"There's a demon inside of me," she said,
"It creeps when I'm not looking, and
it's slippery as a bat in flight when
I am."
A thousand miles away, a fire burns somewhere.
A thousand miles in, it starts to lick
and, acid-like, eat you.
But that's not the worst of it.
No, the worst comes later,
in through your ears, like tuning into a radio,
and sits
and waits
for you to fall asleep, so it can
sink talons into your dreams
and wait
for you to forget, as an animal on its prey,
but something reminds you
a circling ferris wheel--the way skin feels
that every
goddamn
thing
is changing.
O death, come slowly, but come every single day to remind us
that we live in eternal recurrence,
that everything that happens
has already happened:
...or is that just another one of my stories?
In any case, a duck on the side of the road,
a lady in waiting
our fragile egos
remind us to sit on balconies and feel
near your closeness,
and let us not forget:
the separateness of things.
So, to answer you, Conor,
the counterweight to all this death is simply this
I can't stop this.
And not to get too heavy
that's just what it feels like
to behold all the light.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
Dropping the G-Bomb
We all know the cardinal sins of mentioning religion or politics in conversation, but dropping the G-bomb is just as uncomfortable for us progressive, self-aware types. What is it about this particular word that makes us flinch? No one likes to be told by their well-intentioned churchgoing neighbor that God will take care of their lack of health insurance, we get insulted when people want to pray for us, and "under God" in the Pledge of Allegiance is troublesome enough to be dragged into court. Okay, so we're angry about religion in general, and with good reason. We're angry at religion for making people commit atrocities in its name, for making our leaders think they have the right to legislate bigotry because of some old book, for dulling people's critical faculties by teaching them not to question their blindly held beliefs. In a personal sense, we're angry at religion for making us feel guilty and wrong about our corporal desires, our greed, our "sinfulness."
So it's no surprise that when someone drops a G-bomb, things just get tense. The conversation was going really well until your classmate threw in that "God has blessed me with so much" at the end. Suddenly your stomach drops and your head starts spinning with assumptions and judgments about this person, hoping they're not a Christian. But why does such discomfort arise when communicating over the albeit difficult, but ever-important issues of faith and spirituality? I won't sugarcoat it: in a lot of ways, religion sucks. Now let's move on and have an honest conversation.
Recently I was involved in a late night, rum-fueled discussion about God in a hostel I was staying at. The conversation got heated when a British traveler had asked me if I believed in God. I answered yes. To make a long story short, my companion kept insisting that I was religious but didn't know it, and that I "just hadn't made the step yet" of denying the existence of God. Aside from the fact that these seemed to be more ad hominem accusations than valid points of debate, his criticisms nonetheless revealed something interesting about the "God" signifier: when we hear "God," we immediately and automatically make the association with religion, specifically Christianity. Nevermind that the God I believe in, what I meant when I chose the word "God" to convey my beliefs, has nothing to do with Christianity or any other organized religion. But the word itself is so helplessly overburdened by raving televangelists and shamefaced priests that it becomes very, very difficult to have a conversation with somebody about spirituality without bringing forth a tidal wave of these unpleasant images and associations. My friend's second assumption, that I hadn't yet made the step of denying God, revealed more than just his cockiness (love you, David!): that our culture reveres something of the atheistic spirit, as if it's (maybe not so) ironically a higher plane to which one ascends. Once you have reckoned with the certainty of death and rejected blind faith in favor of reason, you are supposedly stronger and more able than all those feeble-minded sheep. We placed denial of faith up on a pedestal the same way Christians would a cross. What we have overlooked is that both believers and skeptics, the chosen ones and the fallen, Christians and atheists, all share in common the belief in a totalizing reality. It doesn't matter if that all-powerful idol is a God or cold logic in terms of psychology.
Still, despite these similarities, the war wages on. Self-proclaimed atheists are hopelessly disillusioned with religion, and by association, with God. Christians bemoan the decay of religion in America and atheist groups angrily condemn city nativity displays. Parents and school boards squabble over the teaching of creationism or evolution in schools. Easy notions of duality haunt us, tempting us to seek out the differences amongst ourselves rather than what unites. It's us against them, a historically useless but ever-present mentality that tears us apart. We have divided ourselves over race, ethnicity, sexuality, gender, and too much more. Let us not draw one more line that severs our connection as a unified human race over what matters most.
