Note to Self

            In the 1980s, going to Mother’s restaurant was a dining event. There was something so familiar and quaint about the establishment that all my memories of the then franchise are warm and fuzzy. The Americanized Italian restaurant carried itself rather well. Each diner was essentially the same, with hardwood accents, faux Tiffany lamps and the feel of welcome. It was an experience, not just for the atmosphere but also for all that food. The menu was enormous, just like the portions. My personal favourite was the huge and very deluxe panzerotti. The salad bar sat dead centre of the restaurant and was something you would die for. Everyone I knew loved the place. In London, Ontario, there were several Mother’s restaurants. One was located in the far west end of the city, and was frequented by my family. Another was located in the downtown core and was a favourite hangout for travellers gone in too deep. My partner, then a young boy, knew only of the Brantford location. One day they all just disappeared, never to be heard from again (or so I thought). In 2008, the brand name was purchased and the process of reestablishment into the market began. Slowly, one diner after another reappeared throughout Ontario, including the Kitchener experience in 2014. We went in with great hopes for the place. I keep forgetting that when you hold out expectations, it usually means disappointment. We walked into the newly opened attraction and instantly realized something was missing. The place felt small and cramped and the plastic red and white checkered tablecloths made it look more like a cheap barbershop than the original splendour that was so vivid in my mind. Not a single Tiffany influence could be found. The menu was cliché, the portions had been drastically reduced in size and the prices overinflated.  It was more a homogenized disaster than a pleasant visitation. Still, the influence of the original remains quite present. When we bought our home, we installed a faux Tiffany lamp over our dining room table, specifically because of the original Mother’s layout. It joined our household not only because of its look but also for a sense of atmosphere (something so lacking in the new restaurant). Our choice was under direct influence, an amalgam of the Mother’s we once both loved when we were younger. A place, sadly, to which we have not returned.

Note to self:

You can never go home again.

            Come summer, most kids stick to ice cream and popsicles. Growing up, for the most part, I was one of those kids. Whether from the neighbourhood Dickie Dee ice cream cart, the local tuck shop, or even the ice cream truck, the standard fare was always familiar and always the same. Even the brands seemed to follow into each venue like a shadow would. I can’t recall that I ever noticed, like I do now.  Breaking away from the norm was an alien idea to me. One summer, I discovered something different. The cherry snow cone that I experienced at Ontario Place sent me on a slushy tangent. Every chance I got, I ordered one. The shaved ice, the sweet nectar, soon became my palette’s best friend. I tried raspberry blue and green lime. The cherry, that I mentioned, was without a doubt my favourite. At the Canadian National Exhibition I tried an orange-coloured mango, then at the London Western Fair I tried grape. A few years ago, I consumed a cranberry snow cone from a local booth, much to my delight. Throughout all these years, through the pear-flavoured and the chocolate-flavoured (ewww), I never realized that I had never tried the lemon snow cone. I like lemon, but I am not fond of sucking on sour things. It has never really been important to me to taste every flavour known to man. I just consumed whatever I would come across. The Paris, Ontario fairgrounds are located  almost directly across from the back of our home. Less than 1000 feet from the yard, every Labour Day week the fair comes with all its glory. We had been once before with my Dad and other family members, but this day the two of us ventured over just for the pleasantry. We didn’t go on any rides and the exhibits were very small town. It seemed destined to be a waste of money, but live and learn. On the way out, we stopped at the snow cone booth to have ourselves a little treat. Ben got himself a tangerine orange and I finally gave in to the temptation of bright lemon. It was good.

Note to self:

Sometimes, it’s okay to eat yellow snow.

            At this point in my life, there is little left for me to want and little left that I haven’t had. I find peace and harmony on most days. My relationships are both challenging and yet rewarding. I’m content for the most part. I have found the very things that I always looked for. On sunny days, I appreciate the warmth. On cooler days, I appreciate the cold. Despite all the things that have passed before me, I am able to seize the moment rather than fixating on the past. There are many things about my life that would be considered overwhelming and clouded when viewed by another. Most people don’t understand how I stayed afloat on stormy seas let alone managed to swim to shore. For all the moderation, regardless of the chaos, I strive to remain balanced and aware and even enlightened on the rare occasion. Life is good most days. It has not always been this way. Underneath it all, there is a volcano always ready to spew. The right circumstance, the perfect stimuli, and my world falls to pieces. Try as I may, the feelings just come and there is nothing I can do about it. I suppose if anyone else had to identify their frozen solid partner after they offed themselves, their experience would be close to mine. It’s been over 20 years and occasionally, I am still haunted. The grief found its place long ago. I am usually in a clear frame of mind when it comes to the reality of the situation and what happened. Sometimes, I am not so good. I am swallowed whole. I guess I need more therapy, but I would argue that most people who have survived such misery would be in the same boat. Sometimes, I see him, lying dead and lifeless. This picture appears before me with no warning. Sometimes all I need to do is close my eyes. I have tried a million times to just get past it. No matter how productive, no matter how positive my days become, it always returns, sometimes with a vengeance. I often wonder if other suicide survivors harp back on the event without giving conscious permission. Does their experience flash before their eyes like mine does? What exactly does it mean to carry such weight, such burden? Does it ever go away? Should I want it to go away? No matter the trying, no matter the exorcism, it remains.

Note to self:

It’s never easy, letting go.

            I’m not much for public displays of affection. Since I was a little boy they have made me uncomfortable and I usually cringe when someone does so in front of me. The other day, I walked past two young teenagers almost screwing on a bench in the middle of the food court. In the Wal-Mart, some girl stood feeling up her boyfriend right in front of her children.  I have to admit that in general, I have difficultly expressing myself in these terms, particularly in a public forum. Even in private, if there is the slightest angst or underlying issue, I have trouble expressing myself. I don’t mean on paper like with Valentine’s cards or sexually with my long-term partner. I have trouble expressing my feelings, especially when I am surrounded by gloom. I have built walls and no matter how I am criticized for them, it is these walls which served to make me so strong. It isn’t easy to dissuade them from building. They have been part of me for so long that my cold reactions are more a natural versus forced phenomena. While I am friendly, kind and rather approachable on my best days, when I turn myself off, the complete opposite occurs. I am bitch. I am asshole. I am a frozen ghost. It is not an easy feat for me to overcome this obstacle. I do try and I often fail. The slightest hint of anything out of the ordinary and I return to my tower, all alone way up high. I have been greatly criticized as of late, criticized for being so detached and distant. It’s just the way that I am sometimes. I guess some people believe that being a stone is the same thing as being like a stone. Unlike my alter ego, I breathe and I feel and I suffer. I’m just not going to show it under negative circumstances. It goes without having to say but I’ll say it anyway. I have the right to protect myself, even if you don’t like it.

Note to self:

A rock feels no pain.

            For several years in the early 1990s, I worked as the Media Coordinator of Student Affairs at Lambton College in Sarnia, Ontario. I published a monthly magazine, programmed the college radio station and was responsible for all sales and promotions. For most of my tenure, I was happy with my place in the scheme of things. I became close friends with all the office staff and spent a lot of my free time with them. I had close relationships, especially with the office secretary. Unfortunately, one of my co-workers decided to embezzle funds from the Student Association. I had a pretty good idea what was going on but I said nothing. It was hard to turn in a friend no matter what they may or may not have done. What a tangled web we weave. Soon enough, the blame began to shift to me. Like a good Bipolar would, I told them to stick it up their asses trying to damn me. I quit in the very same breath. Just a few months later, the police came and carried away the office manager. I had long ago moved on and found myself living in downtown Toronto. No matter where I have worked since and no matter who I worked with, I just don’t get involved like I did at Lambton College. I’m not a prick about it but I just don’t think mixing a work life with your private life is a very good idea. Something always rears its head and ends up biting you on the ass. I guess that you really do get what you pay for, even if you couldn’t see it coming. All these years later and I often warn my partner of doing the same thing I did back in the day. He laughs me off, convinced I am overreacting. People need to have their own experiences sometimes, at least when it comes to learning hard lessons. Whether it is someone in the neighbourhood, or a new colleague, even a professional you see on a regular basis, it is never a good idea to mix your private life in with your public persona. You might think the two mesh quite nicely but all you are doing is asking for trouble.

