Apophasis

Deconstruction is the art of precision—

a methodical unraveling,

as if faith were a theorem

to be tested,

hypothesis by hypothesis,

until only the scaffolding remains.

You parse the liturgy,

translate the sacred into the symbolic,

strip the metaphor from the myth

and call it clarity.

It is surgery,

clean and deliberate—

the mind asserting dominance

over the inherited story.

And still—

you imagine you might return.

If not to belief,

then to belonging.

But deconversion—

no, deconversion is exile.

It is apophasis:

not what you believe,

but what you no longer can.

It is the recognition

that the bridge has burned behind you,

not in rage,

but in the slow erosion

of plausibility.

No sudden rupture,

only the quiet certainty

that you have crossed a threshold

from which no path leads back.

You do not just set down belief—

you relinquish a world.

A grammar of connection.

The coded language of belonging.

You become illegible

to those who once read you

with ease.

This is the cost:

not solitude,

but severance.

Not silence,

but the echo of your voice

in rooms that no longer

welcome its register.

You clear the table—

not in bitterness,

but in reverence

for what you can no longer pretend to hold.

You release the hands

that clutch you in conditional love.

You grieve those

who mourn your liberation

as though it were death.

And yet—

in the stark architecture

of your unadorned self,

something begins to rise.

Not certainty,

but integrity.

Not salvation,

but wholeness.

A new kind of sacred—

rooted in the real,

honest in its doubt,

tender in its unknowing.

This is not the end of faith.

It is its transmutation—

from creed to courage,

from worship to wonder,

from belonging to becoming.

✍🏻:SC

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