A Retort

Due to an “Anonymous” commenter – thoughts of religion were triggered. I am not a religious person. Spiritual, yes. Religious, no.

I was brought up in a very ‘devout’ Catholic family. I was baptized. I made my first communion and confirmation. I went to church every Sunday. I was in the damned choir. I ‘itched’ my entire way through it. After my confirmation my parents told me that I was now old and educated enough to make my own decisions about religion. I never went back.

Here’s why.

I believe in me. I believe in those that are my family and friends. Those souls that journey with me through all of the ups and downs. I believe in blades of grass, human behavior, and reactions to actions. Things that I can see and touch. I believe that you get what you give. I believe in karma and energy. I believe in reincarnation. I have seen the soul of my deceased friend in his nephew’s eyes. I believe that you will come back time and time again until your soul finally gets it right and can move to the next level of spirituality that the human body cannot possibly contain.

I don’t believe that religion; that my religion is about being told what to do. I don’t believe that a church should govern choices of the soul or that any human or scripture should tell a soul there are commandments to live by because it is our own journey, our own lesson. I do not agree that anyone should judge whom I do or not sleep with or love. My soul is not to be coveted. I do not believe in guilt. I believe in consequence. I don’t believe that there is hell. We do well enough creating that in life. There are a million reasons that I don’t believe in a formalized ‘religion’ and I sure as hell don’t believe that 5 Hail Mary’s and 3 Our Father’s will make wrong right. Ever.

All that being said, I respect religion and the belief that others have. I will pray to the god of others for them – and for myself, I will seek clarity through action – I don’t pray. That is my right. My choice. I do not purge my thoughts; ideals, ideas or spirituality onto others and what I don’t appreciate about so many organized religions is the entitlement that they carry. I didn’t ask for your opinions – I don’t give you mine –.

But what does your God teach that I don't already practice? I am honest, I work hard, I love, I help, I give, I give back, I do unto others as I wish to have done unto me....what is it that you offer that I don't already know. Chances are - my enlightenment far surpasses any firey bush on a mountain.

I know perfectly well what will ‘save’ me and it does not exist in a book, or a church, or a prayer. It exists in me. It is knowledge. I don’t knock on your door handing out flyers. I don’t comment anonymously on your blog telling you to save yourself this way or that. I would come to you, hold your hand, hold you if you were hurting and offer my spirit – offer my shoulder and anything else that I had to offer to help give you light – not anything more or less because that is what we as humans need. Humanity. Not the idea of something better – because this is it and this is what we are. I wouldn’t hide. I would tell you this is I, and I will help you – I will listen. Me. Not God. Me. In all of my fucked uppedness. Me. And I would show my face because I am not afraid to stand raw and naked here. If you are so confident in what you believe and you stand by your truth as I stand by mine, why do you hide? What are you afraid of if your God is all knowing and real and you clearly have no problem stating his case – what are you ashamed of?

In the end, it’s about personal choice. Ever heard to not talk about religion or politics? There’s a reason. It’s a personal right. One that should not be disrespected. Respect me as I am and how I choose to navigate through this life I have chosen. My religion is of the self. My church is the ocean. My church is where I find peace and it has nothing to do with statues, crosses, pews or books. I don’t tell you where to find yours. I am good in my skin and my process. I didn't ask for guidance on another way and I am left feeling confused as to how writing about my life, my process, my 'self' transitioned into someone believing that it was their right to project their own ideals?

I could go on and on. Enough said.

(if you're wondering where this stemmed from - see comments on last blog)

P.S. - Anonymous - I don't judge you for your opinions. I appreciate your belief. Don't be deterred from sharing thought and emotion - just not religious belief. If that makes sense? To me, there is a difference.

Paint. I wrote a blog way back in the ‘MySpace’ days about ‘painting the walls of the self’ – changing color and all of that other existential bullshit. As much as I try to get away from it – I still fall into the philosophical crap.

Jack moved out so I’m trying to re-do the house. Create this whole therapeutic spin on everything. Her moving out was the last piece of all of the ‘endings’ and so it is that I am now alone. As much as I know it was time for her and I to venture on, she is missed. The echo’s of each room as I walk around are in some ways this rigid cold – in others, a bit of tranquility. Me, myself and I. So I have decided to paint – add colors. My house (the self and the soul) have been neutral for so long….it’s just time. I try to make it this process – this renewal. In the end it’s just tedious bullshit that makes my hands, my fingers, my arms and everything else tired. I don’t want to keep re-doing shit. I just want it to be the way that I want it to be. On all levels.

But alas, tis not the way of the cards that have been dealt.

There is something about coming home each night, painting, putzing, sitting and staring at the walls envisioning. There is something nice about making something your own and getting your hands dirty doing it. There is strength in making the decision to change your life and following through on every level – regardless of the anguish factor. At times there is strength in my solitude.

The irony about all of this is the beauty that seems to stream in, within the darkest of moments.

It would be impossible for me to take the conversations I’ve had over the past few weeks and try to replicate them. They have been these very intense, cathartic, wrenching and at times very simple conversations with people that seem to be crawling out of the woodwork. Faces I have missed – Faces that are a constant familiarity as well. Souls that I love. I see it like this. We have so many soul mates. They come into your life for a reason – certain times, certain circumstances. Sometimes they leave, sometimes they find you and they are always a part of you. Sometimes they are a sporadic presence. Regardless, they are part of your soul, part of the journey and sometimes it feels really fucking good to see their face again and so it has been, in this hellish renovation process of the home and soul that there have been glimpses of light in the most unexpected of moments.

For those that are sharing in these moments, the diatribes, the tears, the neurotic laughter, the evolution and the just 'being'….I am so grateful.

I still can’t see the forest through the trees or whatever the hell that means but within the rumbling I believe a sense of calm has evolved. Light will come. All be it as slowly as the pieces fall into place, they are still falling. Each day as I paint these walls, make things new and different it transcends into my spirit a bit. And so it is, you just keep moving until you stumble back onto the path of the life it is that you were meant to live.

It’s all about the rally.