i thought irony was over

[vanlose kid]

deleted

[sunny]

Thank you vanlose kid. I cried as well when I read the last lines.

[NeonLX]

After decades of agnosticism and even a few fleeting moments of atheism, I tried asking for God to (re-)enter my life back in early 2001*. I can't say with certainty that anything has changed since then. When it comes down to it, I guess I don't know what to expect from God; how he/she/it would announce him/her/itself to me--beyond the absolutely amazing coincidence of life appearing in this universe, anyway.

-----
*I ceased being a believer sometime during my high school years. That was a long time ago. I was confirmed in a mainline protestant church when I was in eighth grade, and I went through the motions of (sporadically) attending services for a few more years, mainly to keep some of my family happy. Then I just dropped out of church entirely. Even though my wife and I were married in a church, I had no real theological inclinations for about four decades of my life. Still not sure what prompted me to reconsider in 2001.

[freemason9]

i read Douglas Coupland's Life After God while still young but already broken, and i know i don't belong to that generation, but it was a wake-up call for me. i've taught it once or twice since, and i don't know, when it's read aloud (the excerpt i quote below) the students would be in tears. i was the first time i read it, because, to me, at least, it clearly stated what i felt was wrong about the world, about where i was going (the character had already been there), and that i had to make a complete break.

one thing i like about Jeff's writing is that he seems to have come out on the other side of irony. on the other hand, i feel uncomfortable when people on the site disparage and vilify all belief as if they truly know something others don't. as if they had proof.

i don't think MLK's faith was a failing. i don't think Malik al-Shabazz's faith was a failing. nor Jefferson's (read his bibleif you will.) i don't think Rumi's faith was a failing. that wittgenstein's faith was a failing. dostoevsky's. tolstoy's.

i find the blanket denial of faith and it's possible object a bit lacking in rigor and candor of thought, to be honest.

Russell spent the best part of his life trying to prove to himself that he was right to believe that 2 + 2 = 4. (gödel drove the last nail into that coffin.) yet held that people who had faith were wrong since they had no proof.

the thing about faith is - it's faith.

anyway, i thought i'd post this excerpt, because to me it's one of the most beautiful pieces of writing and i'm glad i read it at the right time. no, actually, i was blessed to have been handed it, and for that i'm grateful.

****

As suburban children we floated at night in swimming pools the temperature of blood; pools the color of Earth as seen from outer space. We would skinny-dip, my friends and me--hipchick Stacey with her long yellow hair and Malibu Barbie body; Mark, our silent strongman; Kristy, our omni-freckled redheaded joke machine; voice-of-reason Julie, with "statistically average" body; honey-bronze ski bum, Dana, with his non-existent tan line and suspiciously large amounts of cash, and Todd, the prude, always the last to strip, even then peeling off his underwear underneath the water. We would float and be naked- -pretending to be embryos, pretending to be fetuses--all of us silent save for the hum of the pool filter. Our minds would be blank and our eyes closed as we floated in warm waters, the distinction between our bodies and our brains reduced to nothing--bathed in chlorine and lit by pure blue lights installed underneath diving boards. Sometimes we would join hands and form a ring like astronauts in space; sometimes when we felt more isolated in our fetal stupor we would bump into each other in the deep end, like twins with whom we didn't even know we shared the womb.

Afterward we toweled off and drove in cars on roads that carved the mountain on which we lived--through trees, through the subdivision, from pool to pool, from basement to basement, up Cypress Bowl, down to Park Royal and over the Lions Gate Bridge--the act of endless motion itself a substitute for any larger form of thought. The radio would be turned on, full of love songs and rock music; we believed in rock music but I don't think we believed in the love songs, either then or now. Ours was a life lived in paradise and thus it rendered any discussion of transcendental ideas pointless. Politics, we supposed, existed elsewhere in a televised nonparadise; death was something similar to recycling.

Life was charmed but without politics or religion. it was the life of children of the children of the pioneers--life after God--a life of earthly salvation on the edge of heaven. Perhaps this is the finest thing to which we may aspire, the life of peace, the blurring between dream life and real life--and yet I find myself speaking these words with a sense of doubt. I think there was a trade-off somewhere along the line.