The truth of it is, even if modern culture has rejected the notion of an all knowing, all seeing deity that sends hurricanes to sinful parts of the world and ordains the outcome of Survivor, we have not denied spirituality altogether. Most
of us are still enchanted and mystified by our existence. We feel at peace next to a gently babbling stream, we marvel at our insignificance when we gaze up at the night sky. We've had strange coincidences, fatalistic encounters, and narrowly avoided disasters. We've gone to a concert and felt enraptured, whisked away to a magical place, by music. We've declared our love meant to be. "I don't believe in God, but I'm spiritual," says our generation.
Even though "God is dead," beliefs never will be. It doesn't matter if you pray at church or if you worship at the altar of science; religious folk and atheists alike both bow their heads to an overarching reality, a greater whole, whether they call it God or evolution makes little difference at the core. And while I know it's hard to suppress your anger when speaking to someone who opposes gay marriage, but don't adopt the same tactics as your enemy, shutting them out because of identity politics. Too often have I heard people dismiss others' opinions simply because that person is a Christian. Does it matter if the object of your hatred is a Christian or a homosexual? Both sides are guilty of prejudice, of harboring rage and aggression against the other. These destructive mindsets are of no use to us anymore, so what now?
When having a conversation about spirituality, which frequently erupts into arguments because we hold our beliefs so close to our hearts, let us not fall into the familiar divisive mentality that invites dismissals and hasty judgments. When a friend says "God" and you prefer to say "the universe" to invoke a higher power, don't be so quick to assume that they must mean a bearded man in the sky. Existential dilemmas are the most difficult we face; let us treat them with the delicacy and understanding they deserve. Using language to describe the ineffable can too easily result in confusion, so listen closely and think before speaking. Choose your words carefully. When you hear "God," a better question to ask than why he or she believes in what you assume this word signifies is "what do you mean when you say that?" Such questions can invite fascinating discussion with the unlikeliest of companions. I have had some of the most enriching, perspective-shifting conversations with die-hard Christians because I have made the conscious decision to simply to listen, and look for similarities rather than differences. You'll be surprised at what you find. Instead of scoffing at that neighbor when they drop a G-bomb, notice the compassion that underlies their utterance. What if they had said, "don't worry, things work out for the best?" Maybe that was all they meant in the first place.
Maybe "God" is too tainted a word for those in-betweeners who call themselves spiritual to use. Let us remind ourselves that names are no more than a personal preference: divinity, the universe, the Light, the Source, whatever you prefer, it does not matter. What matters is what lies behind the language. Maybe all of those words turn you off, maybe anything remotely involving the supernatural is anathema to you. Still, I invite you to participate in these exchanges and think hard about your own significations for and experience with the magic of existence. I hope we can all at least agree on that much.
In this blog, I want to explore and share that magic in the medium of language, difficult as though it may be at times. I hope to open up what others have shut down, inspire people in places they have been defeated. I want to wake you up out of your slumber and show you my sublime, and I hope you can see a little of yourself in it.
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.
- Psalms 119:105
So it's no surprise that when someone drops a G-bomb, things just get tense. The conversation was going really well until your classmate threw in that "God has blessed me with so much" at the end. Suddenly your stomach drops and your head starts spinning with assumptions and judgments about this person, hoping they're not a Christian. But why does such discomfort arise when communicating over the albeit difficult, but ever-important issues of faith and spirituality? I won't sugarcoat it: in a lot of ways, religion sucks. Now let's move on and have an honest conversation.
Recently I was involved in a late night, rum-fueled discussion about God in a hostel I was staying at. The conversation got heated when a British traveler had asked me if I believed in God. I answered yes. To make a long story short, my companion kept insisting that I was religious but didn't know it, and that I "just hadn't made the step yet" of denying the existence of God. Aside from the fact that these seemed to be more ad hominem accusations than valid points of debate, his criticisms nonetheless revealed something interesting about the "God" signifier: when we hear "God," we immediately and automatically make the association with religion, specifically Christianity. Nevermind that the God I believe in, what I meant when I chose the word "God" to convey my beliefs, has nothing to do with Christianity or any other organized religion. But the word itself is so helplessly overburdened by raving televangelists and shamefaced priests that it becomes very, very difficult to have a conversation with somebody about spirituality without bringing forth a tidal wave of these unpleasant images and associations. My friend's second assumption, that I hadn't yet made the step of denying God, revealed more than just his cockiness (love you, David!): that our culture reveres something of the atheistic spirit, as if it's (maybe not so) ironically a higher plane to which one ascends. Once you have reckoned with the certainty of death and rejected blind faith in favor of reason, you are supposedly stronger and more able than all those feeble-minded sheep. We placed denial of faith up on a pedestal the same way Christians would a cross. What we have overlooked is that both believers and skeptics, the chosen ones and the fallen, Christians and atheists, all share in common the belief in a totalizing reality. It doesn't matter if that all-powerful idol is a God or cold logic in terms of psychology.
