See, preachers—like everyone else—filter their teachings through layers of personal experience. Some are gentle guides, others take a hard line, but most fall somewhere in the middle. That’s not surprising. We all lean on what we know: our stories, our histories, our mistakes. It’s just that, for religious teachers, this bias carries extra weight. Sometimes their perspective anchors a community, offering stability and belonging. Other times, accumulated bias can make a religion feel rigid or exclusionary—raising walls instead of building bridges.
There’s an intricate relationship between philosophy and religion—one that’s often faded from daily life, maybe because it’s just hard for most people to grasp or use in a practical sense. That’s where the main character enters: PREACHERS. They’re the interpreters, translating religion into rituals and everyday guidelines. On the surface, that all seems calm, maybe even comforting. But it isn’t always so simple.
But bias, on its own, isn’t always bad. It gives people a sense of identity and keeps tradition alive. Still, complications arise when personal bias edges out openness or drowns out plural voices. Suddenly, religion’s hopeful message gets tangled with narrow views. Yet, even then, radical views rarely bloom from bias alone. Social pressures, political strife, or feelings of displacement all add fuel—so let’s not pretend it’s all about the preachers.
Where does philosophy fit in? It doesn’t just ask us to question; it invites us to wrestle with paradoxes, to sit with uncertainties, to explore meaning where answers might never be clear. Philosophy doesn’t compete with faith—it walks alongside it, a companion or sometimes a gentle challenger.
Truth isn’t always a bright, singular light at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes it’s a mosaic—multi-colored, shifting as we move, built from different lives and beliefs. Maybe the truth will always be just out of reach, but our search for it—our willingness to ask, listen, reflect—defines who we are.
The sky is almost dark, save for those last golden tinges that would fade in no time. As palm trees mark the oblivion, a muddy reflection forms the ground. The last few days were mostly rainy. So profound is our love for rain. And why wouldn't we? Unlike most other seasons, rain is so tender. A drop of patience which is about to reach its final destiny. Every time I look at raindrops, they remind me of a struggle. A journey that begins with summer in an aura of dry and burning heat. And in no time, the drop loses its sources. The long-held identity of its mother. With the loss of identity, an awakening awaits. The pleasure of reaching out and bonding. As our drop moves up and up the end of the sky, it realises the futility of pride and the necessity to bond. This comes with age. Not until it is near Earth does it agree to meet with other wanderers of the new world. And finally, all our drops reach the cold atmosphere. The coldness makes life dreary and lonely. As the youthfulne...