August 12th, 20:30 | minor spaz on religion

Two things. (Don't let me forget.) The first being religion. Kind of. I've been meaning to write about this for awhile actually, but haven't due to being ass-lazy and suchlike. Also, it's my last week at work and, well, I'm swamped. I really, really, really wanted to get gifties for people, but I know I won't have time (ARGH!) so I'll just bake them cookies. Maybe I'll mail the ones I really like stuff from Kingston. We'll see.

Anyway, religion. The main reason I've been meaning to write about it of late is that I'm slipping back into my hole. I've been meaning to drag myself to the People's Church, which is really near here these past couple Sundays but haven't managed to pull my ass out of bed in time. Why, you ask, would I go? Apart from the novelty factor, and the fact that apparently some of my teachers from my old (pre-grade 1) school go there, the reason is because I feel I could use a good scolding about how I'm going to burn in Hell for killing the sweet Lord Jesus when he came to die for our sins. No, I'm not Christian. I can't explain it either. (Although I did get the times for the Lutheran church in Kingston; it's my favourite one. Apparently I am a closet Catholic -- I never knew "Lutheran" was a branch of Catholicism. Weird.)

So let's start at the beginning. I don't believe Christ died to save me. I don't (as far as I know) believe in God, in the sense that I don't think there's anyone sentient in charge and taking care of us all. I do believe in nature and chaos and all that good stuff, but like I said, nothing sentient. Similarly, no belief in Fate either. That covers the now. There was a time, however, when I was a wee lass and went to church and Saturday school and the whole spiel. I was Catholic. I don't care if you say I wasn't because I wasn't baptised. I was more Catholic than at least half the congregation. I had faith that would have stopped lightning. I don't know why. I don't know how. I don't want to. I just remember feeling that I didn't have to worry. That Everything Was Going To Be Okay. To a large extent, I still feel that way, but it's mostly due to some (thus far) inexhaustible inner source of (possibly somewhat misguided) optimism. It's my superpower. But back then it was because God was in his heaven and all was right with the world. You know that scene in Dogma when Bethany is explaining to Ben Affleck how she used to feel safe and watched over, and she'd give anythign to feel that way again? Yeah, okay. No one who knows me now will likely believe me, but I know exactly how that feels. I've felt that way since I was 12 years old.

I'm not sure what happened. Whether it was the focusing on insignificant details (odd, since I usually like some amount of ritual), whether it was the refusal to answer my questions, whether it was me starting to really think about things, or just that God stopped answering when I talked to him. But He died. One day, He just wasn't there. I felt lost and sad. I tried to generalize the idea of God into Fate and divination. Thus began my fascination with astrology, tarot readings, the I-Ching, all things Feng Shui, everything to do with harmony, balance and energies. I was trying to find the inner balance. In the end, I found it to be meaningless finnicking around. (Although I kept the astrology and the tarot, because I find them to be good tools.)

It kept going from there. It was so strange, wandering around, so much faith, so much desire to, and nothing to believe in. I almost found it in Buddhism, but couldn't deal with the detachment. I don't think it's a weakness to love, and to become attached. I can't. It's the one thing I have going for me. But. I did learn a lot. Anyway, lots of looking. It's one of the main reasons I get so pissed off when people try to convert me. I feel like yelling "You really think I haven't tried to find Him for myself, asshat??" sometimes. After awhile though, the hollowness faded. I guess I learned to have faith in my own ability to make everything turn out okay. Or something like that. But sometimes, sometimes I like to go back. It's not a need. But it's comfortable. A little like hugging an ex -- it feels almost wrong, but you know exactly how it'll feel, and you remember good things, and you feel warm and happy, if not quite safe, in fact a little unnerved. That's the way church feels for me. Especially Catholic churches.

I always feel a little deceitful going. I know I'm not there because I believe. I listen, I sing, I relax. And it feels good. For two hours, I can be surrounded by the goodwill of people that they save up the whole week for, and sing floating, lilting songs of praise to someone who'll watch over me too. I can bow my head and breathe in the smell of wood and candle wax, I can hear the soft hush of millions of prayers whispered over the years snuggling around me and send out yet another prayer into the void.

I don't go to be absolved. I don't take the communion. I don't talk to the other parishioners. I go to church for almost the same reason the narrator of the Fight Club went to those support groups. I don't need to cry, but I need something to believe in. And in church it's so easy. I know as soon as I walk out that door, I'll remember why I don't believe in God anymore, but for those two hours, just for that short window of time, with all the borrowed faith of everyone else pressing around me, with all those familiar rituals, and the sound of hymnbook pages turning, I can pretend, I can forget. Just for that little while, suddenly, I'm God's daughter again, and He loves me too.

I did mean it. I don't need to go. But once in a while, it feels really good to. I keep thinking one day, I'll find what I'm looking for and stop going. For all I say it's to learn about Christian mythology (and partly it is), I know that's not even half of what makes me go to church.

Second thing. (Wow! I'm actually sticking to it!) Partly what inspired this was reading through Linlin's blog. I never knew she had one! I think it's awesome, and I'm glad for it; it'll be easier for me to keep up with what's happening in her life if nothing else. (Although one could argue that if blogs didn't exist, I might be forced to keep better in touch with friends in the first place. But. That's not the point.)

She was happy to hear from me and asked if I have a blog. I haven't answered yet. I rather like not knowing who in real life reads this. Apart from Ker and the occasional boyfriend, I've never known who reads my blogs that I might know in real life. I'm much more lax now about sharing. After all, I actually told her about this one, this time. But... I'm not sure. It seems strange to invite Lin to read my thoughts here. They're mostly... well... apart from being vaguely uninteresting, they're not really something I usually think of sharing with friends just because I don't write this as a "here's what I'm up to, keep in touch!!" kind of thing. Frankly, I could as easily spam everyone with that kind of crap (and I think I do, on occasion). Diaryland really just isn't into that. It's partly what I love about it.

Someone was telling me about her blog and how she'd tried all kinds of online places and she thought she'd finally found a home at diary-x, and would actually stay and update there. She added in passing that diaryland was cool and all ("no really!") but not really her style. Which is fine. She doesn't have to defend it for me. I'll admit freely that I'm here to stay because I was there when Andrew first threw out the idea on his Eggpost four billion years ago, and I'm in it for the loyalty. But the other part is that I love Diaryland because it really is different. For all I'm sometimes somewhat disgusted by the diary rating, sorry, review sites, and the nigh-worship some people have for other diarists mad writing prowess, I also think it's really cool that there are all those communities and diaryrings, and sites to help people with design and html and all that. There's group collabs, and Sammy who's a big sweetheart, and in general, the writing here kicks ass.

I think what I'm trying to say is that I don't know why she would want to read this if she's just trying to keep track of where I am and what I'm doing. This thing is as much about my current mental state and pressing thoughts as it is about my latest obsession with boots or soap. So. Should I tell her where it is? Bleh. I'll flip a coin. For now, I get ice cream. I've been good, damnit. After all, I updated, didn't I? ;)

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