Note to self:

Don’t shit where you eat.

            I am always surprised when a social contact asks me if I know Jesus as my personal Lord and Saviour. Sometimes, I just say yes. After all, throughout my teenage years I took to altar call after altar call, trying to get The Christ to notice me. I was born again several times before my 21^st birthday. The truth is, these days I am so far away from Christianity that even the Devil leaves me alone. Damnation would be rather moot at this point. Even though I find myself thinking differently then during my fundamentalist days, I still hold the direct teachings of Jesus in high regard. I just realized a long time ago that most religions preach the same message as Him, just in a different bottle. I am no longer interested in searching for something that it is obvious no one can find. I still consider myself a theist, albeit an agnostic by nature. I want so much to embrace the idea of a personal God, in such an impersonal world, but I have never experienced this epiphany. I have studied religion from theology to cosmology, from Judaism to Waco, from Nietzsche to Swedenborg. I have come to recognize that even the worst esoteric example is simply trying to say the same things as the best example, just from a different perspective. It’s hard to trust a deity who would have people burn in hell because they didn’t follow the rules. If God is really like that, boy are we all in a lot of trouble. To some capacity, I still believe there is a personal god although I don’t think we have a clue what we are dealing with. I’m not sure that God is anything like what we would imagine it to be. So when I am approached by those intent on my salvation, I often tell them that it’s not that I don’t believe in God, I just don’t believe in their god.

Note to self:

Blind faith is better than no faith at all.

            It’s strange. I am uncomfortable with public displays of affection yet I don’t have the slightest issue talking about sex. I suppose my youth may be the reason I am so unencumbered. Let’s just say the mania that is so present when I’m not being treated for bipolar disorder is a driven bastard. I had no problem sneaking away from my traditional lifestyle and venturing into pure hedonism. Instant gratification just left me more time to keep playing. I prefer the term slut to manwhore. The truth be told, those terms barely touch the surface. It was a different time and yet it was somehow not completely satisfying. When I am sitting alone, drifting in my memories, I try not to envision any of these experiences. That was then, this is now. In truth, only a few are even memorable, and those were with my partners. Sex became my otherland, a pure escape. Add in some casual drug use and you have years of living dangerously. I’m not sure I want to know just how many people I touched in any sort of manner. Sexual promiscuity is one thing but the compulsion I experienced was often more than I could handle. I was possessed in a manner, all impulse and no instinct. The mistakes I made in my youth may have cemented the idea that love is all that matters but such excess comes with a price. It’s not a moral issue for me, I really was in no condition to control myself. If I was able to go back and change my life, I’m not sure I would. What I have done and who I was are only voices if I listen to them. It’s not shame or embarrassment that lingers, it’s regret. Sometimes it can be so hard that it hurts.

Note to self:

That’s what she said.

            You wake up in the morning, you do your work, you pay your bills and you come home at night. Day after day, we all repeat the same motion, just so that we can be happy. Unfortunately, most of us never are. All the time we spend gathering money, and things, only makes us want more. We need more so we take more. We all seem to be wishing for the things we already have. We justify living like this because it’s normal for everyone else, so why not us? There was a point in my life where I did not think it was possible for me to be normal and lead a normal life. Now that I have one it can be a little boring, if you ask me. Be careful what you wish for. I am not about to complain. This life that I  have been given is but a moment’s time. It has been a wonderful, breathtaking adventure that was simultaneously one major pain in the ass. I hope that my life is more than just a picture of me then. In the end, I am left standing at my window watching the birds, and the squirrels, feed as they please. My house is beautiful. It contains many things that are atheistically pleasing. It is my comfort zone, the place I can hide. I have rediscovered a boyhood joy, collecting comic books. I have my music, my friends and I have my writing. I gladly talk with my father every day. For the first time in a long time, I am content. I am content spiritually as well as circumstantially. All these things have completed me. I could not ask for more.

Note to self:

Good things come to those who wait.

Photos

http://drhelmspickett.com/note-to-self-hes-got-you

http://www.area10church.com/messages/2017/2/12/021217-note-to-self-the-friends-that-get-me

Bob

            Panpsychism is an ancient philosophy that is being re-examined by members of the modern scientific community. This school of thought claims that “everything material, however small, has an element of individual consciousness.” It is an evolving theory but one of the oldest. Great thinkers such as Parmenides, Spinoza and even Plato subscribed to the idea that “consciousness, mind or soul (psyche) is a universal and primordial feature of all things.” Plato himself was a staunch believer that “This world is indeed a living being endowed with a soul and intelligence ... a single visible living entity containing all other living entities, which by their nature are all related” (Timaeus, Plato). Traces of this ideology appear throughout antiquity, in doctrines found in Mahayana Buddhism, Taoism and Stoicism. Stoicism, for example, “developed a cosmology which held that the natural world was infused with a divine fiery essence called Pneuma, which was directed by a universal intelligence called Logos.” In Christianity,  Logos is the title given to Jesus “as the pre-existent second person of the Trinity.” Although there is slight correlation between those two, any real unifying factor was lost to more than 2000 years of a Patriarchal theocracy.

            In modern thinking, Panpsychism helps to explain the “hard problem of consciousness.” It has been concluded that human beings are “like the rest of the universe, in substance and in spirit.”  It is believed that a “proto-consciousness field” exerts itself throughout all time and all space. In a nutshell, the entirety of the universe is “self-aware.” For centuries we have accepted the “dominant theory,” that “consciousness is associated with complexity, with a system’s ability to act upon its own state and determine its own fate.” In principle, “some purely physical systems that are not biological or organic may also be conscious.” For hundreds of years, science has tried to explain away the universe. We have tried to come to an understanding regarding where we came from and why we are here. There always seems to be a missing link in all the thinking and all the study. In fact, Panpsychism can neither be “explained in terms of anything else nor be reduced to anything else.” To say that “consciousness is ubiquitous is to say that every aspect of concrete reality partakes of mentality in some way or in some measure.” So what does this mean to a mere mortal? If the universe is conscious then why has it been ignoring me? Who have I been talking to? If everything is one with each other, collective in a sense, then why do most human beings feel so alone? If the universe, like God, is out there, why does it seem that no one is listening? If the universe is alive, does that mean God is dead? Who do I pray to now? If the cosmos is aware and enlightened, then it surely must have a name. I think its name should be Bob.

I think I will call it Bob.

            What does it mean to have a conscious universe? Is this all merely another way of approaching the idea of divine omniscience or even Nirvana? Scientists have been working to understand the cosmos but the deeper they peer into it, the more questions seem to arise. The very idea of the entirety of everything being aware seems contradictive to most religious manifestations of God. I suppose science has always managed to get in God’s way. So then is the living, thinking universe God? Is this the unspoken truth, the “universal” idea underlying all the subjective interpretations? Over the centuries, there have been many theories which resonate with the idea of Panpsychism. The oldest, Animism, “predates even paganism.”  In Animism, “there exists no hard and fast distinction between the spiritual and physical (or material) world,” everything is sentient. Every person, every rock, every planet, even our shadows, the universe itself, all possess anima (Latin meaning breath, spirit, life) and are considered very much “animated and alive.” Animism is a supernatural belief system. A central force “organizes and animates the material universe.” This tradition remains “the belief system of many indigenous tribal peoples.” The Christian part of me was well trained to avoid these blasphemous and heathen ideas. They are considered evil, at least in the pages of the Bible.

