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On Faith and charged objects

Have you ever had something that means…just a little bit extra to you? Whether it’s a lucky shirt, a favorite song, or, hell, even a lucky pair of underwear, these objects seem to make things go our way. Maybe we do well on a date or an interview, but something always seems different when they’re around.

I call these objects “blessed objects”, or sometimes “charged objects”.

I call them “blessed” because their effect is to bless our lives. We feel stronger, more confident, better when they’re in use. And because of that, we seem luckier when they’re around. But I call them “charged” because this effect is not inherent – it’s something we make ourselves. Maybe we have a good day, and attribute the success of that day to something we’re wearing, a song that made us feel pumped up, or maybe a book we were reading. But whatever the object or the reason, we have a good day and associate the reason why to this object. So the next time we want to have a good day, we put the object into play again and believe it will bring us luck.

Maybe it does, and the object gains more of our faith. Maybe it doesn’t, and we look at the previous successes as flukes. Perhaps we just exhausted all the luck of that particular object, and need to find another.

But at the end of the day, we can find another, and that’s important. These objects are neither unique nor miraculous – they are something we can create on our own. It is our faith in them that gives them power. And knowing that, we can choose to create objects when we have need of them.  That’s the way magic works, the way rituals work, and the way faith works.

Faith is a great currency of the soul. While we may not be able to move the world like magicians in stories, we can do wonders with enough belief. If we have a hat, a shirt, a tie that we KNOW is special, we will feel more confident while wearing it. And as the saying goes, confidence is sexy. It’s attractive. People like confidence, and the confidence we create with this belief can carry us just as far as any spell from a storybook. It will open doors, charm managers and dates, and it will inspire.

I participated in many rituals in my life. I have made a candle on the summer solstice that was meant to strengthen and inspire me. I’ve said a few words and destroyed a cup and a photograph to help myself get over some people. I’ve woken up early on the weekend to eat bread and drink wine in the hopes that doing so will save my soul.

Whether or not they work is a matter of some debate. But each and every one of them meant something to me. I believed in them, and that faith gave them power.  And the knowledge that I was the one doing this gave ME power.

And taking back that power is the reason why I wrote this post. Because anyone can believe in a miracle, but the one who explains a miracle… Well, now I feel a bit like the guy who ruined a magic trick. But I’m also the guy who’s telling you that you can make your own magic, perform your own miracles.

So go out there and do something amazing. You are powerful beyond measure, and limited only in the depth of your faith.  To borrow someone else’s words, which have meant a lot to me:

“Believe in yourself. Not in the you who believes in me. Not the me who believes in you. Believe in the you who believes in yourself.” *

Have faith, and you will do wonders.

 

* From the animated show Gurren Lagann, spoken by the character Kamina in episode 8

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Gunmetal

Fresh from the forge,
they still carry a spark,
if you look closely you can catch them
smoldering in the dark.

Steady under starlight
mirrors reflecting the moon,
but they hide from the intensity
of the sun overhead at noon.

Tread carefully in their presence,
unless you wish to learn
the swiftness of their ire
and how cold their fire burns

For whether eyes or guns
or ruthless will,
mark my words well:
all of these can kill.

*This poem is a continuation of a project where I chose a color, and wrote a poem on the first three words that came to mind. In this case, they were eyes, weapon, resolve/ruthlessness/full of intent*

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The story of the wind

When I was younger, I felt happiness like a wind.

It blew across my face, my arms, and my skin like a gentle caress. It laughed and teased, but never too harshly. The wind blew through me and my heart and washed me clean.

Depression was like wandering into canyon caverns and losing my way out. It was hot, dusty, and dry. The ground was parched and cracked; the air was sticky and stiffling. But no matter how long or how far I walked, I could not find the way out. I could feel the wind crashing against the cavern walls, but no puffs of clean air found their way to me.

I lost the wind, and I withered in the heat of my despair.

I cracked and broke, and lost pieces of myself. I lost my smile and laughter. My feelings numbed and diminished to dull, grey echoes of their former glory. And slowly, the holes in my heart grew. Little by little, I lost more and more of what made me the person I used to be. I wandered and wondered, quested and questioned. But answers were as elusive as the wind, and I began to lose hope.

Until one day, I had a revelation.

You, the fears and insecurities that cut at my heart – and you, the sorrows and self-pitying judgments – I have a message for you: bring it. Bring your worst to bear against me. Burn a brand new set of scars into me; take each and every piece of my heart you want and tear it out of me. But you cannot destroy me.

All your efforts to diminish me will fail – and I’ll tell you why. For every piece you steal, for every hole you leave, you do nothing more than deepen my song. You’ve turned me into an instrument, and while the hollows left behind by your efforts grow, my music is not for you. And on the day I find the wind again, it will blow through me, and we shall sing a breath-taking duet.

While you sing a song from the soundtrack to the breaking of the world, the wind and I will sing its counterpoint. We will sing of joy, celebration, and love. We will sing for havest dances and wedding waltzes. We will weave the melody of the someone meeting their first-born child. We will compose an opera to the end of oppression. We will forge an aria to tears of forgiveness. We will trumpet triumph through tragedy.

