slowly, eyes fixed on the base of the stair.  The tall window behind let in the dim moonlight, providing a faint silver illumination to the spot where the shadow stood.  As the clouds moved past, the light grew brighter.  

There, at the base of the stairs, stood the faint shadow of a woman, her figure framed from behind by the fractured silver rays of the moon.  Only her outline was visible.  

She stood, arms limply crossed around her, her head tilted towards him.  Her hair, which was only a flowing dark mass, tumbled around her shoulders.  Though he could not see them, Tom knew her eyes were on him.  A breeze once again flowed through the room.

Guide me.  The shadow shifted slightly. 

Tom moved to his knees on the couch, cautiously inching closer to the arm, as though he were approaching a bird. He spoke, slowly.

“What are you?” his voice trembled. 

Please, guide me.  You must know the way. Her shadowy arms moved towards him as she sank to her knees.  She stretched out a hand, dark and vaporous.  As she reached, he sat with bated breath, moving his hand slowly towards hers.  

Use the gift you know you possess--guide me once more to that safe haven. 

He moved nearer to her now, and as her hand reached him, it brushed his cheek.  Warm and tender, like a gentle wind on a summer night, it flowed past him.  Her outline moved away.

“Please, don’t go,” he begged.  The shadow became faint.  Her outline wavered, her flowing hair rustled in the breeze.  As the air moved faster, the clouds began to move once more and cover the moon.  The light began to fade.  

Use the power you know you have. The moonlight flickered one last time.

As the clouds finally blocked the silvery rays, her shape fell into a puddle of shadow, ran along the floor, enveloping him in her grace and gentleness, and finally rippled out of the room into the night.  The wind died out.  

Tom sat on the floor, trembling, tears in his eyes.  He wept until the light of morning pierced the house.

A Preview of What's to Come

Tom Stratton sat looking at the home on the hillside. In the dimming evening light, he could just perceive the details of its structure, giving subtle and warm life to its outline.  As the sun dipped below the tree line, the home began to vanish into the warm night air.  It was a special place, indeed.

Tom was an ordinary man, who did extraordinary things.  For fifteen years he had been a United Nations Relief Worker in some of the most besieged and strife-ridden parts of the globe.  From the middle east to Central America, he had spent nearly half his life helping those whom without him had next to nothing.  Tom never allowed his work to infiltrate his ego; in all things, he was level headed and kind.  He took pleasure in helping those less fortunate.

Throughout his experiences in conflict-ravished nations, Tom had always had one major responsibility.  He, along with a number of others like him, had always lead civilians and children out of combat zones.  After Desert Storm, he helped treat wounded Kuwaiti citizens; In Chechnya, he helped evacuate civilians from Grozny during the Russian siege.  Through all of this, he had seen the cost of human greed and hunger for power.  He was a wiser man because of it.

After fifteen years of helping those without hope, he felt it was time to stop--at least for now.  He had no doubt that he would return to his work one day; yet there comes a point when in helping others, oneself can be left neglected.  This is why Tom bought the house.

The next day he scribbled his signature on the deed, and felt the jingle of the keys as they dropped into his palm. 

This I Believe (Final)

     I believe in the transformative power of scientific knowledge. In the renewal that comes from discovering the world around us. In the breathtaking sense of wonderment and awe which follows the simple act of asking.

     Science is something which our society has all too often scorned. Most think that science is meant to stay in the classroom, an area of study far to abstract to have any meaning in our daily lives. The average person is generally hesitant, leaving ‘that sort of thing’ to the quirky, eccentric scientist. Yet society could not be farther from the truth. Science is everywhere. It pervades our very existence, linking us to the past, the future, and everything around us. Scientific thinking is the foundation of our existence. From the moment we are born, we are asking questions, doubting, seeking answers, and looking for new ways to test our preconceived notions. Whether newborn, Newton, or Einstein this inquisitive nature has been one of the most fundamental and defining aspects of what it means to be human. While throughout history the asking of questions has been scorned by religious and political authorities, never has the insurmountable spirit of creativity and curiosity been snuffed out. To ask questions and seek answers is the very wood upon which the fire of the human spirit burns.

     The journey of seeking and understanding has, and will continue to, transform not only our understanding of the world around us, but also our society as a whole. Humanity is, and always has been, plagued by jealousy, superstition, vanity and narrow-mindedness. Yet ask anyone in the sciences, and you will soon realize that these petty, vain instincts begin to melt away as one uncovers more and more about the universe in which we live. Along the path of knowledge, slowly but surely, one is forced to shed the yoke of egocentrism and face the ultimate fact that we are all gears in a grand cosmic machine. Each of us, no matter how old or young, is an integral part of the universe in which we live. The atoms and fundamental building blocks of matter which compose everything we see and touch, including ourselves, trace their lineage back to a cosmic origin. As Jill Tarter puts it, “we are, all of us, what happens when a primordial mixture of hydrogen and helium evolves for so long that it begins to ask where it came from.”