“Ex nihilo nihil fit”

- Out of nothing comes nothing –

(Parmenides of Elea, pre-Socratic Greek philosopher)

            Sometimes it feels like the Universe is calling out to me.  I don’t hear voices. I don’t see visions. Occasionally, I sense a presence far greater than myself. I’m not sure if it is God or Jesus or Bob. I would like to know exactly what name I am supposed to worship under this week? Perhaps everyone sees fit to call “It” exactly what they want to. We insert coincidence and serendipity to give meaning to something we can never define.  I can only speak for myself but not once in all the years I have searched for meaning in the stars did one ever drop out the sky and teach me how to be a better person. Like happiness, God is something different to each of us. It is one thing to one person and something completely different to another. We are bound in our subjective nature, caught making up something in light of all the nothingness. In a sense, we all keep God in our very own otherland, explained away by our preconceived notions and the complexities of man. Let’s be honest, that is exactly where such esoteric interpretations belong. What we believe really has little to do with anything but our own folly. If the universe is sentient, if it is aware, it apparently has placed the same restrictions upon itself that anything Holy would. It doesn’t matter how much you cry out, or pray, or even beg, Bob (like Jesus) refuses to answer. We always get nothing out of nothing.

            I went for a walk last evening. The dusk held its own against the coming of the night. The view was clear and bright and full. Deep was the cosmos, raw and bleak and lonely. Nonetheless, the sky danced with stars and cosmic trails and planets hiding at a distance. I was surrounded by the beauty of it all. In a dark recess, I stood bewildered at the display. Under the moonless sky, I spied what felt like the reality of it all. The vastness and the overwhelming majesty of the night sky humbled me, as it always does. My nothingness was validated in the stardust. I tried to talk to it. I tried to listen. In the end, I got exactly the same thing from the “self-aware” universe that I always receive from whatever god I was praying to that day. Apparently, calling out for Bob offers me as much gratification as calling out for Jesus ever did.

I guess nothing really does beget nothing.

Photos

http://shidiq90.blogspot.ca/2011/04/

https://theelectricagora.com/2015/09/28/panpsychism-is-it-testable/

Sources

http://awarenessact.com/scientists-now-believe-the-universe-itself-may-be-conscious/?=ewao

https://www.google.ca/search?q=%E2%80%9Cpanpsychism.%E2%80%9D&rlz=1C1CHBD_enCA731CA731&oq=%E2%80%9Cpanpsychism.%E2%80%9D&aqs=chrome..69i57j0l5.5285j0j8&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Panpsychism

https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/panpsychism/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Logos_(Christianity)

http://www.utsc.utoronto.ca/~seager/pan_seager.pdf

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Animism

By the Sea

“The sea, the snotgreen sea, the scrotumtightening sea.”

(Ulysses, James Joyce 1922)

            He just sat there as she parked the car. It was always nice to find a spot close to the beach. There was no challenge from the vacant lot. This day the entire area was stark and quiet. Not a soul could be seen or heard or even imagined. The bright of the dawn gave way to the warm summer heat and the glare of morning began to fade as the sun rose higher in the sky. The world laid out before them. The sand seemed to go on forever, travelled by many but appreciated by few. He went with her as she left the safety of the automobile. They moved together, methodically, from asphalt to sand. They stopped at the very same spot every time. It was just past the lifeguard station, next to the warning sign and well before the rocky part of the shoreline. They came here so many times you could almost see their resting place heavy in the sand. This was their station, their space, this was where they rested. The same blanket they always used had been seized from the cargo space and fiercely shaken before spread out on the ocean side. They dropped down together, unmovable together, onto a silly old throw sitting down by the sea.

            The sky grew over as they stayed in their mooring. For hours they sat there, facing the water and dreaming. Dreaming of a time when everything was going to be okay. Dreaming of a time when it almost was. Memories moved like the waves before them, tides of emotion, tide to this moment. It had been difficult. It was the most difficult thing to face. The ride to their spot was quiet and awkwardly serene. She steered, leaving him to himself in the passenger seat. On approach, the ocean called out like it always did. The sun shone and the wind cooled and the sand grew warm and uncomfortable. They spent almost the entire day together sitting by the sea. It was a lovely way to say goodbye. As dusk moved in and the shadows started to form by night, she rose and took him to the shore with her. She opened it, breathed in deeply and poured him into the bay. Now he will always be part of this place. Now she could come here and somehow always be near him. On common days like this, you can find her sitting alone, watching the waves, watching the birds, watching the sand. He is there with her, he always will be. She is content to find him carried by the sea.

“The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms,

it has its tides and in its depths it has its pearls too.”

(The Letters of Vincent van Gogh, Vincent van Gogh 1914)

            At twelve years of age, he was wonderstruck by it all. He had never been to the ocean before. He had never felt it, heard it or tasted it. Today was a day he would remember. He had always wanted to see the sea. The brisk New Brunswick morning caught heavy waves crashing against the shore. Debris floated randomly, harbingers of the danger out upon the reef. You could hear the undertow roaring like some beast. The water was dirty and brown from the turned up bottom and the waves crested rather foamy, also victims of the wind. A chill danced about the child, a cool breeze from out upon the waves. The scene was ugly and it was beautiful and it was all his for the taking. Everyone else had scrambled to find a place to play but the boy just stood there, mouth dropping more with each passing moment. He was bewildered and mesmerized by the motion of the ocean. For the longest time, he found  himself enchanted at the idea of it. He was posed and ready, eager to face the fury. Adults always seem to get in the way at the most inconvenient of times. He was forbidden to enter the water. Only his feet would ever know the cold Atlantic flow, at least at this time and in this place. He searched the shoreline for even the smallest of adventure. He had not come so far to just give in to nature. Disappointment was abandoned the moment he started his walk by the sea.

            Having been instructed to not leave the line of sight, he wandered down the coast like a vagabond. He examined every stick, every shell, every morsel tossed out of the murky and rampaging swell. He walked and he talked to himself. He even looked for God among all the majesty and seemingly endless beachfront. Every flat stone he came across was used to skip. Some of them scattered aimlessly while others bounced and tripped out into the rough. They all came out of nowhere. He was grossed out by the first one. He was intrigued by the second and then the third. As he carried on forward, more seemed to appear out of thin air. Some floated towards the shore, others rested on the beach. You could see them dangling in the surge, pushing back into the water deep. There appeared to be hundreds of them, most fading on the rocks and the unwelcoming sand. Most were dead, he supposed. He had never seen such a thing before. He was surprised, overwhelmed and fascinated. He would never forget poking some with a stick just to see if there was motion. All those countless creatures sprawled out on the shore, lost to the wind and lost to the tide. Of all the countless beaches he discovered over the years, few seem as memorable as the day he spent playing with all those jellyfish. Some of them surely died. Some may even have lived. Each one stamped in his mind, the little wonders that he saw that day, walking on the sand, exploring this world, down by the sea.

           

“My soul is full of longing

for the secret of the sea,

and the heart of the great ocean

sends a thrilling pulse through me.”

