Reading your comment, I tried to use imagination and empathy to place myself in your shoes. As my Teller family of empaths find out (I had not thought of this, they did), empathy can open us to feeling the other person, but, unless we have the experiences for empathy to draw its data from, all we can do is 'imagine' we feel the other person - of course, even that 'empathic imagining' does open us to the other person and, at times, to truths new to us.

I grew up in a family of tepid Christians. At the ages of ten to twelve, I became devout and even told my teacher, while we were in a plane going through a bumpy ride, that I hope we crash, because it means I am then guaranteed a place in Heaven, since I am still a child. The teacher was terrified and did not appreciate my comment.

My imagination tends to run away with me, so I began to question things like, how could God have always existed. If he has always existed and always will and He is omnipotent, doesn't He get bored? If He gave us, as a gift, our free will, why is it compulsory for us to take religious instrction? Why did he give us free will, but not for himself (since He exists throughout time and is simultaneously aware of all of it, it means He cannot change any of it since it would change Him, and he is meant to be immutable). And so on. Of course my teachers and my local priest (from Greece and not very well educated in philosophy) did not tell me they do not have the answers, instead they demanded I stop asking questions. When I got punished for refusing to stop, I instantly switched off religion. It is only as an adult that I can differentiate between what religion is responsible for and what I should blame on the ego of Man.

There is one thing I like about myself of that time and now - I refused to argue against religion. I took the attitude that I may be wrong, maybe Jesus did/does exist and if I use my abilities to convince a believer that He does not, I could end up costing that person a life in Heaven.

I remain respectful to all religions, apart from Islam, for I do not see that as a religion, but as an evil system of indoctrination. I have met many very good moslems and I have wondered how they can believe in something so evil and be so good and compassionate.

As should be expected, my characters reflect my own beliefs, but they discuss it more openly than I do (they piss me off when they draw conclusions that are opposite to my way of thinking).

I am 76 years old, my characters are mainly children, in body, if not in mind, and I wonder how it is they can be so much more mature than I am. Is it that we form certain ways of looking at the world and block ourselves to the truths which may question them, which slows our process of maturing, but that, when writing, with the excuse that it is not 'me' I am writing about, my subconscious allows me to allow them to argue those very attitudes that drive me?

Could it be said that an honest writer benefits more from his writing than his readers do?

I have opened the page to your other story so as not to forget to read it after I've finished the current stoy I am reading...oh-oh, I gave in to temptation and read part 1. Different pace and I like it. Now I will try to keep the rest for later.

I've bent your ear enough, thanks for reading :) if you made it to here.