Prayer seems to me a cry of weakness, and an attempt to avoid, by
trickery, the rules of the game as laid down. I do not choose to admit
weakness. I accept the challenge of responsibility. Life, as it is, does
not frighten me, since I have made my peace with the universe as I find
it, and bow to its laws. The ever-sleepless sea in its bed, crying out
"how long?" to Time; million-formed and never motionless flame; the
contemplation of these two aspects alone, affords me sufficient food for
ten spans of my expected lifetime. It seems to me that organized creeds
are collections of words around a wish. I feel no need for such.
However, I would not, by word or deed, attempt to deprive another of the
consolation it affords. It is simply not for me. Somebody else may have
my rapturous glance at the archangels. The springing of the yellow line
of morning out of the misty deep of dawn, is glory enough for me. I
know that nothing is destructible; things merely change forms. When the
consciousness we know as life ceases, I know that I shall still be part
and parcel of the world. I was a part before the sun rolled into shape
and burst forth in the glory of change. I was, when the earth was hurled
out from its fiery rim. I shall return with the earth to Father Sun,
and still exist in substance when the sun has lost its fire, and
disintegrated into infinity to perhaps become a part of the whirling
rubble of space. Why fear? The stuff of my being is matter, ever
changing, ever moving, but never lost; so what need of denominations and
creeds to deny myself the comfort of all my fellow men? The wide belt
of the universe has no need for finger-rings. I am one with the infinite
and need no other assurance.
"Religion," from Dust Tracks on a Road
Zora Neale Hurston (1942)