Three weeks ago things were normal. All was well in my family. We were looking forward to family reunions, camping trips, Fundy tides and more. Then diabetes and everything changed. Sucked the life out of everything. And now, just when one might dare believe that things would be okay, that everyone would get through this. A second niece diagnosed. Two little girls, six and four. Same sister and brother-in-law. What the fuck?! Why? I don’t understand why this is happening.
I was raised Anglican, forced to teach Sunday school and the whole bit. My mother shoved religion down my throat and I resented her big time. Late in high school and into university I declared myself to be an atheist.
a·the·ist — n. One who disbelieves or denies the existence of God or gods.
My father always said he didn’t believe in God or heaven or any sort of a bigger picture. You live, you die, you rot in the ground, only one chance, one life to live. What I soon realised after moving to Toronto and meeting people who were “real” atheists or people who were Jewish or Muslim or practicing anything outside of christianity was that I couldn’t unlearn what had been drilled into my body and mind since I was a baby. The ritual, the belief, the knowledge, was in me and there was no way to erase it. I resented my mother more for not giving me the opportunity to approach the world on my own, a blank slate, able to discover and learn about all beliefs from scratch.
Somehow I got past all my resentment and came to understand that it wasn’t God I didn’t believe in, it was organised religion, and not just Christianity but pretty much all of it.
ag-nos-tic n : a person who doubts truth of religion
And then I started to form my own belief system, extracting bits from here and there and coming up with something I felt comfortable with believing and something that would comfort me when times were less than bright. A higher power. Souls. Lessons to be learned for soul evolution. An after-life. Re-incarnation. A loving, compassionate God.
And it worked. I took comfort. I understood why things happened and learned the lessons. Spiritual crises over, now lets work on those interpersonal skills. Or so I thought. Until now.
With the first niece’s diagnosis I could rationalise. With the second, I’m done in. I don’t get it. I don’t understand why. I can’t see the lesson. What’s the fucking point?!
And for the first time since my late teens/early twenties I’m doubting. Me! The person who sees spirits, who has out-of-body experiences, who knows without a doubt that there is something other than this life. Yet I’m having a real hard time believing there is any divine plan, that anyone signed on for this, that it serves any greater purpose. I don’t get it. I don’t understand. And I’m really freaking angry about it. Maybe it’s too fresh. Maybe I’ll find it later. Maybe I’m not looking in the right place. Maybe I’m too angry to meditate on it. Or maybe life is just a series of random events that mean nothing and nobody is running the show and nothing makes any difference anyway. Bad people get rich, buy lovers and friends and even new bodies and faces. Good people stay poor and struggle to provide the basics for their families, to keep them warm and fed and safe. There is no justice in the world. What is the point?
Mood: sad & mad
Listening To: The Future, Leonard Cohen
Hair: messy, greasy, dirty, and i don’t even care