I'm an atheist and an active participant in debate groups about skepticism vs Christianity, and skepticism vs religion in general. These are neat groups and I have met many intelligent believers and skeptics through them. I've also met very unintelligent skeptics and believers because of them. More than anything else though because of these groups I've been introduced to bad arguments. If you go onto these groups you'll hear bad arguments from both sides, but I want to address one from the Christian camp in this post. If after you read this post and want me to write more stuff like this let me know. 

There are some Christians (not all Christians think this way, so if you want to comment keep that in mind) who believe that skeptics "hate God". This is not true. At all. In fact it's so untrue that there's actually a word for people who "hate God(s)". And guess what? That word isn't "atheist", it's actually "misotheist". A misotheist is someone who hates God or the gods. Atheists do not hate God or the gods, and many skeptics who say that they "dislike" deities mean in the same sense that readers dislike Voldemort or any other antagonist in a literary piece. The implication with misotheism is that these are men and women who believe a deity (or deities) exists and that for whatever reason these beings ought to be hated and are hated at least by misotheists. An example of a misotheist can be found in the movie "God's Not Dead" in the antagonist Professor Radisson. Misotheism and atheism are not the same and I want to operate under the assumption that the Christians who think that atheism=misotheism are merely misinformed and not individuals who seek to confuse others into thinking this way. 

As a skeptic I have no opinion on God. I do not hate or like God. In order for me to have an opinion on God that would make sense to me I'd have to believe in God or in some deity which I don't. When Christians say that atheists hate God it doesn't make any sense to most of us. We understand the purpose behind it: to find some way to rationalize our disbelief in a Christian worldview but it doesn't actually make sense in the real world that we all have to share. My lack of a belief in something you believe in is not in anyway a sign that I hate the thing I claim to not believe in.

I must respectfully ask that Christians who claim skeptics hate God stop making that claim. It's dishonest. I can assure you that as an atheist I do not hate your deity. I don't even really hate your religion. Or you. I hate the behavior of some members of your faction and I'm sure that you can say the same for some members of my group. But that doesn't mean that I'm "suppressing the truth in unrighteousness". I'm merely neutral towards a claim that you make until I see evidence which demonstrates that the claim is reflective of reality. I don't think there's anything wrong with needing evidence to believe in something and I'm sure that many of you don't either, perhaps it's just that what qualifies as evidence to the two of us differs. 

Christians who think that atheists hate God: you believing this isn't going to convince skeptics who know that they merely lack a belief to seriously consider your religion. If anything you'll make yourselves and others who agree with you look silly. You'll also make it harder for us to set aside our differences and genuinely engage in well-meaning dialogue. Please consider this when you next contemplate spreading statements that either imply or out right state that nonbelievers hate your deity. If you want to change the minds of skeptics you need to properly understand the position of skepticism and if you think this way that's proof you don't properly understand the minds of skeptics. And it's possible that you might have thought you were a skeptic when you were actually more properly defined as a misotheist. There's nothing wrong with misotheism and many cultures and belief systems have deities you are supposed to dislike, deities who represent elements that invoke sensations of misotheism in believers in those systems. Keep that in mind.

I hope we can engage in productive dialogues and learn how to treat each other with respect and communicate despite our differences of opinions and beliefs. Let's sincerely listen to each other with respect! Let me know what you think of what I've said here by leaving a comment. I'd love to chat with you.

A line will be crossed

When the Moon hits Cancer

And Jupiter sets

As all stars fall to Earth

And the Rings of Saturn

Cast a shadow below

Like the chalk of a child

Drawing moonbeams in sand

But the moment you cross it

You will try to look back

And with pride or confusion

Nosing frantically in dirt

Your line will evaporate

Because it was gasoline ink

And a fire ignited

And then it was gone

Under the Sun of Irony

And the last meteor flash

You stumbled over your trip

Of a trap called The Same

And your fumble will spark

The poof of your line

From the asphalt-furred tongue

To the wavy grey flames

Of petroleum Blues

You will dance in the heat

Losing The Way to New Truth

All over a line and a shadow

Unser the sparrows that mourn

And the lions that fast

And although the line escaped

Its illusion won the fight

Because if existence is theory

In the Mind of the Truth

Then seeking vegetation in history

Where yesterday meets

With tomorrow's daydreams

And life trapped in a sidewalk

Where the answer is "no"