(The Secret of the Sea, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1893)

            There was great beauty between them. People noticed them, men especially. It wasn’t a secret but if those men really knew. They had met five years before, drawn together at the funeral of a common friend. They were almost inseparable, right from the start. Any life they had known fell behind them and the future appeared to be full of promise. They loved each other, that much was clear. You only had to look at them looking at each other, to see the resemblance. The beach house was part of a divorce settlement. Unlike hundreds of other cottages in the area, the private lagoon was large and elegant. The sand bounced back the light and the light became free. It was a beautiful, serene and charming spot, all nestled in and cozy by the sea. No matter the circumstance, no matter the schedule, no matter the matter, every evening they wandered down to the water to say goodnight. The timing would occasionally shift, sometimes people are called away but that’s just life flexing its muscle. If they were both home, they would saunter down and sit beneath the stars and the moon. Even in the rain they found their umbrella, and their place, and sat together on the sand. It was always the most romantic daily event, something to look forward to. You could find them resting on the shoreline, together, sitting by the sea.

            Life can be a complicated mess. We get so tide (get it?) down that we forget the things that really matter. First, it was a death in the family, then all that flooding caught them completely by surprise. Sick children, a fire at work, and all that paperwork, oh the paperwork; complications build great walls. One day things just changed. It really wasn’t anyone’s fault, not really. Time does this to everyone. Suddenly, you get caught up in the way things are and you forget the way things should be. When you’re hit with one thing after another, any routine you had tends to suffer. Sometimes love suffers. As time passed, the lovely ladies settled into their life together. Between the daily grind and the daily struggle, those moments on the beach faded like shifting sands. The monotony of it all, the drain of it all, left little but dreams and hard cold dry land. She walked by the sea, alone and pensive. She had escaped only for a moment but the moment was bittersweet. It didn’t matter if she was alone. The moon cracked the water’s surface with a glimmer, a jubilation; you had to stop to notice it. She stood listening to the crashing waves, clutching the letter that she knew would eventually come. There had been a distance too far to conquer. Even love could not fill the void. She let the whisper of the wind caress her and she squished wet sand between her toes. She lingered down near the water, crushed between this new reality and their place by the sea.

“I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.” (Dracula, Bram Stoker 1897)

            I grew up swimming in freshwater lakes. Southern Ontario, Canada is surrounded by water. When I lived in Toronto, Lake Ontario cooled my childhood form. When I lived in Strathroy, Lake Huron was a chilly escape. Every summer my partner and I relax on the beach in Port Burwell, a cottage community on the north shore of Lake Erie. While Lake Michigan and Lake Superior are not frequent destinations, they are a mere drive away from my civilization. People drink the Great Lakes everyday. I have swam in the midst of each. There is nothing like swimming in the ocean. The buoyancy against my body has been a rush since the first time I swam in the Atlantic. One of my favourite places in all of this world is Big Sur. I consider the place the most beautiful destination along the Pacific coastline. I love the feel of the ocean. I love the taste of the ocean. I crave the constant thrill I experience as I swim out into the deep. I am ever wondering what creature may come up and bite me on the ass. There is something romantic in it all. Memories of soothing ripples and purple sands keep me California dreaming. It’s like an otherland, of sorts. Of all the time I have spent in the water, there is nothing more surreal than diving under and watching a shark or a dolphin pass by. Don’t get me wrong, the Great Lakes basin is one of the most stunning areas on the planet, and the Great Lakes are themselves something to behold, but I would rather be by the sea.

“I have been feeling very clearheaded lately and what I want to write about today is the sea. It contains so many colors. Silver at dawn, green at noon, dark blue in the evening. Sometimes it looks almost red. Or it will turn the color of old coins. Right now the shadows of clouds are dragging across it, and patches of sunlight are touching down everywhere. White strings of gulls drag over it like beads. It is my favourite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and forget my duties. It seems big enough to contain everything anyone could ever feel.”

(All the Light We Cannot See, Anthony Doerr, 2014)

 Photos

https://fineartamerica.com/featured/dune-fence-on-the-beach-at-sunset-elizabeth-spencer.html

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/62839357275747640/

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9370856

Rabbit Hole

            Try as I may, life is often more than even I can handle. Sometimes it isn’t worth it. You struggle and you fight, but for what? Nothing lasts forever including each one of us. I don’t want to get into some diatribe like “we all live and we all die” so boo hoo to that. Yup, life is unfair. No shit. So is car insurance, what’s your point? Every once in awhile for me, the world I have created falls to pieces. I get lost in the discombobulating chaos that comes with each assigned day. You need fortitude to be a human being. You need fortitude and a survivor’s disposition.  Both are hard to maintain, at least some of the time. When the darkness comes, I tend to embrace it. I become a rock or an island, neither of which feel any pain nor cry. When things get too much for me, I try my best to float away. It’s not denial or avoidance that motivates me. I find peace in simple things and simpler notions. I try to find my Otherland but sometimes the noise is just too much. It doesn’t matter why, not really. The why is different for each of us. It’s the numbing, the constant numbing that makes us feel like surrender is our only option. Sometimes it all is too tough. I know there are times when I just want to lay down and die. 

            I  have to be careful while exploring an existential crisis. It may be a phase, it may be a notion, but if my depressive state takes over I am screwed, and not literally. More than ten years of successful treatment for my Bi-Polar disorder doesn’t mean the extremes of the disease are no longer a factor. I still suffer to varied degrees. Hypomania, for example, can evolve into mania but it can also “switch” to a serious depression. While hypomania is “a mood state characterized by persistent disinhibition and pervasive [euphoria],” it is still less severe than full mania. Progressive symptoms of depression, in the same manner, may become “hyper depressive.” It is still less severe than the full depressive state. Anything can tilt the balance, anything at all. I wish that I had surer footing, every time I fall into a rabbit hole. I just need to recognize that any focus on ideas such as defeat, surrender and hopelessness, manifests symptoms leading to and causing a general state of depression. I experience the same pain, the same confusion, the same withdrawal as anyone else would but it comes with a slippery slope. I have to be careful of walking too close to the edge.

            I want to believe that there is a goodness to this life. I want to but I’m not so sure.

Although good and evil are relative, just like morality, it seems that quite often all one can find is disdain and corruption. People seem so much more selfish than when I was growing up. We have all given in to the Dark Side. There are no angels left to save us. We all struggle but the majority of us feel we should not have to. We dwell in the shadow so that the shadow becomes what we are. We all like to swim in denial. The gloom is hanging everywhere, like a dense fog. Such sadness, such misery. It can be a challenge to not get sucked in. With so much heartache, we are bound to follow suit. There is always, always, a weight to it. I am often disheartened, stuck watching people watching life go by. No one seems to give a damn. Instead of life feeding hope and joy and gladness, it promotes sorrow and hated and much hubris. In a whirlpool, we circle until we flush down the sink. We all fall into that rabbit hole.

            The world seems to be falling apart. Of course, to one degree or another it has always appeared this way. There is always something that gives us validation to think so. It is true, in the past everything seemed to point to the end of the world. Not much has changed. It appears we all are doomed. This constant reality wears on us. What is the point of striving and sacrificing if all is lost? No wonder men live the way that they do. If there is no tomorrow then surely we must be merry before we all die. There is reckless abandon, everyone doing as they wish with a general disregard for their fellow man. The state of mankind is ruptured and broken. There is very little “we” left in the world. I often lose myself to the great “I”. We have become the apparition that Plato warned us about. We are self-absorbed and almost drained of our humanity. We are a shadow. The only person who seems to matter is us and sometimes not even. It’s enough to make one sad and very discouraged by it all. It sucks to be in the world yet be all alone. The burden of it can be heavy and only adds to the crisis being experienced. We think we are safe but no matter, something always manages to push us in.

