If there is something in this world worse than desolation, I cannot name it. It is like being torn away from the sun. In lightless, directionless drift, there isn't anything to guide me, or provide meaning to my motions. Existing is terrifying. There needs to be something else. Nothing happens. Nothing is there to happen.

I think desolation comes from a separation of the soul. Not necessarily from other souls, but from everything. From the whole person. And there's this tearing, because I'm stuck on both sides and they can't reach one another. I'm the soul on the one side, miserable and whimpering, her face pushed into her knees, holding out her hand and waiting for someone to take it, and I'm the Other, the mind part, trying to find some way to shape nothingness into a tool so that I can swim across the void, and get to her.

To be alone... to be alone isn't just being apart from other people. That's a flimsy sort of loneliness compared to this. Being desolate is being apart from yourself, unable to reach yourself no matter what method you try to employ. No screaming silence. No forceful immersion in worlds of words. The last resolve is simply nothing.

It is in nothing that the answers finally materialise. Because all I'm really missing is the chance to talk to myself. The Other keeps pulling levers and pushing buttons, waiting for some effect because that's what it always does. It rocks the soul and gives it food and scrapes the filth clinging to it as though it were an infant, attending to mechanical needs. But she isn't a child. Sometimes she just needs to talk in her own wordless language, and hear the Other say things back.

I'm still light-years away from myself. But it's light that bridges the distance, and makes me me again.

A collision of worlds would just be another sort of hell.

I don't actually know what to call this one. Something to do with 'Religion' and 'Faith', I guess.

Religion has to be one of the most interesting fields of inquiry in an ocean of interesting fields. I say this because a lot of those fields, such as engineering, biology and cosmology, run on sound scientific principles. Religion does not - at the very least in the mind of scientists. In large part the idea of faith has inspired the mystique of non-scientific religion, even embodied it. This annoys logical people. Which means that they don't often take a good look at religion, when it really is something that does need a good long objective look.
There are certain great benefits to having a religion. For starters, it puts one in touch with like-minded individuals. This is probably why marriage has for the course of human history been primarily a religious institution - because you are most likely to bond with someone who holds the same world views as you do. This factor of religion extends to several other human needs too - counselling for those who need a second mind to help them think in a different way to their own, financial and emotional support from informed investors (described at its best, though at its worst, charity), a 'think tank' to face events that effect a wide population, and a gathering point for people to share experience and knowledge. On the last, it is interesting to note that churches were an equivalent to market places in The Middle Ages - a meeting place for guilds, traders, to watch plays and store goods. Prostitution was even practiced in churches up until the 13th century.

As for non-communal benefits, religion offers a degree of stability that is lacking in a mind that simply renounces existentialities rather than finding one to uphold. We all look for meaning in life (even nihilists, while alive, have reason to live), but science alone does not provide it. What science provides is an understanding of the principles on which life is based, how individual lives connect and how truly versatile meaning becomes in being applied to different topics. It is not an answer to an abstract, but provides concrete examples of how an abstract is realised. Religion bypasses the process of this investigation by putting faith in another entity’s answer. Science bypasses the attainment of an answer by accumulating all the data relevant to the question. Without some degree of faith, without acting on the understanding that all the data will not coalesce in one place, science will never provide answers about morality, or death, or the scope of the universe. Having a mind open on all sides is like having a box made of lids – nothing ever stays inside it. This is why science operates on a collection of ‘theories’. It admits that facts are fluid, often changing from generation to generation the more we discover.

I’ve come to understand that in life I crave the stability that science alone cannot offer. I need rules. I need a programmable solution to every situation I am presented with. Clear, moral goals. I am not a pure observer, nor am I a raw functionary of another’s arbitrary will, be it instinct or religion. So I require something else. There’s this sort of inner code of behaviour I follow, based on deeply rooted facts (Code) and more fleeting instances of working theory (Coda). They unite to form what is to me a self-evolved religion, which I call Librarianism, for a librarian is what I am at my most ordered moments, when the code runs clean.

What seems to me to separate one human being from another is our function – not our tastes or hobbies or the company we keep, but our work. There are very few animals in this world that actually specialise their labour, and lack this distinct means of individual coding. But for humans, it’s practically a requirement. It’s why above anything I’m interested in what people do. I believe when people have found a career path that means everything to them, it reflects their inner response systems for dealing with all physical permutations of that career. Metaphysically speaking a library is a place where the librarian pairs up the client with the experience of the most value to them. A virologist studies and seeks cures for infections, both biological and emotional. A teacher is more clearly illustrated without metaphor, because teaching need not be restricted to the classroom, and can extend to every interaction.

These, it seems to me, are what shall become the new religions of the 21^st century. The ‘meaning of life’ they provide is in the service of a function. Their ‘morality’ is in the attainment of efficiency and productivity. Their response to death? Simply to live. To know that the work that one has done held havoc in check, and left an immortal mark on the course of history.

*

That said, I am a Librarian. Between my other projects (of which there are numerous and unending, left unfinished in the style of Da Vinci: charming but tragically incomplete) I take moments to consider the full capacity of a librarian’s existence. To me, these are no more perfectly stated than through the attainment of four characteristics: Logic, Memory, Focus, and Initiative.

It’s quite right to say that these four are not restricted to the field of the archivist. If anything, they are attributes of a brilliant mind. The intention is that these attributes of mind are to be used in concert with the purpose to which they need be put, by which their contemplation draws out certain truths about the morality of a librarian. How does a librarian use their memory? Quite simply by not remembering everything in existence, and instead creating an index through which information can be quickly recovered from their archive. How does a librarian apply initiative? By reading. Reading lets a librarian become aware of all situations that may arise, and act in their confrontation as they have learned from their holy charges.

My religion is one that strives for the perfection of these four attributes. When I pray, it is not to the best within the universe, but the best within myself. I’ll leave theologists to their own devices in considering whether or not that is heresy.