You'll be caught in the sound

Frequency built on hysteria

Vibrating rough and rushing ahead

And divided by the fumes

For only The Chosen to see

We the people won't divide

We simply will unite

We the people shine our pride

We band and stand to fight

We the people must align

No matter black or white

We the people are the sign

We only make things right

We the people overcome

Regardless of our creed

We the people, not just some

All share a common need

We the people get to love

No matter, gay or straight

We the people conquer fear

We all can conquer hate

We the people have the will

We exercise belief

We the people, stronger still

Must comfort those in grief

We the people make this land

The yellow and the red

We the people, hand in hand

The melting pot gets fed

We the people get to choose

This country is our voice

We the people didn't lose

We still are given choice

We the people have a chance

Religious freedom here

We the people make a stance

To rise and make it clear

We the people must be one

We mustn't slip and fall

We the people are the sun

We'll shine above it all

We the people, not one man

Or woman, duly give

We the people have a plan

Let's love and laugh and live

We the people march to say

The anthem shall persist

We the people, rainbow rock

Together we resist ...

Crow perched upon a high branch, drawn to the fresh corpses below by gluttonous hunger. There was a dangerous-smelling man sitting at a fire nearby that left Crow a bit wary, elsewise Crow would have been feasting on the banquet of fresh death unconcerned. Instead, Crow pondered if the delicious corpses were some form of trap to catch unclever crows.

Caw!

The man looked up and smirked at Crow, as if he was waiting for him. Crow studied the man untrusting, and how the shadows surrounding the man seemed angry. Crow’s desire to steal a taste from the fresh bodies ended up trumping his distrust though. Crow glided down and settled on the human corpse, wings taunt, poised to burst into flight if the man indeed tried to trap Crow.

Caw! Caw!

The man laughed as if he could read Crow’s thoughts and cawed back, “Go ahead, clever crow. Feast! Leave nothing behind but his fuckin’ bones!” Shadows flickered violently.

Crow responded to the man’s invitation by ripping off a morsel of the sweet flesh from the opened neck. As Crow ate, slowly another brother from his murder flew in to join his feast, then a sister. Once the corpses were being devoured by the full murder; the man laughed his awful laugh, and cawed at them all, “Yes! Leave nothing behind...”

The murder of crows cut off the rest of his words:

Caw-Caw-Caw-Caw…

~~~

Detective Elliot spat in defiant disgust, as he looked up into the trees, never believing so many damn crows could cluster together; cawing their collective rage.

It was ominous to witness. It was irritating to listen to. It made the crime scene feel even more grim. Between the morbid display of the bodies and how the lighting threw queer shadows that seemed unbound, the scene didn’t need any help with its sense of grimness.

“Is there anything we can do about the damned birds?”

“Sorry Detective, we figured just working the scene would have eventually driven them all away,” the forensics tech responded, leaving the rest of what he wanted to say unsaid.

Detective Elliot gave the tech a slight disgruntled nod and turned his focus back to the two corpses. Both more bones than flesh now.

“Any idea why the killed deer was placed next to our John Doe like that?”

“Not sure the motive, detective. However, it definitely attracted the carrion feeders quickly.”

“Anything else odd or out of place you’ve found so far?”

“The victim’s ring finger is missing and the bone appears to have been cut.”

“Hmmmm...” Detective Elliot took in the scene, so much familiar, yet so much uniquely out of place. Odd pieces to an all-too-familiar puzzle. Puzzles compelled him forward. He had a talent making the pieces fall into place. That was why he was given these grim cases.

Caw-Caw-Caw-Caw…

Detective Elliot looked forward to finding the bastard that committed this crime. There were hearts that probably needed closure, and justice that needed to be administered. He hoped punitively.

Caw-Caw-Caw-Caw…

“Can someone do something about these damned crows?”

~~~

I can still feel the echo of my throat being slit, as I watch the detective and the other’s study my lifeless body. A body I do not even recognize at this point, no small thanks to the crows.

I can still recall how the blood spilled from my neck as the investigator probes what was once a simple gash.

I can still recall the feeling of trying to take a breath but drowning on my own blood instead.