            I get down and I get sad. No matter how balanced my life is, something always ends up throwing me out of sync. My equilibrium goes screwy. I start to panic. The complications are never worth the investment. It is rare that I think such things or ponder their meaning. I am a relatively happy person. I have made my way through the fire and simply wish to be warmed by it, not dwell within it. I live in the now well knowing that nothing is for sure and time is my only constant. It keeps moving and I keep dying, little by little, day after day, minute by minute, unto the end of my all. Despite my strength and the experiences of my life, there are moments of great weakness that I hide from the world. I doubt myself and I doubt most others. I am always looking for the real reason people act the way that they do. I have moments of such clarity and moments when I am

tossed out to sea, lost in the mist and the shadow of a moonless night. I flounder about in the meaning of it all. The secret of life is exclusive to those already long gone. So I wander, looking for a sign, looking for a breakthrough. All I have discovered is more chaos, more sorrow and more confusion. We are dashed against the shore not taken and never told exactly what we did to end up feeling this way.

            I try not to fall into too many rabbit holes. They seem to be everywhere in this modern world.  Just as my strut gets rhythm, I trip and drop down and down and farther still. I try to escape the pull but it seems impossible to do. This world is made for falling fools, fools who think that anything will ever be okay again. It never is. Unlike with Alice, there is no wonderland on the other side. In fact, there is bitter and lonely and helpless. There is only this grand sense of futility and emptiness for all to see. We are tossed and turned to get here and when we arrive, there is nothing for us. I don’t often get the blues and I have rarely, if ever, had a true existential crisis. I can cope far better than one might  think. I always manage to climb out of it, no worse for the wear. Life gets all of us down, no matter who you are. I suppose it is how you handle things that will determine any consequence. When I do feel the weight of the world, I tend to go with it. On occasion, I even choose to jump down the rabbit hole.

Photo

https://www.affordableaddictiontreatment.com/recovery-stories/crawling-out-the-rabbit-hole

Sources

http://www.webmd.com/bipolar-disorder/guide/hypomania-mania-symptoms

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Disinhibition

The Drawing Board

Paper Monster
part two

            Once god decides to incarnate, the paper monster from the Old Testament transforms into his own son, Jesus. On the surface, this change is for the benefit of all mankind. Suddenly, the sacrifices once demanded in scripture become simply one sacrifice, a sacrifice which is meant to appease the Godhead for once and for all. Somehow, in order to conciliate himself, god leaves the ether behind and substantiates into human form. This incarnation is not some matured and war-torn monster from the past but rather we find god fresh and young and seemingly more docile than when in his previous form. The truth is, a god appeasing himself by sacrificing himself seems like something a mortal idiot would do. Jesus was supposed to free us from the complications made through the Hebrew covenant and laws, not bind us to them. Jesus may seem kinder and gentler on the surface, but he is still a warrior at heart. People don’t change and this god is very much a human being. More like a carbon copy than an original, the pomp and circumstance may have shifted but the message is pretty much the same. Do not be fooled by this lamb of god. He is not what you might think he is. Jesus is the messiah, come to live and then to die, but his voice is the same old warrior god from the Old Testament. He even tells us so, like a warning we are informed, “Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword” (Matthew 10:34, NIV).

            There is no question, this god is fully human. He not only lives a life but he most certainly will die. I would have thought things would change once Jesus manifested. In a sense, they did. Instead of threatening death like his father, the son of god threatens everyone with hellfire and punishment instead. For those who do not follow the path of Christ, they will be removed from his flock and burned for eternity “with unquenchable fire” (Matthew 3:12, NIV). Mankind continues to be expendable. The monster in the closet is still the same, just the fangs are different. This is not the Saviour I believed in growing up. Then again, god was ethereal and up in heaven. He was a nice old man who loved everybody and wanted us all to get along. I never dreamed that ideas like hell and sin were actually considered real by many people. In my mind, I could never have imagined that god/Jesus would abandon humanity to the fire pit of Gehenna. I still don’t  understand how so many can follow such a being. A loving god who casts out those he loves because they somehow failed him is perhaps the most mortal characteristic we place on this ‘divine’ creature. The forgiveness and mercy we are expected to bestow on others is sorely lacking in this version. The terror of eternal torment is, we can conclude, for most of us. Jesus is clear, the majority of people will end up abandoned by the very being they were seeking. These lost souls will try to “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it” (Matthew 7:13-14, NIV). I have to wonder why god, in the first place, needs to warn us regarding something a true God would never do. Holding a grudge is not a divine attribute. All the punishing, scare tactics and the like seem suspiciously human if you ask me. Forgiveness is demanded from us but we do not hold the Judeo-Christian god accountable for failing to give it to us. When judgement overturns forgiveness, it appears that God has gone missing and some form of man has taken charge.

“I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim my name, the Lord, in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion.” (Exodus 33:19, NIV)

            Jesus can come across rather limited. When people refuse to follow him, or deny him, or reject his teachings, he gets very angry. He does not seem to discern between those who turned from him and the rest of the population. All are lost for the inaction of a few. He condemns entire cities to hell fire solely for the act of non-repentance. He speaks to them, asking, “Will you be lifted to the heavens? No, you will go down to Hades. For if the miracles that were performed in you had been performed in Sodom, it would have remained to this day. But I tell you that it will be more bearable for Sodom on the day of judgement than for you” (Matthew 11: 23-24, NIV). So follow me or die? Such insight, such understanding yet they bring nothing but judgement and woe on those unrepentant towns. Where is the omniscient acuity a god would possess? Oh right, I forget this is the very human who claims to be such a god.  One would imagine that an incarnate god would recognize the complexity of existence. Being a mere mortal must have enlightened him. Things on this planet aren’t always so black and white but Jesus just seems to validate the Old Testament monster he was supposed to reconcile us to.  Rather than compassion and empathy, mankind is met with disdain and judgement. When god ordered that anyone who disrespects their parents should be killed (Exodus 21:17), it was a different time than that of Jesus, just as it is a different time for us than when he lived. Instead of recognizing the flaws and limitations of humanity, and using them for dialogue and rapprochement, it appears killing children for such a benign act is okay. Easy for Jesus to say (Matthew 15:4-7).
            When Jesus warns us that he “did not come to bring peace, but a sword (Matthew 10:34, NIV), I can picture him standing, sweeping through crowds of sinners with his glory and might. I can also see a dove, and a lamb and nothing but the blood. That this warrior would meet such an end makes for good literature. Just requiring that type of sacrifice for the universe to work properly makes no sense. It is here that god becomes repugnant. This explains why Jesus has no problem with what his father did to the world of Genesis. After all, he will bring the same when he returns from wherever it is that he was going. If not by flood, then greater for, “As it was in the days of Noah, so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man” (Matthew 24:37, NIV). Only a human-like god would have no problem drowning everyone on earth. Like father, like son. It really is irrelevant since all those punished will not only die but be tormented forever in hell regardless (Matthew 25:46). The messiah seems to relish the idea of a place where all mortals can be sent to the punishment they so rightly deserve. I can’t figure out why he just doesn’t send  us all there to begin with. I hear it’s a dry heat. Jesus can even come across manipulative and somewhat pseudo-intellectual. He tells his disciples the reason he speaks to the crowds in parable is to confuse them.  He informs his followers, in secret, all these wonderful things but he hinders everyone else so that they might not be given forgiveness. This confusion will hinder them from seeing the truth. He shares with his special entourage that, “The secret of the kingdom of God has been given to you, but to those on the outside everything is said in parables so that they may be ever seeing but never perceiving, and ever hearing but never understanding; otherwise they might turn and be forgiven” (Mark 4:11-12, NIV). Only the righteous man, the person who produces what Jesus calls “good fruit” will be saved. If you do not “bear good fruit” you are to be “hewn down, and cast into the fire” (Luke 3:9, NIV). What about rotting fruit that used to be good fruit but was abandoned and left to nature? What if you produce some good fruit and some bad fruit? What if you’re not a fruit? Apparently, Jesus is not only a lumberjack but a grocer as well.