     Some may say that ignorance is bliss, but I say the opposite. I say that ignorance is bondage--bondage to generations of petty, selfish conflict which may prove too much for our society to handle. I believe in the power which comes from looking at the world through a much more detailed perspective. I believe that, above all, knowledge and curiosity will set you free. I believe that, in order guarantee our survival, we must all strive to indulge our natural curiosity and never be afraid to seek what lies beyond--whether that be beyond the next hill, mountain, ocean, or galaxy. Ultimately, we must live or lives with a careful consciousness of our fellow man, seeking ways in which we can help those around us. It is imperative that we shed our sense of self-entitlement, and realize that we are all part of the same universe. That universe spins slowly and beautifully around us, and no matter who we are, we are all on this journey together. So take a moment to ask a question. Find something that amazes you. Then seek the answer.  

This I Believe

This is a rough, still in progress essay for my english class.  The prompt is "This I Believe." I will post an updated version when it is completed!

    
      I believe in the transformative power of scientific knowledge. In the renewal that comes with discovering the world around us. In the breathtaking sense of wonderment and awe which comes with the simple act of asking.

     Science is something which our society has all to often scorned. Most think that science is meant to stay in the classroom, an area of study far to abstract to have any meaning in our daily lives. The average person shudders at the idea of studying anything scientific, leaving ‘that sort of thing’ to the quirky, eccentric scientist. Yet society could not be farther from the truth. Science is everywhere. It pervades our very existence, linking us to the past, the future, and everything around us. Scientific thinking is the foundation of our existence. From the moment we are born we are asking questions, doubting, seeking answers, and looking for new ways to test our preconceived notions. Whether newborn, Newton, or Einstein this inquisitive nature has been one of the most fundamental and defining aspects of what it means to be human. While throughout history the asking of questions has been scorned and discouraged, never has the insurmountable spirit of creativity and curiosity been snuffed out. To ask questions and seek answers is the very wood upon which the fire of the human spirit burns.

     The journey of seeking and understanding has, and will continue to be, a transforming influence on not only our understanding of the world around us, but on our society as a whole. Humanity is, and always has been, plagued by jealousy, superstition, vanity and narrow-mindedness. Yet ask anyone in the sciences, and you will soon realize that these petty, vain instincts soon begin to melt away as one slowly uncovers more and more about the universe in which we live. Along the path of knowledge, slowly but surely, one is forced to shed the yoke of egocentrism and face the ultimate fact that we are all simply gears in the grand cosmic machine. Each of us, no matter how old or young, is an integral part of the universe in which we live. The atoms and fundamental building blocks of matter which compose everything we see and touch, including ourselves, trace their lineage back to a cosmic origin. As Jill Tarter puts it, “we are, all of us, what happens when a primordial mixture of hydrogen and helium evolves for so long that it begins to ask where it came from.”

     Some may say that ignorance is bliss, but I say the opposite. I say that ignorance is bondage--bondage to generations of petty, selfish conflict which may prove too much for our society to handle. I believe in the power which comes from looking at the world through a much more detailed perspective. I believe that, above all, knowledge and curiosity will set you free. I believe that, in order guarantee our survival, we must all strive to indulge our natural curiosity and never be afraid to seek what lies beyond--whether that be beyond the next hill, mountain, ocean, or galaxy. Ultimately, we must live or lives with a careful consciousness of our fellow man, seeking ways in which we can help those around us. It is imperative that we shed our sense of self-entitlement, and realize that we are all a part of the same universe. That universe spins slowly and beautifully around us, and no matter who we are, we are all on this journey together. So take a moment to ask a question. Find something that amazes you. Then seek the answer.  

The Bullrider

Through the cage bars he could just make it out.  Snorting, groaning, and just plain mad.  The massive creature bucked and kicked, struggling to free itself.  

“Damn” he thought, “I cant believe I’m dumb enough to actually ride these things.”

Suddenly, the angry eye of the bull met his through the cage, and he could feel the anger and strength in its body.  But he didn’t have more than a few seconds to contemplate it.  He felt a hand on his shoulder, and Bill’s gruff voice broke through the commotion.  

“You ready son?” he asked

Dustin hesitated a moment.  This was no time to turn back.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess” he gasped

Bill could read his fear, but he did not acknowledge it.  He knew all to well what Dustin was feeling; he had been in this same place thirty years ago.

“Just remember to keep your heard on and hold tight.  As soon as they open that gate this thing’s gonna throw you around like a Barbie, and thats no time to lose your wits.” He stopped to yell orders to the handlers.

“And whatever you do, don’t goddamn fall off! It’s only eight seconds!”

With that the pep talk was over and it was time to get to business.

The crowd was going wild as the announcer started his introduction

“Ladies and Gentlemen, our net rider is Dustin Thomas of College Station, Texas.  This is his first year here in Ellensburg, so lets make him feel welcome!”

The crowd cheered, but he could not hear them over the sound of his own heart.

“Now I tell you Frank, this guy is about as tough as they come,” the announced exclaimed.

“Thats right Joe, he’s been riding these things since before he could probably walk! Wonder whats going through his head right now as he’s gettin himself strapped in?”

