This I Believe

I have been doing a lot of thinking about religion lately. A lot. Most of this rumination has stemmed from a relationship that I wanted to preserve but could not. My guess is that the other party would attribute our falling out to religious differences. Although I am not confident that that is the whole reason, I cannot deny that faith has played a part in our separation. This is a true tragedy. For me, love has always been connected to faith in God and inexplicably, these two could not co-exist. Every thought since our separation has been devoted to figuring out what went wrong. Admittedly, my impulse after so much hurt and disappointment is to give up on everything. It is in my interest to let go of what I believe to be with someone I love but no amount of argument or logic can make me feel settled about that choice. Consequently, separation is the best decision but heartbreak is the only thing that I feel.

Because of this relationship, I am currently unsure of what I believe; having been sure for so long, it is terrifying to step into the realm of uncertainty. Never in my life have I felt so insecure about what I want for my life. If you have made my acquaintance, you will know that I am socially liberal but theologically conservative and have been able to negotiate many circumstances that would make these two perspectives seem mutually exclusive. I have finally made it to a place where I have to make a difficult decision. Standing in a field of uncertainty with contradictory voices shouting their opinions, abandoned by the one I thought would stand with me, armed with nothing but some books, life experience, and a few pieces of paper to help me form my future life, I am left to find a path out of the center toward something. The beginning of a decisive me is emerging.

At the start of my public pondering on the most painful decision of my life, I am going to lay bare my current beliefs, Edward R. Murrow/Jay Allison style. This is not the entirety, but it is a starting point:

I believe that forgiveness lies on the other side of mistakes. Whether it is from God, family, strangers, friends, enemies, or oneself, there must be mercy somewhere for the most human of traits: imperfection.

I believe in change: the kind that cannot be controlled and the variety that must occur of our own volition. Both are good, but how much we kick and holler determines our happiness.

I believe that there is nothing like time and separation to award perspective. It is only the collective “other” that can see the truth when we are blinded in the moment.

I believe in art and its power to see the good and beautiful in the mundane and ordinary. It is a way to connect with something beyond oneself whether it is a higher power or another human being or perhaps, both.

I believe pain is protection. Bodies are programmed to send signals to the brain when there is a problem. An emotional life works the same way. Agony teaches us to avoid similar stimuli in the future.

I believe in selfless love and its power to take us from mortal to divine. Putting the needs of others first, especially one other, is the most rewarding way to live.

As for theology, I am working through it. I am not sure where I stand, but I know that people need to be loved and empathy is the key to understanding. I am working on those two things. As a somewhat private person, public journaling about such sensitive subjects seems like a departure from my nature, but I can’t be the only one who is struggling in this way. Perhaps an open dialogue of this nature already exists, but if not, maybe my musings will give someone else comfort.

Zombie with a Boom Box

I started listening to techno music again, sort of by accident. My nineteen year old brother listens to thumping music all of the time as he practices his glowing stick/baton twirling act in order to impress the ladies at Mormon raves. This act of swirling glow sticks has its novelty, but I mostly hate the noise that accompanies it.

This was not always the case; when I was in high school I developed a taste for electronic music after hearing Moby's Play. After a bit of exploration I realized my interest in this genre was narrow and now, in my old age, I have more or less sworn it off. That doesn't mean I can avoid hearing it. On the contrary, the walls of my parents house tremble daily from his pounding bass and in my rage I can't help but brandish my cane and shake it at the whippersnapper.

Yesterday something awful happened, something unspeakably painful. After a 2 am apocalypse, I got up early and had a grueling work day, then a rehearsal, followed by a stint of painting into the night with only a boom box to keep me company. With no other option but the radio or an unlabeled disc from the car, I fed the machine sitting among cans of paint and brought it to life. The speakers walloped my ears with noise. Alone with the once intolerable cacophony, I lay on the ground and slid the black mass of plastic onto my chest. Breathing slowly, my brain flat-lined. On a day that I thought my heart might stop beating, gratitude for a pacemaker filled my chest.