So do your worst, and I’ll show you my magic – and transform my scars into something beautiful.

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Ivory

Ivory is a color
that comes at quite a cost,
a history worth lamenting
all the lives which were lost.

Every life is sacred,
whether great or small,
but all creatures feel the fear
when a titan falls.

So be mindful of the dark harvest
farmed from each and every head,
and I pray thee to remember
that ivory’s ringed in red.

*This poem is a continuation of a project where I chose a color, and wrote a poem on the first three words that came to mind. In this case, they were elephant, tusk, and blood/death*

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Language study: to vs with

“I want to talk to you.”

Few words inspire such dread as these. Childhood memories of scoldings rise like blisters. These words are the opening act to every breakup argument, a sweat-soaked overture to an amorous ending, and the denouement to a heart-breaking dream.

These words mean, “You’re in trouble now.”

And we brace for a fight when confronted with these words. We become defensive, and that’s a natural response to this kind of stimuli. And while I could write an entire article on the nuances of our responses to stress, that’s not what I want to do today. Today, I’m going to show you how changing one word makes a world of difference.

“I want to talk with you.”

Do you see the difference there? Do you feel it? By changing one word, we change it from a directed statement into a cooperative one. It’s not longer accusatory, but an invitation to dialog. It lets the recipient know that their opinion is not only welcome, but wanted.

So why do I care, and why am I bothering you with my thoughts on this topic?

As a poet, writer, and storyteller, I make language a subject of much study. I muse on the meaning of words and phrases. I love puns, and delight in finding new ways to express a greater depth of meaning while using only a smattering of words. And sometimes I take the lessons I learn for my writing and apply them to the rest of my life.

I’ve had plenty of times in my life when I’ve been told, “I want to talk to you.” I’ve had plenty of times I’ve said that to someone, and seen how they react. But when I think of how those words have made me feel, and how I’ve seen them make others feel, it makes me want to be a better person.

I don’t want to be a “to” person. I don’t want to lecture or badger someone. I want to talk with them – I want to express my opinions and feelings and get feedback. I want to be a “with” person.

I want to be open and inviting. I want to inspire people – not terrorize them. So these days I make an effort to use “with” over “to”. Because living well, and making the world a better place, takes effort. And sometimes all it takes to make a difference in someone’s day is the choice of a single word.

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Teal

The ocean rises, rich with rain
filled to the brim with heaven’s pain
whose tears were so great that they fell
to rise again with every swell.

*This poem is a continuation of a project where I chose a color, and wrote a poem on the first three words that came to mind. In this case, they were ocean, rain, salt/tears.*

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On letting go

One of my favorite books series has a quote:  “Death is lighter than a feather, but Duty is heavier than a mountain.”*

But what of grief, loss, or betrayal?  What about rage, fury, and madness?  What about the memories that still have the power to hurt, even years later?  How heavy are they?

Letting go is not easy.  Our ability to let go of something is inversely proportional to its meaning in our lives.  The more we cherish something, the harder it is to let go.

But we must let go – we cannot carry around old memories like a home-made necklace of scars.  The weight of them all will break us in time.  We have to let go – not just for the people and things that have come into our lives since then, but also for ourselves and for the futures we wish to create on the other side of intense feelings.

I have made mistakes, and I carry the scars of those poor choices.  I made jewelry out of that pain and wore it every day.  I wove the pain of those choices into garments, and wore them years past the day I outgrew them.  I swallowed anger like a stone, and ate meal after heavy meal of heavy fare.  But how was that fair to me?

I want to create a new life for myself.  I want to live in the sun, beyond the shadows of my past.  I want love, and happiness, and a bright future to look forward to.  But that means letting go.

I carried grief and rage and pain for five years:  three for one person, two for another.  But five is one of my favorite numbers, because it lies in the middle of the spectrum between extremes.  Five can go either way, high or low.  Five is a number with choices to be made.  Five is a number around which to shape your own destiny.

For three and two years, I have swung my five low, and languished in my grief.  But with three swings of a hammer, I shattered her cup, and I let her go.  With three swings of a hammer, I destroyed his photo, and I let him go.  And then added some more swings, because loving yourself means owning up to what you feel and letting yourself know that it’s OK to be angry.  It’s OK for it to hurt.

It hurt because it meant something to you, and it’s time to feel that – and once you’re done, time to let it go.

 

*The book series is Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series.

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We do not treat love kindly

We do not treat love kindly
in these modern days;
we stumble around blindly
trying to find our way.

We put women on a pedestal
and claim to give them awe,
but the moment they start to fall,
they’re crucified for their flaws.

Male culture lauds the fight,
cheers heroes from the stands,
but what waits on his wedding night
for a hero with blades for hands?

It’s time to leave the path;
we must blaze a brand new trail,
embrace our flaws, release our wrath –
the price is too high for us to fail.

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The story of a question

Today I want to tell you a story. It is the story of a question, and I have told it often to people in the past. It is the story I use to explain my thoughts and feelings on religion.

So here is my story of a question.

Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that there is the Christian God. He exists, and is all-knowing, all-powerful, all-present, and all-good. I make these assertions not only because of my math and science educational background, but because not everyone has the same beliefs.

So, given a God with these characteristics… Let’s say that you have the opportunity to ask one question of God, and this question will be answered with full and complete honesty. What question would you ask?

This is the part most people assume is a test, and they are right. But there are no right or wrong answers, merely answers that reveal things about each of us. I also ask for audience participation at this point, but since I’m telling this story online, I will forgo that today. Instead I will share some of the questions people have told me in the past.

I think my mother wanted to know why an benevolent and all-powerful God would allow for evil in the world. A good question; I’m curious as well.

A friend of mine who’d left seminary said he would ask for the meaning of his life. I’ve had others ask for the universal “meaning of life”, and that’s a good question as well – they both are.

I met a young woman in a coffeeshop who wanted to know why she’d suffered hardships recently. I understand that question as well.

An atheist friend of mine had a question that, while I don’t remember what she said, was so ridiculous it made me laugh. I remember her laughing off the opportunity, and it is her choice on how to spend the opportunity. As I said, there are no right or wrong questions. Our questions reveal who we are.

Which brings me to my question, which I have always prefaced by saying, “I will only tell you this if you let me explain WHY I’m asking it.”

My question is, and has always been: “Dear God (if there is a God), do you prefer beef or chicken cheesesteaks?”

That’s ridiculous, right? I recall my mother calling it “fucking stupid” when I first told her. I admit – it’s hard to see the value my choice.

So here is the story of why I would ask that question.

God knows everything; God can do anything. He is the president, CEO, and board of directors of Life and The Universe Inc. He has angels who serve him, people who worship him – and no friends.

Idolizing someone and putting them on a pedestal is not the same thing as being their friend. We may love celebrities, but we are not their friends. Our relationship with them is different than that. Then take God, the ultimate celebrity, and imagine the distance between him and the rest of us. Imagine the solitude of one who has spent the entirety of humanity’s existence watching over us, and trying to save us – most often from ourselves.

He may be the King of Kings, but I see him as the lonely king at the top of the mountain. He hears all supplicants, but does so alone. From the Christian creation story, he made partners for humanity, so we would not be alone. But whom did he create for himself?

Us? We are a mob of children who bombard him with our wishes and whims. Selfish or selfless, we ask and ask and ask some more.

Which brings me back to my question.

I do not care about the answer to my question. The point of the question is not to get an answer. I’m not requesting anything.

I am trying to make him smile, maybe even laugh.

With a seemingly lonesome existence as a caretaker, how many of us have turned to him to comfort him? How many of us have tried to make him laugh? How many of us have taken the gifts he’s given us and turned them into gifts for him?

So I want to use my gift to make him laugh. I would surprise him, though I assume he’s heard of my ambitions already (as I am not quiet about this story).

I ask him this question to treat him as a person. I ask him the same question I would ask a parent, a friend, a partner, or a child. I ask him the inconsequential question of what does he want for a meal. I narrow the field of answers to two choices – in part for comedic effect, in part to simplify the answer.

In doing so, I tend to one I perceive as untended. I care for one I see as forgotten – not God the Divinity, but the God who has walked beside us all our lives. I look after the one who looks after us, because it is important to be kind to others regardless of whether or not there’s anything in it for us.

Because that’s how we’re supposed to live, and treat each other. (In my opinion)

Interestingly, my question actually makes me something of a heretic. One of the characteristics of God is that he is not only all-knowing, but unknowable. And my question is about getting to know him, in a small but still very personable way.

I’m going against the grain, and walking a road that I don’t believe many stereotypical religious-types would walk. Perhaps they would, but I have yet to hear anyone ask a question for which they do not want an answer. In fact, I can see this silly question of mine being the sort of thing that overly zealous people would fight over.

Beef or chicken? It’s obviously beef! People in the past sacrificed cattle to God, so therefore God would want beef.

Are you crazy? It’s so obviously chicken! God’s middle-aged now: he’s had a child, and raised that child to adulthood. Now God’s gotta take care of his health and watch his weight. That means white meat – chicken is the only answer it could be!

Beef!

Chicken!

*queue the religious wars*

Perhaps I’m a pessimist, but I can see that happening. It’s probably happened already, on different topics. Perhaps it’s even happening in our times right now.

Which is why this little heretic thinks God needs a laugh. Because, honestly…

Look at us. Look at any parent with small children. Look as us again – all seven-point-something-billion of us.

I think God NEEDS this laugh, and I think that laugh, that smile, is a good use of my question.

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A dream by the sea

A dream by the sea,
a little cottage on the coast –
barely more
than four walls and a door,
but that’s enough for me.

A dream by the sea,
days spent on the dunes –
just laying in the sand
with a cold drink on hand,
but that’s enough for me.

A dream by the sea,
the wind and the waves –
the sound of the deep
rocking me to sleep,
but that’s enough for me.

A dream by the sea
while tangled in traffic –
despite the workday din,
my dream doesn’t give in,
and today that’s enough for me.