Free From Fear

Sister Mary Lisa has had some guest posts on her blog as of late, writing about what they would do if only they were free from fear. I thought I would share one of my favourite songs of the moment, aptly titled 'F.E.A.R.', by the singer that put 'man' in Manchester, Ian Brown. Here is 4:05 minutes' worth of another perspective of fear -

What I've been contemplating...

A quote from Czesław Miłosz's book, 'The Captive Mind'.

When someone is honestly 55% right, that's very good and there's no use wrangling. And if someone is 60% right, it's wonderful, it's great luck, and let him thank God. But what's to be said about 75% right? Wise people say this is suspicious. Well, and what about 100% right? Whoever says he's 100% right is a fanatic, a thug, and the worst kind of rascal. -An old Jew of Galicia

Today's Menu

Finding a simple balance in life is difficult, at best. We live in an age that is complicated by the choices we have before us. Never before, have so many people had so many options. Our time is measured in the hours, minutes and seconds taken reading a label on a tin of kidney beans to find out the sodium content, figuring the gas mileage of the car on a recent road trip, digesting the thoughts behind an opinion page of our local paper or running an all-important errand. From these actions spring other options - no one thing is ever finite or closed and, generally, I find that in performing a primary action, at least two other secondary actions or options snake off the side and I end up performing or contemplate performing those, as well. For instance, I am writing this entry but also warming my feet by sitting cross-legged and tucking my toes in the crooks of my knees. I will, at some point, be inspired to put some socks on simply because it's difficult to warm one's feet from the heat coming off nylon jogging bottoms (or maybe I just don't have my toes tucked in the correct crooks). Anyway, the dog will follow me to the sock drawer and because getting dressed is a signal to her that there is a possible w-a-l-k in store for her, she will whine until she steers my actions to exchange my slobby jogging attire for jeans, boots, a fleece and a hat (today is not a hairwashing day) and take her to the park (why can't she just use the back garden like other dogs?).
Which park? The options are endless in London. Most likely, it will be the local park up the hill, and it will be a good, long walk around the circuitous path that outlines the vast green lawns and clusters of trees. At any point we might cut across the lawn, walk through the Victorian maze, visit the dinosaurs* or stroll along the avenue of oak and chestnut trees near the cafe. I suppose what I'm getting at in the long-winded post is that even in a simple action such as taking a dog for a walk I am presented with a myriad of options, opportunities to make choices and decisions to take along the way. I will often make a move only out of necessity (dog needs a walk, my knees are stiffening up hence I am no longer sitting cross-legged and my need for socks is now greater) and in my life I would much rather make decisions and consider my options because of a choice I've made beforehand than out of necessity. Rarely do the big decisions come down to that, though. We need something drastically and we must therefore make a series of moves that takes us there. Honestly. The kidney bean thing may be the only thing we really can control.

A Healthy Dose of Reality

This week marks the third anniversary of my SO's father's death. He had battled non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, living with it for 15 years (!) and knowing that he would eventually die from it. He had a brilliant oncologist who was able to give him a decent quality of life for as long as possible. Credit to John, he was an active man who enjoyed bellringing, golf, the internet, the Guardian crossword, reading, Elgar and a multitude of other interests. He was honest in his dealings with people and always spoke to me in a manner that suggested he saw me as an equal. We spoke of science and politics and he was curious to know my viewpoint, as an American citizen, and as a woman. I miss John in the same way I miss my maternal grandmother. They were people who allowed me inside and spoke with me on a level, shared a joke with me and asked me questions. It's small things like that that keep them alive in my memory, and I guess I try to occasionally remember them - I think it's all they would have wanted from me.

This leads me to the next thought, which is that I no longer believe in anything beyond this life. It can be a depressing thought for some that this is all there is to life; that it ends when it ends. It was a bit of a corner-turning moment for me when the cogs in my head clicked into a lower gear, and I started thinking about all the ramifications of not having to answer to a higher being from beyond. I stopped lying to myself and stopped lying to others (for the most part). What was the point? I didn't have to answer to anyone except myself and if I looked like a fool for trying to fool others, then it was me who had to live with that. I started valuing life for what it was. For some people life is horrible. Religion tries to give people personal pat answers about what life should mean and convince them of a reality that asks, in my opinion, far too much and changes with the weather. I wasn't going to try and convince others of a reality that no longer existed, for me, nor was I going to try and keep up with another edict, another commandment, another interpretation of holy text.

