14. Divinity and Guilt

You stubbed your toe on a Monday morning. You missed your bus. Your crush liked someone else’s thirst trap. And your first thought?

“This is definitely payback for that thing I said in 2016.”

Welcome to the guilt simulator—where the universe becomes your personal therapist-slash-disciplinarian, and everything bad that happens is somehow… your fault.

The Universe Doesn’t Hate You, But Your Brain Might

Here’s the thing: we humans are excellent at spotting patterns. Sometimes too excellent. We’re like conspiracy theorists at a red string convention.

1. “I didn’t get the job. Must be karma.”
2. “My phone fell. Clearly, the ancestors are upset.”
3. “It rained on my picnic. God hates me personally.”

No my friend, it’s just weather, capitalism, and gravity. But try telling that to a brain raised on cause and effect, and sprinkled with cultural seasoning.

From Campfires to Cosmic Judgment

See, in early human tribes, if something bad happened, you had to explain it. And preferably, blame someone.

“Oh no, the crops failed! Must be because Mangwiro didn’t dance hard enough at the harvest ritual.”

This need to explain suffering—especially random suffering—led to the invention of cosmic justice systems. Gods who kept score. Spirits who demanded respect. A universe that’s not just chaotic, but morally invested in your behavior. Like a nosy aunt, but with lightning bolts.

Enter: Guilt and Gratitude, Our Emotional Middle Managers

We’ve evolved with these emotions for a reason. Gratitude makes us remember who helped us. It strengthens bonds. It says, “I see you. I owe you.”

Guilt does the same… but with anxiety.

It says, “I messed up. I owe someone. I should fix this before they smite me or leave me unread.”

These feelings were great for keeping small groups together. But now? You can feel guilty for thinking the wrong thing, for disappointing imaginary expectations, or for not manifesting hard enough.

That’s not morality. That’s performance anxiety.

Not Everything Is About You (I Know, Harsh)

When you say “the universe is punishing me,” what you’re really saying is:

“I feel bad, and something must be responsible.”

And in the absence of an actual agent, your brain shrugs and goes, “Welp, guess it’s fate. Or karma. Or that thing I said when I was 12.”

But the truth is, sometimes pain is just pain. Not a message. Not a lesson. Not divine retribution. Just the price of being alive in a chaotic, indifferent—but weirdly beautiful—universe.

So What Now?

Use that guilt if it’s useful. If it leads to growth, or an apology, or reflection—cool.

But if it’s just background static, telling you you’re broken or cursed or cosmically doomed?

Tell it to take a seat.

Because not every raindrop is a reckoning.

Not every misstep is a moral failure.

And not everything that hurts needs to be explained with a cosmic plotline.

Sometimes, you’re not being punished.

You’re just living.