I think the price we paid for our golden life was an inability to fully believe in love; instead we gained an irony that scorched everything it touched. And I wonder if this irony is the price we paid for the loss of God.

But then I must remind myself we are living creatures--we have religious impulses--we must --and yet into what cracks do these impulses flow in a world without religion? It is something I think about every day. Sometimes I think it is the only thing I should be thinking about.

Some facts about me: I think I am a broken person. I seriously question the road my life has taken and I endlessly rehash the compromises I have made in my life. I have an unsecure and vaguely crappy job with an amoral corporation so that I don't have to worry about money. I put up with halfway relationships so as not to have to worry about loneliness. I have lost the ability to recapture the purer feelings of my younger years in exchange for a streamlined narrow-mindedness that I assumed would propel me to "the top." What a joke.

Compromise is said to be the way of the world and yet I find myself feeling sick trying to accept what it has done to me:the little yellow pills, the lost sleep. But I don't think this is anything new in the world.

This is not to say my life is bad. I know it isn't...but my life is not what I expected it might have been when I was younger. Maybe you yourself deal with this issue better than me. Maybe you have been lucky enough to never have inner voices question you about your own path--or maybe you answered the questioning and came out on the other side. I don't feel sorry for myself in any way. I am merely coming to grips with what I know the world is truly like.

Sometimes I want to go to sleep and merge with the foggy world of dreams and not return to this, our real world. Sometimes I look back on my life and am surprised at the lack of kind things I have done. Sometimes I just feel that there must be another road that can be walked--away from this became--either against my will or by default.

Now--here is my secret:

I tell it to you with the openness of heart that I doubt I shall ever achieve again, so I pray that you are in a quiet room as you hear these words. My secret is that I need God--that I am sick and can no longer make it alone. I need God to help me give, because I no longer seem to be capable of giving; to help me be kind, as I no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me love, as I seem beyond being able to love.

****

Interesting read, but I read it through the filter of one that did not have access to warm swimming pools and housing developments. I am the child of underclass poverty, and my relationship with God has been forever damaged by what I viewed as injustice. I've never come to grips with the facts of my background, my harsh childhood, and the constant assault of a world that spoke of Jesus, yet ignored his message.

Even now, I struggle with things. I want to believe in God--I need to--and yet it is hard to reconcile this need with the very fact of His utter silence. It is a deep and profound silence.

I understand the concept of faith. I tried it for a while; I placed my brain on hold and indulged, but faith soon gave way to rational thought and--again--that utter silence.

After five decades of living, I am in a good marriage, and one might suppose that my life is fine and stable. And yet, I am still utterly alone.

I don't understand why I exist. I don't fully believe that the rest of you exist. I can intuitively understand the composition of our constructed reality, but that understanding still doesn't answer the big question:

Why?

[IanEye]

There's a blue bird at my window
I can't hear the songs he sings
All the jewels in heaven
They don't look the same to me

I just wade the tides that turned
Till I learn to leave the past behind

It's only lies that I'm living
It's only tears that I'm crying
It's only you that I'm losing
Guess I'm doing fine

All the battlements are empty
And the moon is laying low
Yellow roses in the graveyard
Got no time to watch them grow

Now I bade a friend farewell
I can do whatever pleases me

It's only lies that I'm living
It's only tears that I'm crying
It's only you that I'm losing
Guess I'm doing fine

Press my face up to the window
To see how warm it is inside
See the things that I've been missing
Missing all this time

It's only lies that I'm living
It's only tears that I'm crying
It's only you that I'm losing

Guess I'm doing fine

[IanEye]

All this talk of getting old
It's getting me down my love
Like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown
This time I'm coming down

And I hope you're thinking of me
As you lay down on your side
Now the drugs don't work
They just make you worse
But I know I'll see your face again

Now the drugs don't work
They just make you worse
But I know I'll see your face again

But I know I'm on a losing streak
As I pass down my old street
And if you wanna show, then just let me know
And I'll sing in your ear again

Now the drugs don't work
They just make you worse
But I know I'll see your face again

'Cause baby, ooh, if heaven calls, I'm coming too
Just like you said, you leave my life, I'm better off dead