            As an example to parents everywhere, god gives up his son to death by crucifixion. Not only does he require this act in order to save the world (from himself) but without it all are lost. God has his son/himself slaughtered, well knowing the world that is to come. Jesus as man-god is brutally tortured and murdered, all for a blood sacrifice. It’s a good thing there are no volcanoes in Israel. Of course, like a good businessman would do, there are conditions on the sacrifice. It is not freely given. We must believe in the Christ or perish and lose our salvation (John 3:16). Once he has ascended, Jesus becomes much more than a man. The hints of warrior throughout the New Testament now manifest in the risen lord. It is clear, Jesus plans on returning to earth but in a much more divine capacity. He stills acts like a child throwing a temper tantrum. With his return, there will be no peace. With his return, there would be no mercy. Jesus returns like a thief, in secret, but will eventually burn up the entire earth and everything on it. In fact, “the heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything done in it will be laid bare” (2 Peter 3:10). It is in the book of Revelation that we fully come to understand that everyone is doomed, well except for 144,000 Jews, no one else (Revelation 7:4, NIV). Kind of makes the entire salvation thing just a little anti-climatic. It is here that god and Jesus tag team against humanity. They empower four horsemen to kill one quarter of the earth’s population (Revelation 6:8 NIV). Jesus takes command and with eyes aflame, many crowns on his head, clothes dripping with blood, a sword sticking out of his mouth, and a secret name, leads the faithful in heaven into holy war on earth (Revelation 6:8). At this point, it’s hard to find any sign of the prince of peace so many people believe Jesus to be. He is now the warrior King, who will rule with “an iron sceptre” (Revelation 19:14-15, NIV). Using the sword in his mouth, he will “strike down the nations.” Reading about these monsters on paper makes one want to go back to the drawing board and start this god thing all over again. Maybe this time we shouldn’t make him so human.

            The ideas most people have regarding their “God” are limited. Most people don’t even bother to read through scripture let alone apply the lessons found within it. We get a basic notion of our god from our culture, then we make the rest up as we go along. I suppose it is true that with any holy text, you always find what you’re looking for. I am sure that if I reproached the character of God from a more positive and favourable angle, he would still come across rather human. To love, charity, mercy and forgiveness are all lovely sentiments but they are human attributes, not divine. Omniscience and omnipotence cannot be defined, let alone ascribed. It seems god is sovereign, he rules and so will Jesus. God is good, despite being one of the most monstrous characters in all literature. Jesus fares better but only by proxy. Since good and evil are relative terms, how could the real God be one or the other? Only a man would entertain such a schism.

Photos

https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/why-didnt-jesus-write-anything-down

https://redeeminggod.com/why-was-the-bible-written/

Sources

http://skepticsannotatedbible.com/cruelty/long.html

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/crossexamined/2014/07/god-loves-the-smell-of-burning-flesh-human-sacrifice-in-the-bible/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yahweh

http://thewritepractice.com/anthropomorphic/

Paper Monster

Part One

“My enemies turn back;

they stumble and perish before you.

For you have upheld my right and my cause,

sitting enthroned as the righteous judge.

You have rebuked the nations and destroyed the wicked;

you have blotted out their name for ever and ever.

Endless ruin has overtaken my enemies,

you have uprooted their cities;

even the memory of them has perished.”

(Psalms 9:3-6, NIV)

            There are many reasons that I am no longer a Christian. Mostly, it is the anthropomorphic version of God that I have discovered in the Judeo-Christian tradition. I have a huge issue with placing human characteristics on something unknown and unknowable. You can talk about God’s love all you want but in The Bible, both the Old Testament deity Yahweh and his son Jesus from the New Testament can, at times, seem more like our adversary than our saviour. On paper, God comes across rather human. Sometimes he is more monster than man. It’s not surprising to anyone who can read that God is supposed to be human, mortal or whatever you want to call this mess. When we learn that “God created mankind in his own image” (Genesis 1:27, NIV), we must examine the character of a God who is limited to humanity. It might be blasphemous to say, but there is no way in hell you’ll find me bowing to the feet of a mere mortal, regardless of the powers it may possess. When all I need to do is read scripture to witness God punish, condemn and murder, then we have a serious problem.

            Just because Ted Bundy loved his mother doesn’t make him any less of a monster. The same implication goes for the Judeo-Christian-Islamic fiend who hides behind concepts like agape love and love your neighbour. This does not appear to be his true nature. Any benevolent and all-loving appearance is just that. Instead he is a savage, small-minded and jealous creature. More man than Master, more deviant than docile, he appears oh so human because he is. This is the catch-22 of almost all religions. The way we portray God has little to do with what we know of our God. The two are not necessarily the same thing. We pick and choose what to believe, what to consider the truth. We have a cumulative interpretation, our own subjective experience with the Divine. We can add volumes of scripture and exegesis, but we only hold to that which serves our own purpose. From the destruction of mankind in Genesis to the Apocalypse brought on by an avenging saviour in Revelation,  this god is defined not just by the words he speaks but also by his actions. It’s clear to me that the “fruits of the spirit” demanded from us in the New Testament are only an expectation of the human beings who actually live on the planet. No deity will ever answer to mere mortals. We are to be better but god is not held to the same standard of conduct. After all, when you’re in charge, you can do anything you want. You can act and believe anything you want. You can even be a monster, all the while pandering to the minions with ideas like grace and mercy and forgiveness. Yes, within the pages of scripture there lies a gentler being. You can find it if you look. It rests, however, on the bones of all those that this god has sought out and destroyed. It would be a challenge for me to hold myself accountable to a beast that kills children, condones stoning and instigates genocide. It’s all on paper, so it is easy to find this monster. All you have to do is read.

  

           The god of the Old Testament loves the smell of burning meat. Particularly throughout the Torah, this very human sense is attributed to Yahweh, the war god. Over and over again, we are informed just how much god loves the smell of flesh set ablaze. He had Noah build him an altar for burnt offerings, then “The Lord smelled the pleasing aroma” (Genesis 8:21, NIV). Throughout the books of Exodus (especially chapter 29) and Leviticus (especially chapter 3), the same theme returns again and again. A smell of flesh is not this god’s only proclivity. He is a jealous, petty child who has to get what he wants or mankind can suffer his wrath. God gets angry. Apparently, he gets so angry that he decides to destroy all humans, animals, all life on the planet. He plans on drowning them one and all. God tells Noah, “I will wipe from the face of the earth the human race I have created—and with them the animals, the birds and the creatures that move along the ground—for I regret that I have made them” (Genesis 6:7, NIV). In fact, God informs  Noah that he will “bring floodwaters on the earth to destroy all life under the heavens, every creature that has the breath of life in it. Everything on earth will perish (Genesis 6:17, NIV). When the deed is done, only Noah and those with him on the Ark survive. This is not some understandable judgment. From newborn babies to spiders, God wipes everything off the face of the planet. All are lost. These do not strike me as the actions of a loving God. Even the babies are destroyed. Seems like something a monster would do.