Nothing.  Absolutely nothing, except the monster he was strapping himself to.  By now, he was already settling on it’s back, trying to stay upright as the others helped him on.  For the first time he could feel the full force of its strength as it heaved beneath him.  

“Starlight,” he whispered, “Hell of a nice name for such a pissed off bull.” He tossed his head back with a nervous laugh.

“Hey, you’d be pretty pissed off too if we pulled a strap around your balls kid,” Tom said, attempting to ease his nervousness.  

Adjusting the straps around his hands tightly, he looked out at the stands.

“She’s out there, somewhere,” he thought

The announcer’s voice boomed.

“Dustin is going to be riding a bull named Starlight, and I tell ya’ thats gotta be the meanest damn animal I have ever seen.  I hate that thing Frank, I really do.”

With that, Dustin threw a glance to Tom.  After a nervous thumbs up, he offered a nod, to which Dustin replied with a tip of his hat.  With a metallic clink, the gate was flung open.

Suddenly, the full fury of the animal was upon him as he felt it erupt beneath him.  The arena became a massive, jolting blur, as he held for dear life.  Buck after buck, time seemed to slow.  Feeling himself sliding to the right, he grasped his straps and pulled with all his strength to attempt to right himself.  Sensing Dustin shifting on his back, the massive animal kicked with a renewed fury.  Suddenly, the bull was nearly on its hind legs, kicking and writhing with every fiber of its being.  Dustin felt his grip loosen and his thighs lose their grasp around the animal’s sides.  Before he could realize it, the Bull gave out one last kick, and he felt his feet leave the fleshy flanks.  The world briefly inverted then went black with a dirty opacity.  The soft stadium dirt cushioned him, but he was instantly aware of a shooting pain in his leg.  He could hear the collective sigh of relief from the audience as he rolled himself painfully to his back.  Through the haze, he could hear the announced screaming.

“That bull just jumped the fence and made out towards the parking lot! I cant believe this! Ladies and Gentlemen, please, stay seated! Our ropers are some of the finest, they’ll nab him!”

Dustin couldn't help but grin weakly.  By now he could see Tom and the medics looking down at him.

“You’ll be all right son,” Tom reassured him.  “Starlight just took you for one hell of a ride.”

“My leg.” Dustin moaned.

“We got you, just don’t move,” the medic said.

As he lay there wincing, he remembered- the clock.  In all the commotion, he had completely forgotten to watch for his time.  He slowly raised himself up on his elbows and squinted at the timer over the bullpen.  A painful smile formed at the corners of his mouth

“Eight seconds,” he whispered.   

Copyright Chris Pattillo September 2011

The Importance of Skepticism

Nota Bene: This piece is meant in no way to reflect badly on religion or those who are religious themselves.  It is simply meant to reflect my musings on the concept of skepticism, in this case applied to my personal journey in regards to religion.

Skepticism is defined as "an attitude of doubt or a disposition to incredulity either in general or toward a particular object."  But what is skepticism to the common person? How does this way of thinking affect us in our daily lives, and how can we apply it to ourselves in a constructive way?


To be skeptical is to be human, that is, to be human is to doubt things.  Topics that garner skepticism vary from science to religion.  Many think of skepticism as an almost negative state of mind- and those seen as skeptics of established norms are often looked at as outsiders (even heretics, historically).  


But what does the journey to skepticism entail? Well, most of the times it begins with a simple question: Is my belief true? The first seeds of doubt usually plant themselves as questions of legitimacy.  For me, this became a key question in my understanding of religion.  For years I had simply accepted the legitimacy of my deep set religious beliefs, as they were around me constantly- in school, at home, and in literature. But as I began to analyze these views for myself, the whispering voice of skepticism hummed in the back of my mind.  I was forced to face the reality that I may not have been truly as convinced as I believed.  Initially, this was somewhat frightening.  Tearing away one's deep set belief system is never easy, and the gradual departure from my religious views took time.  Before long, my skepticism was full fledged, and I found myself unable to continue with the belief.


As a person of science, I find that skepticism is essential to the scientific mindset.  Whenever something is presented as fact, I find myself usually with a few nagging questions.  This is good for anyone however-  to doubt is to engage in the process of seeking the truth.  If something is legitimately and unarguably true, you shouldn't doubt it.  Conversely, this does not necessarily mean that if  you doubt something it is wrong- it just means that you are engaging in the process of proving it to yourself.  Along the course of the way, you may even find that a deep set belief is no longer supported enough to be believed in any longer.


Does this mean that everything should constantly be questioned? Well, it is  important to note that some things should almost be allowed to remain mysterious.  Take love, for example.  If you love somebody, and you are sure they love you back, it is unhealthy to remain doubtful throughout the relationship.  If you wake every morning finding yourself needing more and more proof that she loves you, you will soon cause a deep rift in the romance.  Unless there is real reason to believe the person's love is waning, accept it whole-heartedly.  


So, what is the point of all this? Well, ultimately, as I have said above, the goal is the attainment of truth. One should constantly be seeking truth and reality, in order to clearly see the and live in a real world.  It may be difficult at first, but the finality will be even more rewarding.