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I am come to confirm your gnawing suspicions. They are true, as I am true.
If you are a man, then you lack articulacy. You are unable to synthesize the swirling mass of modern life into an intelligible whole. This is not your fault. If the answer to all of one�s questions was stuck underneath the seats of a Long John Silver�s restaurant or buried in the earth behind the parking lot thereof, then who could be blamed for living a life of confusion? No one has the time and energy to spend his life stooping and digging, and few would even want to.
If you are a woman, then you hate yourself. Given the fact that your inability to enter into one of the exactly two spaces that hold viable identities has made your life functionally pointless, you have taken refuge in personal hygiene and imagining what it would be like to murder the people you work with. This is not your fault. While their predicament is practically identical to your own, they are not as smart and interesting as you. If you stopped brushing your teeth, they would not talk to you anymore.
While it may not be possible for any of us to truly have a soul, we would all do well to learn how to simply have soul. Christianity, in this respect, is much like a garage band that, while it knows fifteen songs well enough, has not yet learned how to really whip it out. No one except for their friends will ever be interested in them. Meanwhile, Judaism drones on like a moribund Frank Sinatra and Islam has given up music altogether in favor of something much more like theatre.
A story: There was a farmer. He was small and old, but assiduous with regards to plowing, etc. He had one daughter who lived far away. His wife had died years ago. A harsh, dry summer came and his orange trees began to die. To keep them alive, he decided to carry water to them from a stream some distance away. He did this for a day, but the trees still looked horribly withered. So, he continued to make the trek through the night. When morning came, he was so tired that he collapsed at the edge of his orchard. He had a dream, and in the dream he asked his trees, �I planted you and cared for you. Why is it that you have refused to bear fruit for me?� One of the trees jerked to the left and to the right a bit and then answered, �Why would we want to do that? Though you are responsible for us, our interests are not the same. What would we do with fruit? It would be better for us, we think, either to uproot and launch away in the manner of rocket ships or tunnel down into the ground, both of which we are considering. These things will be the fruits of our labor as we are the fruit of yours.�
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