I must say, the last year or so has been a wild ride. Meeting so many wonderful people, getting so many hugs, showing and being shown so much love. It warms the heart, it makes me proud and feel like this is what life should be. Lately though, those feelings have turned to a kind of sadness that I just can't explain. One that haunts and disturbs me. When I first came into activism, it was just a passion. One girl with a blog, a vocabulary that was utterly passionate, and a dream. I was charged, and madly, deeply driven by passion I had gotten from the likes of Dawkins and Hitchens. I could see the way I wanted life to be, and how oppressive religion was, how it tore men down and broke their spirits, and destroyed the very natural fabric of man. Now almost two years later, I sit at my kitchen table thinking, how do I go on? How can I do this, when the fire is dying inside. I don't feel inspired, worst of al I don't even feel like writing, or doing a podcast or standing ...
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