Sede Vacante
The light is on but no one is home.Archive for June, 2008
I am a heretic: there is no hell
I don’t believe in hell. I find the notion of a locus for cosmic torment and punishment incongruous with any vision of a just and loving god–a being whose very existence is difficult enough to swallow without the mention of a place overflowing with fire and brimstone.
With any god worth his salt being perfect, shouldn’t we expect his expression of love and justice to far surpass that of human imagining? Wouldn’t such a god express a perfect justice, one that is all-seeing and all-embracing rather than one that is blind and vengeful?
Language can set you free
Imagine a human being with only one word for the feeling in the pit of his stomach–“SAD.” Just sad. So he drops his ice cream cone, and he feels sad. His favorite football team caves in the superbowl, and he feels sad. His new car gets scratched, and he feels sad. Just sad. He knows not sorrow, desolation, abandonment, emptiness, depression…. All he knows is “sad.”
Now what does he feel when his little daughter falls into the pool and drowns while he ran inside to refill his beer. He must feel something. He runs to you and tells you that he’s sad. Of course you tell him that you know the feeling; that you’ve once dropped an ice cream cone, bet on the wrong team, and scratched your car. You pat him on the back and tell him it’s ok. Everyone feels sad every now and then. You tell him that he can always buy another cone, that there will be more games in the future, and that the insurance will take care of repainting the car.
Insanity Beckons
It’s happening again. I admit, this is the longest spell of normalcy (or is it complacency?) that I’ve ever endured. Like the previous bouts, the strongest driver of this change is disgust. I’m disgusted with myself again. Sick of what I’ve become. Just the other night, someone asked me how I can possibly consider myself a failure considering what I’ve been able to do. Well, it’s simple really, if you’re not yet happy, then you’ve failed. There is no further discussion.
And so, like the Nietzschean drama that has been the story of my life, I find myself back where I began–complacent with the things around me, and disgusted at the things inside me. The dialectic continues, life goes on, but the actors change their roles, appearance, and motivations. Tyrants become slaves, lovers become strangers, and of course, the steadfast become chaotic and unstable.
A strangely enchanting girl once told me that a change of hairstyle usually marks a more profound inner change. I guess she must be right. At least there are some changes that I don’t will on my own. My hair is well on its way to leaving me forever. Perhaps its my last chance to finally let it touch my back and whip in the wind.
In terms of changes, I think that’s going to be the simplest and the least traumatic.
Don’t worry, I’ve done this all before. More than once. And I’d like to think that each molting has left me stronger, and wiser. Of course, each one also almost killed me. But we’re all going to die anyway–one thing that thankfully will never change.
(I know that I promised somewhere that this blog would never regress into some sort of journal of my pathetic unremarkable life. But Ronnie made me break that rule. It’s all your fault, dear.)
Sede Vacante 