How I Became A Spiritual Atheist

There’s a cardinal that appears regularly in my mum’s garden that my mum is certain is my deceased father reincarnated. I think the idea is a bit far fetched, but I would never slander her belief since it brings her joy thinking my dad is there watching us.
 
Belief is a funny thing. I don’t believe in God. For years I identified myself as nothing but a skeptic and an atheist. If I couldn’t see it, smell it, touch it, taste it, hear it, or feel it, it didn’t exist. Not to say anything against anyone else’s belief systems, of course. You could believe that bunnies rule the planet and I wouldn’t care. My issue is when those belief systems infringe on people’s rights and are used as a tool to control the masses. (This could easily segue into how I despise religion as an institution, however that is for a whole other blog post.)
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My journey into becoming more spiritual started with astrology. I’ve always identified with my sun sign, so much so that I got a tattoo of the Aries symbol when I was eighteen on my hipbone. Like any true Aries, the tattoo idea was very spontaneous and I didn’t really think it through before going to the tattoo parlour. (I am happy to report, however, despite my impulsivity I don’t regret the tattoo one bit!)

Despite my interest in astrology, it was never something I truly believed in. It was fun, but not something I lived my life by.  Then, a few years ago I learned the full extent of astrology, discovering the entirety of my birth chart. It blew my mind how accurate it was. Nevertheless, I still struggled with completely accepting this as a belief system because of my strict secular values. 

It wasn’t until last year when everything changed for me. Coincidences started piling up like lego. Things happened exactly when they needed to. I laughed it off the first couple of times, my critical brain taking over and trying to see reason. But then it started happening again, and again… and again. I was in a toxic relationship last year which I shouldn’t have been in. A few months into it, events and coincidences kept popping up disallowing us from seeing each other. It was if the universe was telling me ‘this isn’t right.’ Towards Christmas, I tempted fate by meeting up with him despite having a tonsil infection and looking like a chipmunk. I remember thinking, ‘the universe is probably telling me not to do this, but fuck it.’ That night I made out with him. (I still don’t know how that was possible considering I could barely open my mouth to fit a teaspoon.) We also said some words which stained our relationship further, leading to even more heartbreak on my end down the line. The universe was right. 
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Last year I also attained a keen interest in Tarot. The accuracy of some of the readings astonished me, even, sometimes, to the point of tears. Despite all of these coincidences and signs, there is a large part of me that is still ruled by my rational brain. I know that humans are a species that yearn for understanding. We invented Gods as an explanation for day and night before we learned about the sun and the moon. Believing there is someplace to go after you die lessons the fear of death. There’s a comfort in knowing something bigger than us is out there watching over us, whether that be a deity or just energy from the universe. I’ve since opened my eyes from being a hard atheist to someone who’s accepting of spirituality. No one knows what’s out there. Claiming that nothing is without certainty is proving arrogance.