John's honesty was a mainstay in my life and quite instrumental in a shift in my thinking. He never tried to enforce his reality upon me, but his reality never changed whereas my thinking shifted all over the place. He knew his was a life cut shorter than average. He never cursed nor praised God, that I heard. He just got on with it* and tried to live as long as he could.

Yesterday, I listened to a programmed called 'Word of Mouth', on BBC's Radio 4. A guest speaker, his name escapes me, mentioned that religious phrases have crept into politics, both in the US and the UK, and that the apocalyptic rhetoric is being used more and more to convince people to vote out of fear. Emotional responses to difficult decisions always seem to yield poor results. Our emotions change; I believe that they are the key things that shape our reality. I have an adverse reaction to something and so my whole life is built upon avoidance of that thing. Can you imagine what our world would be like if we based our decisions on practicality and logic, rather than emotions? It may not be practical, after all, but it would be an interesting change from the highly-charged reactions, that may be appropriate in the short term, but devastating for the long term.

That's it for today. It's just a thought. What do you think?

Gotta Getta Meme Results

1. If you could empower one woman in one way, who would it be, and what way would you empower her?

I am going to be quite selfish and say: ME. I would like to have the power to fly. Actually, I'd like to empower a few of my women friends with money - money buys time, options and security...oh, and plane tickets.

2. Which celebrity would you like to see dress in drag?

Can I just rephrase your question and ask which celebrity I'd most like to see half-dressed in a nun's habit? I suppose the serious answer to your question is: Fiddy Cent. I think he'd secretly like it.

3. If you could catapult yourself to any place and time, where would you go, and why?

To the Year 3000, just to see if everybody bought Busted's seventh album. Or, maybe just 1000 years into the future, just to see what we've made of ourselves or whether we're a footnote in history and the chimps have taken over.

4. Paper or plastic?

Paper's pretty but plastic's fantastic! Yeah, I don't know why I said that really...


5. Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings?

Neither. Logan's Run is my choice for sci-fi/fantasy because it's camp and has a quite creepy ending, or at least it seemed that way back in the 1970s.

6. Chocolate or vanilla?

Both, in every way, shape and form.

7. You've had a good life. What are the three moments/accomplishments in your life you're proudest of?

Hmm. I'm proud that I truly try to think for myself these days. I really dig evidence-based knowledge.

I'm proud to have been part of a que*r youth movement, in Boston, in the early 90s - it was an exciting (but still quite tricky) time to be out.

I'm proud that I've seemingly cracked having meaningful relationships in my life - I think there were points where I could have gone down more destructive paths and I've managed to rein it in before folly took over and destroyed my universe.

8. What do you miss most about New Mexico? And why?

I miss Hatch green chile. Nothing is more quintessential to New Mexican cuisine than this ingredient - it's in everything savoury, for good reason!! It brings back all the tastes of childhood for me whenever I managed to lay my hands on some. By the by, green chiles do taste lovely on pepperoni pizza.

9. If you had a motto, what would it be?

Nihil curo de ista tua stulta superstitione

10. What would be your final message to a loved one?

I'm tempted to use Spike Milligan's epitaph as my final message, just for a laugh, but I have to say that it would probably just be, 'Ta, it's been great.'

11. Which way is up?

Every which way...

Up is not down, unless you live in the southern hemisphere. Out is not in unless you're in Brighton. New is not old unless you live in the States. One is not two unless you're a Virgo.

12. How would you like to be remembered?

I'd like for people to remember me as a lucky bastard...

Post Script

I found a quote in the Guardian Family section this morning, which reads: "If this most elemental thing is a lie, then why should I believe anything?"

It is one thing to tell children mythological moral tales, but it is another thing altogether to pass these myths off as truth. We'd no more do this for ancient Greek myths, even though they contain many of the same character endorsing or condemning morals as B*blical stories. I hope to finish the tale of leaving M*rmonism some day, however, the final act of sending in my resignation will only be a postscript to the tale. The stuff that happened in-between is much, much more interesting. TBC

Why Quitters Sometimes Win, Part 1

I've been lurking on several blogs for the past year - most of them are linked sites where the author has been involved in M*rmonism, but is either questioning or disbelieving in most or all of the doctrine. I can identify with most people but I, like everyone else in M*rmonism, has their individual story (if not an individual testimony...that NEVER, ever seems to come) of entry, indoctrination, disillusionment and exit.

