Today, I meditated for some time in the chapel, and I got some answers that I guess I've been unsure about. It's like I've been pretty sure, but I still am fucking terrified. But I've never been more sure in my entire life of anything after today, I'm leaving the Catholic church. I'm absolutely fucking positive. It's like this wave of peace just came over me, calm and surety just took over, I know this is right. I've never been more sure. Everything afterward comes afterward, I can't worry about it now. Fuck it, I don't want to care anymore. I'm tired of questioning myself all the time. I just need to live my fucking life.
In other news, some kid gets into this fucking Wiener guy's twitter and posts a crotch pic, and some republican asshole is like GUYS WE NEED TO INVESTIGATE THIS SHIT WHY IS REP WIENER BEING SO CALM?? HE MUST HAVE DONE IT.
It's fucking twitter, calm down. I mean really. You'd think you're like 17 years old.
That's all.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
Uncle Ben
I just hid my facebook wall, and I'm not as lost as I thought I might be, although I do need space to vent.
I've written in my journal much more than normal, which is probably better than flooding my friends' facebook feed with pointless statuses. As for this blog, it's mainly for myself, too.
Forgive me, anyone who reads this, for the language.. Might as well start off that way. I'm like Deb from Dexter, which is coincidental now that I say it, because I swear I saw Trinity crossing the street earlier today. He had the creepy overly friendly sociopath smile and everything. Anyway, just something on my mind. Wanted to share:
"Dig, if you’re willing, this picture: a tiny town with a tight-knit community. The people share joys and concerns, woes and gossip. They keep a close and often affectionate watch on one another’s business. They talk and talk and talk.
What an outsider would notice within minutes of listening in on conversations are constant and slightly self-conscious references to “Uncle Ben.” A beautiful sunset prompts a townsperson to say, “Isn’t Uncle Ben awesome?” Good news brings out how thankful and overjoyed they feel toward Uncle Ben. Even in tragedy, a local might say, in a slightly nervous fashion, “You know, it just goes to show how much we all need Uncle Ben. I know — we all know — that Uncle Ben is good.”
Uncle Ben is always on their minds.
Even when the magnificence of Uncle Ben isn’t spoken of aloud, he’s somehow present in facial expressions and actions. It’s the look of stopping a train of thought before it goes too far, of letting an uncompleted sentence trail off into awkward silence, of swiftly changing the subject. It’s as if a conversation can go only so far. People hardly ever look one another in the eye for long.
At the beginning of each week there’s a meeting in the largest house in town. Upon arriving, people get caught up in good fellowship and animated discussion of the week’s events, with conversations straining in the direction of Uncle Ben. When a bell sounds, talk ceases. Everyone moves to the staircase and descends into the basement. Each person sits facing an enormous, rumbling furnace. Seated close to the furnace door, as if he were a part of the furnace itself, is a giant man in black overalls. His back is turned to them. They wait in silence.
In time the man turns around. His face is angry, contorted. He fixes a threatening stare of barely contained rage on each person, then roars, “Am I good?” To which they respond in unison, “Yes, Uncle Ben, you are good.”
“Am I worthy of praise?”
“You alone are worthy of our praise.”
“Do you love me more than anything? More than anyone?”
“We love you and you alone, Uncle Ben.”
“You better love me, or I’m going to put you . . . in here” —he opens the furnace door to reveal a gaping darkness — “forever.”
Out of the darkness can be heard sounds of anguish and lament. Then he closes the furnace door and turns his back to them. They sit in silence.
Finally, feeling reasonably assured that Uncle Ben has finished saying what he has to say, they leave. They live their lives as best they can. They try to think and speak truthfully and do well by one another. They resume their talk of the wonders of Uncle Ben’s love in anticipation of the next week’s meeting.
But they’re limited, in myriad ways, by fear. Fear causes them to censor their own thoughts and words. Fear prevents them from telling anyone of their inner anguish and fright. Fear keeps them from recognizing in one another’s eyes their common desperation. This fear is interwoven, subtly and sometimes not so subtly, in all of their relationships.
End of story."
From The Sacredness of Questioning Everything by David Dark
I don't know about any of you, but I don't fucking want my God to be Uncle Ben. I don't ever want to submit to a God like that, I don't care what the consequence is. I want to love my God because I love him, not because I'm afraid of hellfire. And because I make him that way, he is that way. I don't fucking FEAR him, I let him accept me, I trust him, I let him hold me and love me. He is so accepting, he is pure love, how do people not know that? How do people do all the daily motions simply because they're afraid of going to hell? What a piece of shit life, what a life I don't ever want to live. The church is my crutch, it's how I've always gotten my God fix, it's where I've always seen my future. In the church. I don't need a crutch, though. I don't want a crutch. I want to tear away everything I've known and start over, not know where I'm going but like it because it's exciting. I don't want my life to be fucking predictable anymore. I always saw myself in the church for the rest of my life, I didn't see how I would ever even move away from this state without hurting because of the people I love at church. It's hindering me. I saw myself with a good Catholic man, with the same values and morals as me.. the same values and morals I find myself questioning now. Because it's not so much about what I do in my spare time than it is about how I live my life, how I treat people. I saw myself getting married, having kids, trying hard to teach them those same morals. I saw myself trying to reach out through music, where I am now. That's all gone, because I can't stay where I am.. The good Catholic man, I can't stand the thought of him anymore, because I'd rather find a free thinking open minded man and not marry him because I want to settle down and have children but because I love him so much and with so much of my heart that the only thing left is to get married. Settling down, I could never do such a thing so soon, I still have so much to do, to think about, and I have an entire fucking future to live now. It's an empty fucking canvas for me to paint now. I control the shit! I fully trust that everything ends up the way it should. The music is hardest, I have nothing to do anymore.. But I find something else. I pave my way. I find things to occupy my time in the mean time.