All this talk of getting old
It's getting me down my Lord
Like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown
This time I'm coming down

Now the drugs don't work
They just make you worse
But I know I'll see your face again

'Cause baby, ooh, if heaven calls, I'm coming too
Just like you said, you leave my life, I'm better off dead

But if you wanna show, just let me know
And I'll sing in your ear again

Now the drugs don't work
They just make you worse
But I know I'll see your face again

Yeah, I know I'll see your face again
Yeah, I know I'll see your face again
Yeah, I know I'll see your face again, oh Lord
Yeah, I know I'll see your face again, oh Lord

I'm never coming down, I'm never coming down
No more, no more, no more, no more, no more
I'm never coming down, I'm never coming down
No more, no more, no more, no more, no more
I'm never coming down, I'm never coming down
No more, no more, no more, no more, no more
I'm never coming down, I'm never coming down
No more, no more, no more, no more, no more
I'm never coming down, I'm never coming down
No more, no more, no more, no more, no more

[Avalon]

"Faith" is not more important than practice and community.

I'm not hearing these confessions of emptiness coming from those who have a life where there are things they do that make life meaningful, or communities of people they are involved with that value connectedness.

Those are the bigger changes that need to be made, and they won't be facilitated by coming to some firm opinion about what relationship the Ground of Being has with plummeting sparrows.

[Nordic]

Sounds to me like someone's ego is having a rough time.

Kill the ego and these "problems" go away.

[can1exy]

Ken Wilber's 7 minute conversation with Alanis Morissette is a good introduction to the notion of the "3 Faces of Spirit". The 1st, 2nd and 3rd person perspectives of the divine.

http://odeo.com/episodes/18288893-Alani ... e-Ruptures

[marmot]

I think I am a broken person...

Now--here is my secret:

I tell it to you with the openness of heart that I doubt I shall ever achieve again, so I pray that you are in a quiet room as you hear these words. My secret is that I need God--that I am sick and can no longer make it alone. I need God to help me give, because I no longer seem to be capable of giving; to help me be kind, as I no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me love, as I seem beyond being able to love.

vanlose kid, I remember so many years ago coming across this exact excerpt (which you posted for us above) in a Canadian cultural magazine from the periodical shelves of the Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. I was then (as now) deeply touched by what the author of Generation X wrote. So heart-felt and true.

Last night at a Dinner party we discussed these very issues of brokenness and humanity's need for God. There was a Romanian woman at the table who was eleven years old during the Romanian Revolution of December 1989. She lived in Bucharest but was fortunate to be on holiday in the country when the revolts and massacres transpired, when the godless, communist dictator Ceausescu came to his demise.

This week I am reading a book by the late Richard Wurmbrand, a Jewish-Christian Romanian pastor who was imprisoned and tortured by the Regime for 14 years. He's a man of profound wisdom and has been one of the most influential of men in the last half-century in Romania, if not the world. Here's an excerpt from the book he wrote a year after the Revolution.

How the Revolution Began

A Romanian bishop, one of the many who became stooges of the Communists, fired the Reformed Pastor Tokes of Timisoara for preaching faithfully. When he was to be evicted from his home and church, a crowd of Christians of all denominations and several nationalities surrounded his house and obstructed the police. The number of demonstrators grew. When they proceeded to march toward the center of town, the army was called out to stop them. The soldiers began shooting, and many were killed or wounded. Little children gathered on the steps of the cathedral and sang religious hymns. Again the troops fired, and some children died. The rest sought shelter in the cathedral, but heartless priests had locked the sanctuary.

Then an amazing thing happened. The entire crowd, instead of fighting the army, knelt and prayed. This was too much for the soldiers. They refused to shoot any more. Meanwhile, the whole town had gathered. Pastor Dugulescu seized the opportunity to address everyone from the balcony of the Opera House. A poem by Constantin Ioanid, "God Exists," was recited. The crowd shouted, "God exists!" Leaflets with the text had been distributed. Some who knew the music began to sing the song that had been composed for the words. Soon thousands joined in singing it again and again. It became the song of the revolution.

One day when my son Mihai, at about age five, was walking with us through the park, he stopped in front of a man sitting on a bench reading.