I recall the exact moment of my death. My soul suddenly watching my killer hold my lifeless form, a feral smile of satisfaction on his smug, bastard face. I recall trying to attack him, but only an echo of my former shadow seemed to glance him, with little to no meaningful outcome.

To think I pitied him. To have agreed to take him with me on my usual solitary hunting trip as an act of kindness and fellowship.

The bastard lied about it all! He lied being me being one of his few friends, about his lack of hunting expertise, and about never being to this spot before. Watching him now as a shade of what I was, it was obvious he had an intimacy with this place, with my particular hunting spot. He didn’t just have a moment of passion; my murder was something planned, over a long period of time.

I recall when that crow finally chanced to feast upon my dead corpse. Choosing mine over the deer’s. I recall the rage that filled me when I felt the words, “Go ahead, clever crow. Feast. Leave nothing behind but his fuckin’ bones!” How I raged.

I knew at that moment, I desired vengeance and be damned if that vengeance sent me straight to hell!

Perhaps I should follow this detective for a time. Perhaps the most I can hope for is to find a way to nudge the detective to the direction of my killer and at least give me some justice.

I recall the haunting sound of the murder of crows when they feasting on my former form.

Caw-Caw-Caw-Caw…

Screw that! I would rather have vengeance. I just don’t know how I will get it...YET!

~~~

“Mrs. Losstrum,” Detective Elliot said somberly, with a balanced compassion, “we have found your missing husband.” Elliot waited for her to respond, but notice she could read the news was not good. Instead she tensed, waiting for the blow. Elliot, more gently continued, “I am afraid to inform you that he was found murdered in the woods.”

Mrs. Losstrum wept. She wept in a way that didn’t make Elliot question that she was sincere in her loss. He still needed to ask her questions though. It was always harder to ask the questions to the innocent, but in these next moments, the subconscious tended to provide the best clues forward.

“Why would someone just want to kill him for no reason?” she eventually asked aimlessly.

“Why do you believe there was no reason?” Elliot replied, curious.

“Well, he always hunted alone and no one knew where his secret spot was. He never even shared it with me.”

Elliot pondered what she said, but didn’t say more. Perhaps it was a kindness to let her believe it was a random act. Too many hints of brutal intimacy for him to believe it was. More likely it was someone Mr. Losstrum knew and trusted.

“May I ask another question?” Elliot asked without waiting for permission to, “Can you describe his wedding ring? We couldn’t find it at the site.”

As Mrs. Losstrum began to described the simple silver band, marked with only two tiny sapphires, she broke down again in a pool of uncontrollable sobs. All he could do was watch the shadow of her on the wall and in a trick of the light, another shadow comforting her.

The illusion gave him a chill down his back and for the first time since visiting the crime scene, he thought about all of the crows and their shrill song, but it came out as:

We know-We know-We know…

~~~

“...and how well would you say you knew Mr. Losstrum?” the detective asked.

“Not well,” the man lied, while imagining how beautiful it would be to slice open this bastard cop’s neck wide open, frustrated that the bastard was interogating the staff from Steven’s old office. It was dangerously shrewd, a cruel genius to do it in a room with so much...familiarity. Easy to lie, harder to lie with the feeling of a ghost watching you. “I mean Steven and I obviously worked together and tended to be the last ones out of the office, but we really never socialized outside of the office.”

“Did Mr. Losstrum mention his hunting trip at all in one of those late nights?”

“No,” he lied easily again. Although, it took effort for him not to smile thinking about the crow eating Steven’s corpse and telling the crow to leave nothing behind but the fuckin’ bones!

“Did you know his wife?”

“No,” he lied, even as she bloomed fully into his imagination, a forbidden fruit almost in reach now, almost all obstacles out of the way. Steven had everything he wanted. Now everything Steven had was slowly becoming his. The wife was the last prize and was only a matter of time, even if she was to be a singular taste.

The detective’s shadow seemed to dance violently at that thought.

A picture frame on Steven’s desk suddenly fell over, brushed only by the shadow. It was a picture of the wife. It was impossible not to look at her for more than just a moment, his final prize.

“I mean, I met her briefly at office parties, but that was about it.”

