Fire

This thing is like a fire, with unwitting hands tending it.

Grand expectations to begin, of warmth and light, to be entranced by the movements, the chemical reaction taking place, releasing vapors visible and tangible, though it cannot be held, it will linger in your clothes and your hair, the smell of smoke reviving the memory of such primal convenience.

Grand expectations and unwitting hands. Start slow. Gather twigs, harvest the lint of weekly routine. Start small and slow. Give it heat, give it a pulse and a life, let it grow. 

Sure enough flames spring up, something like flowers, some sense of life, of newness and freshness, something that will grow. Unwitting hands smother. Threw the log on too soon, the fire not hot enough, pressed in at the wrong time, either too early or too late? Too much at once. Couldn't let it grow and burn hot. Too eager and impatient. Fumbling with the timber and twigs, turning them over, removing the big pieces, charred and already spent without reaching their full potential, backpedaling as smoke fills the air and stings my eyes, chokes my throat.

From embers to ash too soon. Someone might have thought something larger had happened when it's nothing more than a smoke and wood. Wait for it to dwindle. Start over.

Grand expectations. Of fire like a community. Huge and bright. Drawing people, weary travelers, to find others of like mind, sharing in this thing. I place pieces of myself into it, others might too. An offering of sorts, of struggle and life, of love, of confusions and sadness. If I could be patient and sure. The fire still in their minds, and the scent and evidence of it in their clothes, taking it with them even as they leave, some maybe even burned and seared by it, lessons only learned when the hand is burned.

Maybe it's all too pretentious, maybe it's too much to wish for, maybe I'm not as capable as I wish I was. But who can resist the draw of fire? I've dived into the full blown blaze of others, or the humble, small but well kept hearths of others, been burned and marked, and wanting to explore it and make it myself.

I have no idea what I'm doing.

The Sound of Nothing.

One morning in November I woke up to the sound of nothing. I felt no heavy weight or dread of the day. I was fully awake for just one small moment before I opened my eyes. And as I opened them, the first thought I had was, "I don't believe in God."

It caught me off guard to say the least. When you spend 4 years of your life struggling and wrestling, pursuing and pondering, falling and rising, searching and praying for some connection, some change, some anything from or with God, you'd think I had at least formed some special endurance. Or that enough tension had built so that I'd have some climactic breakdown where I finally completely and totally lose my shit. But I woke up, and that was my very first thought for the day, followed by a small audible sigh of relief.

Beyond that small relief I felt very little. I felt rather removed from myself, and quite curious as to the implications of this new thought, if any. I still don't know what those implications are, I have a slow brain, and I suspect it will take a fair bit of unraveling. I never really felt like writing about this in a blog until today. I did not want some grand facebook status update renouncing my faith, it did not seem necessary, and still does not. But perhaps there is some worth in just writing things down. Maybe someone cares? I dunno.

So I'm not a christian anymore. And that's a strange thought, because it's all I've ever known. I barely ever figured out what it ever meant to be a christian, or what it looks like, and now I'm suddenly starting all over. I wish I could say I had a less selfish reason for deciding I don't believe in God. Many people have a plethora of moral and social issues with it all, or have been burdened by the church. I've never really had a problem with the church. It's never been perfect, but the communities I was apart of always seemed to be in the right mindset, and moving and acting with authenticity and love.

What it comes down to, really, is I never connected. I never felt change. I never knew God. I never saw the fruits I was supposed to bear. There was no transformation. Not even progress. Always stagnant, always stuck, always confused. The small moments where I felt like I was onto something, where I thought the spirit was moving in me and doing things, were just as fleeting as any other pleasure or emotion that I experience.

So I suppose the reason I bring this all up, is to say that I sometimes wish I still did believe in it. And there may come a day when I find myself in that spot of believing again. Life is still so unbearably confusing and absurdly daunting at times that I wish there really was someone moving in the universe who had my best interests in mind, who loved me and I knew it, who helped me when I needed it. But prayer always brought disappointment, and I used it as a crutch to do nothing about myself or my circumstances. I know that's not what prayer is there for, but like I said, I never could quite grasp any of this. So today is one of those days that I wish I could believe it. I cannot. And that kind of blows.

Gabriel

Greetings, I come in peace.

I've been getting out of my own head lately; pondering what it might mean and look like to be there for the people I care about. Because if I'm honest I haven't been there for mostly anyone over the past 3 years.

Depression is an incredibly preoccupying thing. I find an odd glory in the darkness of my thoughts that only blackens them further, weaves the gloom tighter, soft as silk, it almost becomes a pleasure to wear. In all that there is to care about in the world, I only care for myself, and I only care to hate myself. Just the worst kind of selfishness. However, in recent months I have had an abnormal streak of lighter days with only a few heavy ones scattered about. While I have my speculations of why this has come about, they are not for this post. But in the thinning of all thoughts directed towards myself, my eyes have rolled from the back of my head, and finally pointed outward. I have begun to notice those around me.

It's an alien experience to see you all moving and living.

So I wonder what it means to be there for people. While I'm sure there have been some people there for me as I've drifted about in my head space, I was far too transfixed staring into the utter depths of whatever my human soul might be to notice them. In all that staring I haven't come up with anything useful. Neither for me or anyone else. Seeing people drift about in their own head spaces, in their sorrow or joy, pain and doubt, I wish I could be there for them. I wish I knew how to connect. I wish I knew the right things to say, and if there is nothing to say, then the right things to do, or the right person to be.

I suppose it could be just another form of selfishness, worrying too much about all the ways I cannot be there for people instead of just forgetting myself for a few moments and being there for someone. I am new at this, so maybe it's a thing you can learn and develop over time. I hope so, because I certainly wasn't born with any credible skills in empathy or sympathy.

Sorry for being a mediocre friend, everyone. I'm working on it.

Gabriel