            On June 12, 2016, Omar Mateen, a 29-year-old security guard, killed 49 people and wounded 58 others at the Pulse, a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida. No one publicly cheered for the massacre. I heard nothing about how the shooter was justified because the victims were all queer. Abominations or not, people were horrified that this creature attacked so many, all because of their sexual identity. Of course, when God did it, it was just fine. To this day, people still validate the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah  because of the immorality in homosexuality. It was god after all, who “sent down burning sulphur ...out of the heavens” (Genesis 19:24, NIV). Whether god destroyed the two cities for the sin of inhospitality or the sin of homosexuality, he kills everyone. Every man, every woman, every child (from infant to newborn) is punished for the sins of the few (regardless of what those sins were). Like with Noah, he spares the “just and righteous,” the family of Lot. This excessive, unnecessary and violent encounter strikes me as something Hitler would do. It’s funny how we vilify one person for their behaviour yet we worship God for exhibiting the very same behaviour.

            God says, “Take your son, your only son, whom you love, Isaac, and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on a mountain I will show you.” (Genesis 22:2, NIV). Abraham follows god’s instruction to the letter. He shows his love for god through submission and the willingness to murder his own child. Only a sick and twisted control freak would command something like this. It just smells of human. Just before the deed is done, god changes his mind and provides a goat to sacrifice instead. It’s just like a mortal to chicken out just before the throat is slit. Whether by flood or by fire, god exacts his wrath and contempt for man throughout the Old Testament. Isaac on a meat rack aside, these acts are considered valid just because god says that they are. Few ever question the nature that this deity exhibits. They use the New Testament as a justification but it too holds much to give me great pause. I guess you have to ask yourself, what would modern man think of a father who goes to sacrifice his child at god’s request? If this story was from a non-canonical text, we would be all over the savagery of it. Only a monster would ask, let alone promote, such a thing but since it is Jehovah, it is just fine and dandy.

            The Judeo-Christian god is a boastful and arrogant beast. Just as Moses thinks that all is lost, Yahweh decides to help in the most convincing way. Moses relays to Pharaoh that god will “send the full force of my plagues against you and against your officials and your people, so you may know that there is no one like me in all the earth” (Exodus 9 14, NIV). In no uncertain terms. he proclaims “I will ... smite Egypt with all my wonders” (Exodus 3:20, NIV). He seems to constantly need validation. He ravages Egypt, killing thousands, including the firstborn son of any Egyptian. He even sends Moses to Ramses with the message that god did such things so that “you may tell your children and grandchildren how I dealt harshly with the Egyptians and how I performed my signs among them, and that you may know that I am the Lord” (Exodus 10 1-2, NIV). The Lord struck down so many that “there was not a house without someone dead” (Exodus 12:30, NIV). The mass slaughter of so many at the hands of one being should bring much condemnation, unless you’re reading the Old Testament. It is very hard to imagine human beings doing this to each other, then again, god has been telling us to do it for years. He is justified because he is god. One can hide behind a “shadow of death” but killing children is never justified, especially from God.

            Who else but the biblical god could be so cruel? What can one expect from a god of war? After all, “The Lord is a warrior,” (Exodus 15:3, NIV). Judging from the actions god takes in the Old Testament, this “god of war” is more a military killing machine than the Host of Hosts. He has no problem conscripting soldiers that we later call “men of god.” He uses angels like they are weapons of mass destruction. God even sends his special forces against an army while they sleep, leaving thousands dead. We see that “the angel of the Lord went out and put to death a hundred and eighty-five thousand in the Assyrian camp. When the people got up the next morning - there were all the dead bodies” (2 Kings 19:35, NIV). Joshua is god’s general. He follows instruction well. God sends Joshua into Hebron to “smote it with the edge of the sword ... and all the cities... and all the souls that were therein.” Like a good solider would, “he left none remaining" (Deuteronomy 10:36-37, NIV). From Samson to King David, the Old Testament is riddled with men willing to follow this god at any cost. Its seems more like fear following to me; this god gets pissed off (Deuteronomy 1:36-37). On paper. this god can also be a  huge hypocrite. On one page, we are instructed that “You shall not murder” (Exodus 20:13, NIV). On the very next page, he contradicts his own law by conditioning  the punishment played against offenders of this law. It is made clear that we are to “take life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, bruise for bruise” (Exodus 21:23b-25, NIV). I guess Yahweh didn’t realize that an eye for an eye leaves everyone blind.

            The God of Abraham and Moses seems particularly human when it comes to his ego. He threatens his people, demanding, “Do not worship any other god, for the Lord, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God” (Exodus 34:14, NIV). I just assumed jealousy was left to our very human frailty, yet we are once again menaced by this god because of how he feels. We learn that in modern days, 4 billion people are instantly doomed for not holding to the biblical god. It is clear, “Whoever sacrifices to any god other than the Lord must be destroyed” (Exodus 22:20, NIV). So that’s every Buddhist, every Muslim, every non-Christian, anyone on the planet who doesn’t believe in the Judeo-Christian standard can kiss their butt goodbye. The entire body of the Old Testament seems to surround this god demanding that we recognize him and only him.  Every time we do something wrong, god threatens to kill us. If we fail to observe the Sabbath, we are in much trouble. Not knowing whether to observe on Friday or Saturday or Sunday really seems irrelevant considering the cost for failing to do so. We must “Observe the Sabbath, because it is holy to you. Anyone who desecrates it is to be put to death; those who do any work on that day must be cut off from their people” (Exodus 31:14, NIV). Like with any good tyrant, if you break the rules, you are executed. If you curse, or tell off your parents, you are to “be put to death” (Exodus 21:17, NIV). At one point (Leviticus), god threatens to kill someone on every other line. I had always imagined God was above such human failings. I believed He was a God of Love. The god of my father is more a god of death than anything else. As least, on paper.

           

            Despite the millions of people lost to the wrath of the Lord, there is no action more insane then when god orders people be burnt to death. Those people who have stolen from Israel have also stolen from Jehovah. Apparently, hiding the goods from your heist is a terminal condition. In fact, “The one who has stolen what was set apart for destruction will himself be burned with fire, along with everything he has, for he has broken the covenant of the Lord and has done a horrible thing in Israel” (Joshua 7:15, NIV). Of course, if you look deep enough into scripture, you can find very human characteristics placed on a very monstrous entity. While burning the flesh off a person seems a savage thing to do, it holds little to god’s order that as punishment men will be made to kill their brother, then feed on their body. For God’s sake, where does one draw the line between a god and that monster?

“By the wrath of the Lord Almighty

the land will be scorched

and the people will be fuel for the fire;

they will not spare one another.

On the right they will devour,

but still be hungry;

on the left they will eat,

but not be satisfied.

Each will feed on the flesh of their own offspring.”

(Isaiah 9:19-20, NIV)

Photos

http://www.ethikmainz.de/impressum/

http://www.faithgateway.com/what-happened-old-testament-sermons/#.WUggo-vytEY

http://www.teachingcollegeenglish.com/2011/10/01/swccl-spinoza-and-literary-criticism/

Sources

http://skepticsannotatedbible.com/cruelty/long.html

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/crossexamined/2014/07/god-loves-the-smell-of-burning-flesh-human-sacrifice-in-the-bible/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yahweh

An Inside Job

            I stood beside her out of necessity, not want. The sanctuary was overflowing with believers. Each one stood chanting ‘Amen’ after ‘Amen’ after ‘Amen’. I found the only available nook to slide into while trying so hard not to disturb the ceremony. Apparently, I disturbed Phyllis. She didn’t smile at me. She just looked at me like my haircut was some plot by the devil to sabotage the service. I might not have missed much, being so late, but at this kind of church even a moment might pass you by. The sermon was driven, full of energy and appealed to every fear known to man. This wasn’t some Catholic refuge or Episcopalian asylum. This was a Pentecostal Church, bound deeply to the Word of God. Into the fire I walked, well knowing at any moment they might discover my ruse. The crowd stood in awe, with raised hands and unintelligently moaning. My neighbour took to the part but in what seemed like a reserved nature. Her journey with the Spirit didn’t stop her from looking at me like I was a criminal. I suppose the way I was dressed may well have convinced her. Still, she never said a word to me.