“I see,” said the detective, “thank you for your time, Mr. Gilmore.”

“Anything to help,” Gilmore replied, shaking the bastard cop’s hand while dreaming again about slicing his throat. The detective left him wary. The way shadows taunted him since killing Steven made him edgy. The detective’s shadow seemed to shift regardless of movement of his body. It made him think the crow cawing:

He knows-he knows-he knows...

Yes, this bastard cop just might know. He might need to die for it too.

~~~

Detective Elliot looked at the body crumpled like a ragdoll at the bottom of the stairwell. If the poor bastard didn’t die of a broken neck, thought Elliot, he died from every other bone being broken. The wall was nearly as broken as the man. The head resembled a smashed fruit. It was as if someone shot the poor bastard out of a canon from the top of the stairs. It was a scene of disbelief.

“Detective! You’ll want to see this!”

Elliot turned and followed the officer to the landlord’s office. There, they replayed the close-circuit security feeds of the stairwell and the hallway leading to it. He watched the victim leave his apartment alone.

“Pause it! Yeah, right there!”

Detective Elliot studied the face. He knew that face. It was that Don Gilmore that he interviewed a few weeks back regarding the Losstrum murder. He got an odd feeling about the man, but nothing solid that would have put Gilmore anywhere near the top of the suspect listof Mr. Losstrum’s murder.

“Detective?”

“Oh, sorry. It is just I met this man not too long ago. Go ahead, and continue the video.”

Elliot watched as Don Gilmore got to the top of the stairway. Then, he saw something unbelievable.

“Go back. Play that again!”

“I told you that you needed to see it, detective!”

They played the scene a second time. A third in slow motion. Don Gilmore’s body flails at the top of the stairwell as if he was suddenly pushed impossibly hard from behind. Yet, after his body starts to fly down the stairs, his shadow seemed to stay behind at the top of the stairs.

They watched each feed dozen more times, to see if there was anyone else there. The videos seemed to show no one else, just Gilmore and his queer shadow.

Elliott recalled how shadows seemed to actively haunt the Losstrum case. He gut screamed a suspicion.

“I would like to look in his apartment, please...”

The landlord lead Elliot into Don Gilmore’s small apartment. It didn’t take long to find what his instincts suddenly urged him to look for. Sitting naked, alone on Don Gilmore’s nightstand was a simple ring of silver. Looking closer, a simple ring of silver with two tiny sapphires.

Elliot had a vibe go up his spine. He could almost hear a crow caw:

See...See...See...

Elliot solved one case in that moment. He knew this new case would always be a mystery. Who would believe that a man was killed by a shadow pretending to be his own?

Morning of day and blackness of night

To meet each other  they always fight.

Love of  sun and moon is really pure and right

To make his lover bright sun gives her light.

Moon always try to say thanks to her lover

But his bright light can't make it possible ever.

I have a good news for these true lover

On judgement day you will hug each other.

This is the promise not from me but from almighty

He appriciate your true love and sincerity.

It had always been your hobby.  You would knead and roll the modelling clay between your fingers.  You would shape it, building up a beautiful creation - the perfect amount of pressure applied to make it seem natural.  If it didn't shape to your standards, you added temper.  You worked and worked until it was finished. 

Until I was finished. 

But like all your creations, you were never satisfied.  Like all your creations you built me up, and then crushed me.

Nothing but a wad of clay in your hands.

Only to shape me once more, until I was something you were proud of. 

My spirit is broken

My weakness has been revealed

Will I ever be myself again?

Will I ever be healed?

My soul is wrecked

Every layer has been pealed

Hurt grows deeper

Will I ever be healed?

My life will never be the same

What will it take to rebuild?

Looking for a cure to restore

I want to be healed

He's like a cup of coffee,

Early in the morning,

As the sun breaks the clouds,

And birds chirp in sleepy protest.

Waking up with him

Is like seeing the world,

For the first time,

Every morning.

Broken

Words unspoken

Tears unshed

Emotions trapped in the head

Closing in and in

A spiralling din

Clanging in the skull

Leaving an empty hull

Where nothing ever entered

Raw abuse, uncensored

Throw bad in the void

Nervous, jumpy, paranoid

Expect the unexpected

Know life is disrespected

Absorb the pain

For others' gain