"What are you reading?" he asked with childish simplicity.

"A novel."

"Better read the Bible," said Mihai, "because if you don't follow it, you will go to hell."

"What kind of words are those?" asked the stranger.

"Do you see the tall man with a little lady there behind me? They are my parents. Ask them and they will tell you everything. It's a very serious matter."

Curious by now, the man did ask. It turned out he had been a member of a virulent anti-Jewish organization. Through the witness of a little Jewish boy named Mihai, he was converted and became one of the best Christian poets of Romania. It was his song that became the hymn of the revolution.

When it became known elsewhere that innocent people had been killed in Timisoara (it was rumored they numbered thousands), other demonstrations broke out spontaneously in different locations. Thirteen children, the oldest fourteen, made a barrier with their bodies against the troops of the Secret Police who could advance only by murdering them. The children knelt and shouted, "Please don't kill us!" The police paid no attention. When the first fell, the others did not run away but remained kneeling with arms outstretched in love and childish confidence toward the murderers as they continued to beg, "Please don't kill us!"

A cross now stands where the children died.

A legend arose in Romania. It said that angels began the revolution. Coming down from heaven, they entered the children, giving them holy courage like that of the good angels who had defeated the hosts of Satan in heaven. The martyrdom of these children gave victory to the unarmed against an army. Tanks and troops were called out against the populace, but in vain. The soldiers were as fed up with the dictator as the people. In Sibiu, two Orthodox priests who were lifted onto tanks asked everyone to kneel for prayer. The demonstrators, numbering thousands, as well as soldiers and officers, did so. An "Our Father" was said together by those who still remembered prayers. Soldiers and citizens embraced. It was no longer possible to repress the uprising.

"The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the young goat, the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them." Isaiah 11:6

"Without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that His is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him." Hebrews 11:6

[Wombaticus Rex]

This was an unusually beautiful thread...thank you for the brainfood and the distinct uplift on a busy, hectic and depressing day.

[beeline]

I'm a confirmed Catholic--that is, the Cardinal annointed my forehead with oil.

But I've been an agnostic since about the third grade.

I really don't believe any of what the Judeo/Christian/Islamic traditions hold. I really don't beleive if there is a God, (s)he would single out one group as 'chosen people,' transform his/herself into human flesh.

I do think the basic philosophies are on target: love one another, the root cause of suffering is desire, etc....

But to believe in some all-powerful, all-knowing, ever-present being? I have my doubts.

[Bruce Dazzling]

THIS is the part that made me a bit weepy:

After five decades of living, I am in a good marriage, and one might suppose that my life is fine and stable. And yet, I am still utterly alone.

I don't understand why I exist. I don't fully believe that the rest of you exist. I can intuitively understand the composition of our constructed reality, but that understanding still doesn't answer the big question:

Why?

Very well said, freemason9.

Very.

Well.

Said.

[Fat Lady Singing]

I've felt like the character Coupland writes about, in the past, and now that I'm older, I think I'll never have the answers, but I'm okay with that. Not that I don't *want* to know the answers to the big questions -- I do -- but I've accepted that I'm not going to discover them. It's my fervent hope that when we die, we get all the answers to all our questions, but it's just a hope.

The quoted text also seems like a perfect description of depression, as described by a self-examining/self-excoriating intellectual. I've been that, as well. Not so much anymore, though, thankfully. It's very hard to be like that for very long. At some point, you have to value looking outward as much as looking inward, or you end up with very little of value to look in at.

I'm reminded of that scene in Hannah and Her Sisters, the Woody Allen movie... Woody's character is suicidal, and tries every path to wisdom, every religion. Eventually, he winds up in a theater showing a Marx Brothers movie and realizes, "you know, it's not *all* that bad" and finds his reason to live.

[slimmouse]

I think the simple fact is we are alone.

This body is an experience.

Try to enjoy it

Try to learn from it.

Speak your own truth and reason. You are the one who will ultimately judge "you".

Or perhaps that should read, "you are the one who will reflect upon yourself in this contrived reality".

By any modern scientific standards , this IS a contrived reality.

Its an experience.

Educate yourself.


Looking for "God" ? Look within.


We are.

The singularity.