            The 1980s made many the victim of fashion. My ripped jeans, acid washed, and my giant earring look ridiculous in my mind now. Back when I had hair, it rose to a peak and stood frozen by my own will and half a can of hairspray. As I look at myself and how I must have seemed back then, I cringe. In desperation, I did anything I could to garner attention. I did not know it at the time but the angst I felt, the overpowering sense of defeat was more of a chemical imbalance than some flaw in my psyche. I could barely breathe back in those days. Everything was a challenge for me. Holding it all together is what led me to God. I believed at this time that He actually listened to those who cry out in need. When my parents discovered Pentecostalism, I had to be dragged into the experience. It wasn’t a safe place but it was easy to make it a secret place. I used it to hide just like the God I was trying so hard to find. When I sat down beside Phyllis, I was the picture of lost. I just didn’t let anyone know I was floundering.

            When the service ended and all the salutations had been tossed, I chatted with my friends for about half an hour. When the minister approached me., I was unaware that there was a problem. Unfortunately, some members of the congregation found my attire unsuitable for their church. I was ushered into the back office and to my surprise there sat Phyllis, in all her glory. She sure was smiling at me now. I was asked not to come back unless appropriately dressed. When I inquired what exactly that means, he simply instructed me that he was not at all amused. The words flowed out of me like puke on a Friday night. Quite magnanimously, and like a true smart ass, I pointed out one of his own sermons that I had to sit through. I thought God cared about our “fruits of the Spirit not our fruit of the loom,” I happily inserted.  I suppose when you walk into a den of lions you should be prepared to get bit. When you enter into such a place looking more like Boy George than a firm believer, someone may really want to hurt you.

“A good man, is a good man, whether in this church, or out of it.”

(Brigham Young, American missionary)

            I have seen the inside of many churches in my time. From the Crystal Cathedral in Garden Grove, California to St. Paul’s in the heart of Stratford, Ontario. I eulogized my first partner in the sanctuary of the latter. I have worshipped in them, sang in them and cried in them. There are so many that I could not even count them if I tried. While I spent the good part of my late teens babbling about at the Strathroy Pentecostal Church, I never ever felt like God was there with me. He may have been with everyone else, but I never found Him. It often occurred to me that He was probably off somewhere having Himself a good laugh. Of all the Churches and temples I have walked into over the years, there are only three where I actually felt a presence. You can tell when it’s God.

            Growing up in the suburbs of Toronto, even God was just down the street. For an impressionable child, he lived at 85 Parkwoods Village Drive near Victoria Park Avenue, in North York. The Parkwoods United Church boasted a triangular-shaped sanctuary, with high stained glass and wooden frames. You couldn’t help but discover its uniqueness every time you drove by. I still notice it to this day. Parkwoods was the first Church of my childhood. My earliest ideas regarding Christianity formed in the Sunday School rooms in its basement. Within its walls I was first exposed to Jesus and praying and a loving God. I believed every word, every instruction. Each time I would walk into the quaint space, I could sense there was something with me. I could feel it near me, all around me. I was a sensitive child, so perhaps this was nothing more than some otherland I used as a kid to explain things. I may have been just a kid but for me, I really believed that I could feel God (or at least Jesus). It has been rare since then.

            My father was a hardworking man. He regularly had to keep one or two extra jobs just to feed his five children. This is the price you pay for urban living. Throughout the 1970s, he cared for several different Churches. We all assisted with his tasks. The one Church, from those days, that stands out in my mind is located across from the Bridlewood Mall in Scarborough, Toronto. St. Paul's L'Amoreaux Anglican Church  is medium in size with an accompanying cemetery. Both my Mom and myself fell foot first into different collapsed graves. This necropolis tried to eat us both. The sanctuary was always dark on the Saturdays when we would clean there. I used to spend my afternoon cutting grass and dusting the inner sanctum. I spent a lot of time alone with God during my experience. I thought I was doing something wrong. This God was not at all like the God I had been taught to believe in. It was the same God, I suppose, but the one I embraced behaved much better. I did not fear this God. He was all mine. I could feel him near me. I could almost hear Him singing with me. What harmony.

            In the late 1970s, we relocated from Toronto to Strathroy, Ontario. My father took a position with the Strathroy United Church, located where Front Street and Maria Street meet. The original building was built in 1879 and still stands as the largest Church in the area. I was baptized at 12 years old in this Church and I was confirmed in the Church at 14. I taught Sunday School here for over 10 years and ran the music department for a time. For over twenty years, I helped my father and mother clean this Church. I know every nook and every cranny. I could still walk through it blind. The majestic ceilings and enormous sanctuary required diligent attention. I spent less hours doing homework than dusting the huge wooden balcony. In all the times that I spent at the Church, I rarely felt the presence I was constantly looking for. I could never find Him in the Golden Jubilee room or the minister’s office. He was absent during services and I never felt him once in all the hours of choir practice on Thursday night. In the quiet, slowly dispersing, as I sang out loud, I could sense Him. I would often turn around, well knowing there was someone behind me. I would sing and in the moment, I could almost embrace it. When my thunder was done, it reigned like a tidal wave would. I just knew it was Him. These days, not so much. I rarely feel this close to God. I haven’t felt this way in years. I get tinges of Him but it has nothing to do with the Church.

            Experiencing God is an inside job. While God is supposed to dwell within us, sometimes we need to bring in outside sources. We rely on this exposure to validate our experiences with that which we consider divine. We can search and search for God and never find Him. The places where we are supposed to be close to God are usually the furthest away. Sometimes, He just won’t leave us the hell alone. It all can be so very push and pull. It is nice to find safe harbour. There are just some places that you can’t help but feel the presence of something greater than yourself. I felt it when I visited Big Sur. I could almost touch it the first time I walked into Glad Tidings, a fundamentalist congregation in London, Ontario. All in all, it always comes back to the experience versus the venue. It wasn’t ever about the building for me but the experiences that occurred within each one. I recognize that most people never feel a closeness to God. I also recognize that some people experience God in surplus, their cup overflows. I like to worship in moderation. I occasionally even consider returning to a Church, maybe even in my new hometown. After all, at Parkwoods it came naturally. I didn’t even have to try. At St. Paul’s, it was there for the taking. I didn’t even have to try. At Strathroy United, I could find it whenever I needed, I didn’t even have to try. Not once in those buildings did anyone attack me for what I was wearing or the length of my hair. I may have been different but I was still a child of the one true God. I was welcomed and allowed to explore my spirituality. I was never forced out the door for the colour of my t-shirt. God was supposed to be an inside job, not an outside requirement. After all, isn’t that why we  have Churches? Love one another and all that good stuff.

Photo

https://revolfaith.com/2012/11/16/what-does-the-holy-spirit-feel-like/

Sources

https://www.google.ca/maps/place/Parkwoods+United+Church/@43.7613599,-79.3257576,17z/data=!4m5!3m4!1s0x0:0x949acb882ad4d5ea!8m2!3d43.7613599!4d-79.3235689?hl=en

http://strathroyunitedchurch.ca/?page_id=980