It's been eighteen years since I made any concerted and sustained effort to go to a M*rmon church, and I've now officially been inactive/disbelieving for as long as I had been active/believing. It's a strange thing that I should still be so caught up trying to resolve an issue that plays no part in my daily life, especially since my family's history in M*rmonism began with my mother's and my baptism, when I was eight. We had been attending church for four years before our baptisms in the late 1970s- world record for investigators, I'd say! However, there was little pressure placed on us to do the deal until I turned eight, when I was called into the branch president's office and asked whether I'd like to be baptized. I, loving any opportunity to be in the limelight, heartily agreed and began making plans for an acceptance speech. In the weeks up to the event, I prayed in seven and three-quarters year-old earnest and felt certain that I would be blessed with a column of light at the end of my bed and a visitation from an angel, praising me for choosing the right.

For the preceding three and a half years, my mother was branch pianist (how controversial to have a calling without actually having been baptized, though my mother used to play mostly songs she learned in church while growing up as a Methodist, so our congregation sang a lot of 'How Great Thou Art', etc.). I attended Star through CTR classes, all the while having a fairly ad hoc religious education as my family spent our summers visiting my maternal aunts and uncles in a neighbouring state, attending Vacation Bible School (VBS) the Southern Baptist or the Methodist way, with our cousins. I returned to New Mexico after school holidays, tanned and steeped in hellfire, brimstone, and with a great-big-John-Wesley-Amen-at-the-end. I don't think the M*rmons in our branch minded though, it was the freewheeling Seventies - and everyone was church-hopping. I was one of a number of Primary kids whose families attended different churches, at times. I call it 'Interfaithfulness' and it was a good way to find out about other ways of worshipping, and it was also a good way to taste wine well before legal drinking age, and before the dreaded Word of Wisdom was branded into my psyche.

The New Mexican M*rmons were glad to see you step through the door on Sunday and grateful that they had bodies (other than the usual suspects) in the COLD, COLD, metal folding chairs. Most of the families in the branch were related to one line of an old polygamist clan, who had originally settled in Ramah, New Mexico. Their fate was sealed from the breast and it was a slippery slope from bottles of milk to popcorn popping. Of course, having been born in the faith I'm sure the clan never knew the pleasure of sleeping in on a Sunday, or singing a rollicking, happy-clapping version of 'Saved by the Blood of the Lamb', which is a SCARY, SCARY Pentecostal song, for a six year-old, by the way. Our branch was a good one, people were mostly kind to each other, and we had our share of scandalous events - a very human congregation. I liked being with other M*rmon kids and, for the most part, the church was a positive force in my childhood. I have heard horror stories in the community of former M*rmons and I believe their accounts because M*rmonism is a religion that was created to be 'different' by coming complete with its own mythology. This mythology is necessary to establish its difference from other churches, but the problem with mythology is that it is usually created to explain the inexplicable or impose the rather harsh will of another. Once one card in the house falls, the others quickly come down around it. I'm not a PR person, but had I been a man in a position of leadership in the church in the late 80's, I would have dealt with separating the mythology of the church (Book of Abr*ham, Sal*mander Letter, etc.) from the universal religious truths as other Christian-type denominations see them, and tried to move the core values of the church toward a more pragmatic and democratic approach, based on community and acceptance. I would have pushed to set up a church that trained and hired clergy, promoted a fairer system of tithing, promoted smaller families and engaged in community outreach/charity work - not just service projects for ward members or those who might welcome lessons from the missionaries.

Anyway, as time went on I grew in faith in some ways and questioned in others. Some things within the church doctrine, like withholding the priestho*d from black folks did not make any sense while the belief that anyone could receive revelation from g*d made a lot of sense to me. However, I never was content to accept things I could not understand and made a point of questioning them until I was a nuisance. For instance, I remember a time in Primary when I raised my hand to make a point that if you had a King James Bible and G*d inspired that translation to take place for that time (we had just been taught that it was a book inspired by G*d there were errors and so JS received the correct translation for the Bible), then perhaps there would be errors discovered in the JS translation later on, as times changed? I was, of course, met with silence and a little look from Sister 1 and Sister 2. It was the beginning of the end for me, and over the next ten years I gave M*rmonism lip service but I was increasingly convinced my feelings which ran contrary to accepting the complete 'truthfulness' of this version of Christianity, later to religion in general, and finally to the existence of g*d itself...but that's another post. I just thought that because there's now more than one reader on this blog, I might as well tell you why I visit the ex-mo sites.

Lasse, Come Home!

It's nice to see the machinations of another's mind...figuring it out, figuring it all out.