I have a feeling that this will be harder than it seems, it's like breaking up with someone you thought you'd be with forever.. but I'm realizing now that this relationship was severely unhealthy. I was staying here because I was comfortable, scared to think of an empty future, not because I was happy. I have to break up with the church, I might be fucking miserable sometimes, but I will be happier. I know I will. I can't stand doing this anymore.
So this is what's going on.
Agnosticism is looking wonderful.
I've written in my journal much more than normal, which is probably better than flooding my friends' facebook feed with pointless statuses. As for this blog, it's mainly for myself, too.
Forgive me, anyone who reads this, for the language.. Might as well start off that way. I'm like Deb from Dexter, which is coincidental now that I say it, because I swear I saw Trinity crossing the street earlier today. He had the creepy overly friendly sociopath smile and everything. Anyway, just something on my mind. Wanted to share:
"Dig, if you’re willing, this picture: a tiny town with a tight-knit community. The people share joys and concerns, woes and gossip. They keep a close and often affectionate watch on one another’s business. They talk and talk and talk.
What an outsider would notice within minutes of listening in on conversations are constant and slightly self-conscious references to “Uncle Ben.” A beautiful sunset prompts a townsperson to say, “Isn’t Uncle Ben awesome?” Good news brings out how thankful and overjoyed they feel toward Uncle Ben. Even in tragedy, a local might say, in a slightly nervous fashion, “You know, it just goes to show how much we all need Uncle Ben. I know — we all know — that Uncle Ben is good.”
Uncle Ben is always on their minds.
Even when the magnificence of Uncle Ben isn’t spoken of aloud, he’s somehow present in facial expressions and actions. It’s the look of stopping a train of thought before it goes too far, of letting an uncompleted sentence trail off into awkward silence, of swiftly changing the subject. It’s as if a conversation can go only so far. People hardly ever look one another in the eye for long.
At the beginning of each week there’s a meeting in the largest house in town. Upon arriving, people get caught up in good fellowship and animated discussion of the week’s events, with conversations straining in the direction of Uncle Ben. When a bell sounds, talk ceases. Everyone moves to the staircase and descends into the basement. Each person sits facing an enormous, rumbling furnace. Seated close to the furnace door, as if he were a part of the furnace itself, is a giant man in black overalls. His back is turned to them. They wait in silence.
In time the man turns around. His face is angry, contorted. He fixes a threatening stare of barely contained rage on each person, then roars, “Am I good?” To which they respond in unison, “Yes, Uncle Ben, you are good.”
“Am I worthy of praise?”
“You alone are worthy of our praise.”
“Do you love me more than anything? More than anyone?”
“We love you and you alone, Uncle Ben.”
“You better love me, or I’m going to put you . . . in here” —he opens the furnace door to reveal a gaping darkness — “forever.”
Out of the darkness can be heard sounds of anguish and lament. Then he closes the furnace door and turns his back to them. They sit in silence.
Finally, feeling reasonably assured that Uncle Ben has finished saying what he has to say, they leave. They live their lives as best they can. They try to think and speak truthfully and do well by one another. They resume their talk of the wonders of Uncle Ben’s love in anticipation of the next week’s meeting.
But they’re limited, in myriad ways, by fear. Fear causes them to censor their own thoughts and words. Fear prevents them from telling anyone of their inner anguish and fright. Fear keeps them from recognizing in one another’s eyes their common desperation. This fear is interwoven, subtly and sometimes not so subtly, in all of their relationships.
End of story."
From The Sacredness of Questioning Everything by David Dark
I don't know about any of you, but I don't fucking want my God to be Uncle Ben. I don't ever want to submit to a God like that, I don't care what the consequence is. I want to love my God because I love him, not because I'm afraid of hellfire. And because I make him that way, he is that way. I don't fucking FEAR him, I let him accept me, I trust him, I let him hold me and love me. He is so accepting, he is pure love, how do people not know that? How do people do all the daily motions simply because they're afraid of going to hell? What a piece of shit life, what a life I don't ever want to live. The church is my crutch, it's how I've always gotten my God fix, it's where I've always seen my future. In the church. I don't need a crutch, though. I don't want a crutch. I want to tear away everything I've known and start over, not know where I'm going but like it because it's exciting. I don't want my life to be fucking predictable anymore. I always saw myself in the church for the rest of my life, I didn't see how I would ever even move away from this state without hurting because of the people I love at church. It's hindering me. I saw myself with a good Catholic man, with the same values and morals as me.. the same values and morals I find myself questioning now. Because it's not so much about what I do in my spare time than it is about how I live my life, how I treat people. I saw myself getting married, having kids, trying hard to teach them those same morals. I saw myself trying to reach out through music, where I am now. That's all gone, because I can't stay where I am.. The good Catholic man, I can't stand the thought of him anymore, because I'd rather find a free thinking open minded man and not marry him because I want to settle down and have children but because I love him so much and with so much of my heart that the only thing left is to get married. Settling down, I could never do such a thing so soon, I still have so much to do, to think about, and I have an entire fucking future to live now. It's an empty fucking canvas for me to paint now. I control the shit! I fully trust that everything ends up the way it should. The music is hardest, I have nothing to do anymore.. But I find something else. I pave my way. I find things to occupy my time in the mean time.
I have a feeling that this will be harder than it seems, it's like breaking up with someone you thought you'd be with forever.. but I'm realizing now that this relationship was severely unhealthy. I was staying here because I was comfortable, scared to think of an empty future, not because I was happy. I have to break up with the church, I might be fucking miserable sometimes, but I will be happier. I know I will. I can't stand doing this anymore.
So this is what's going on.
Agnosticism is looking wonderful.
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