If the Universe as we know it had really just sprung up spontaneously – less likely started as a fantastic, utterly complex blueprint of a project of some powerful albeit crazy maker but rather had the origins of something like a spur-of-the-moment such as a fart – then less complex beings such as you, and I, and the Andromeda galaxy, and the growth of a fetus in the womb, and the unexplained intricacies of the brain, and Love are just mere accidents; concepts that are by-products of an unplanned existence, not really a whole lot different from being illusions.
And simply because of that (or maybe because of wounded pride to have the same status as a fart) that I am more than willing to believe otherwise – that everything is with purpose, planned, and not just an emission of a swirling chaos the size of, say, a Universe. There may be no proof of our “planned” existence or the seemingly purposeless, heinous offenses happening in this plane of existence, and I remain to have doubts if proof could ever be found or if we could even recognize it if it is displayed in front of our eyes.
But sometimes, sometimes blind faith can defy logic at its prime. Sometimes blind faith seems to be the only thing that could make sense of our seemingly chaotic lives.
Now stone me to cyberdeath.