Still, despite these similarities, the war wages on. Self-proclaimed atheists are hopelessly disillusioned with religion, and by association, with God. Christians bemoan the decay of religion in America and atheist groups angrily condemn city nativity displays. Parents and school boards squabble over the teaching of creationism or evolution in schools. Easy notions of duality haunt us, tempting us to seek out the differences amongst ourselves rather than what unites. It's us against them, a historically useless but ever-present mentality that tears us apart. We have divided ourselves over race, ethnicity, sexuality, gender, and too much more. Let us not draw one more line that severs our connection as a unified human race over what matters most.
The truth of it is, even if modern culture has rejected the notion of an all knowing, all seeing deity that sends hurricanes to sinful parts of the world and ordains the outcome of Survivor, we have not denied spirituality altogether. Most
of us are still enchanted and mystified by our existence. We feel at peace next to a gently babbling stream, we marvel at our insignificance when we gaze up at the night sky. We've had strange coincidences, fatalistic encounters, and narrowly avoided disasters. We've gone to a concert and felt enraptured, whisked away to a magical place, by music. We've declared our love meant to be. "I don't believe in God, but I'm spiritual," says our generation.
Even though "God is dead," beliefs never will be. It doesn't matter if you pray at church or if you worship at the altar of science; religious folk and atheists alike both bow their heads to an overarching reality, a greater whole, whether they call it God or evolution makes little difference at the core. And while I know it's hard to suppress your anger when speaking to someone who opposes gay marriage, but don't adopt the same tactics as your enemy, shutting them out because of identity politics. Too often have I heard people dismiss others' opinions simply because that person is a Christian. Does it matter if the object of your hatred is a Christian or a homosexual? Both sides are guilty of prejudice, of harboring rage and aggression against the other. These destructive mindsets are of no use to us anymore, so what now?
When having a conversation about spirituality, which frequently erupts into arguments because we hold our beliefs so close to our hearts, let us not fall into the familiar divisive mentality that invites dismissals and hasty judgments. When a friend says "God" and you prefer to say "the universe" to invoke a higher power, don't be so quick to assume that they must mean a bearded man in the sky. Existential dilemmas are the most difficult we face; let us treat them with the delicacy and understanding they deserve. Using language to describe the ineffable can too easily result in confusion, so listen closely and think before speaking. Choose your words carefully. When you hear "God," a better question to ask than why he or she believes in what you assume this word signifies is "what do you mean when you say that?" Such questions can invite fascinating discussion with the unlikeliest of companions. I have had some of the most enriching, perspective-shifting conversations with die-hard Christians because I have made the conscious decision to simply to listen, and look for similarities rather than differences. You'll be surprised at what you find. Instead of scoffing at that neighbor when they drop a G-bomb, notice the compassion that underlies their utterance. What if they had said, "don't worry, things work out for the best?" Maybe that was all they meant in the first place.
Maybe "God" is too tainted a word for those in-betweeners who call themselves spiritual to use. Let us remind ourselves that names are no more than a personal preference: divinity, the universe, the Light, the Source, whatever you prefer, it does not matter. What matters is what lies behind the language. Maybe all of those words turn you off, maybe anything remotely involving the supernatural is anathema to you. Still, I invite you to participate in these exchanges and think hard about your own significations for and experience with the magic of existence. I hope we can all at least agree on that much.
In this blog, I want to explore and share that magic in the medium of language, difficult as though it may be at times. I hope to open up what others have shut down, inspire people in places they have been defeated. I want to wake you up out of your slumber and show you my sublime, and I hope you can see a little of yourself in it.
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.
- Psalms 119:105
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