Uninspired

So many things are happening in my life and yet for some reason none of it has inspired me to write. My friend in Ghana still struggles to feed him and his grandmother, sending me prayers for being poor in a rich country. His compassion knows no bounds, and I am grateful for his continued friendship and humbled by his concern. My 7 month old daughter has teeth coming through and my nearly 4 year old daughter has decided sleep isn’t important, so I am now practising for the zombie apocalypse, as a zombie, or is it mombie? I am coming to terms with my 12 year old son’s psychological diagnosis, bone idleness and manipulation, a learned behaviour from his time living with his father, but nonetheless a blow for me. I don’t want to think of my son that way, an issue that needed therapy would have been easier to deal with. I am a gentle person but I now have to force boundaries and coerce obedience and conformity in my son so that he can unlearn this behaviour. I know it’s for the best in the long run, but it’s hard having to change who I am and what I believe in to be the best mum for him.

Depression weighs heavily on our family, my fiancé’s business is very slow getting off the ground and my contribution to the family income is less than £100 a year on commissioned crocheted items. My first husband’s life is a mess and the only people he really trusts are me, my partner and our children. It’s so sad that he has to reach to his ex wife for the support he should be getting from his own family. He gave me a heartfelt apology the other day for the violence he perpetrated against me. I accepted the apology without question, he is no longer the man I was married to and is now a good friend of mine. I do feel like a weight has been lifted off me and that a chapter in my life has been fully closed off and can be left inn the past.

I have recently finished listening to ‘The Name of the Rose’ by Umberto Eco. Such an eloquently written book, bringing the time of long ago to life. I have learned a lot about brotherhoods of monks from yesteryear, the scorn many had for the Pope as he languished in riches, as did the church, that many of the friars were siding with the Emperor. This was the time of the Inquisition, false prophets, suspicions of witchcraft and penance for penance’s sake. It was a time where education was still seen as dangerous to religion, but the tide was beginning to turn. Christianity was beginning to turn its back on Catholicism, the Cathars of Occitan were being systematically wiped out. This was an ugly time of infighting amongst denominations and sects of Christianity.

The idea of the Other hasn’t been far from my thoughts, just a little shelved. I have needed a fair amount of solitude recently and I had a terrifying thought. If the Other were omnipresent then I would never have true solitude. If God truly is within us all how do get him out when I want to be completely alone with just me? I’m sure this isn’t the type of God fearing the Bible alludes to. Then I thought about the Other being love and hope, well sorry but sometimes I don’t even want that intruding on my solitude, I just want everything to stop and leave me well alone. I suppose I can then allow the other to be peace, but because I put a fact of being on the Other, it feels like an unwanted intruder. Funny how we can even personify an entity.

Well take the way we are looking at the pictures being beamed down to Earth by the probes on Mars. We look for familiarity on an alien world and so far have seen rodents, iguana and even a floating spoon! Are we really that uncomfortable of the unknown, biologically even, that we have to make things up that give us a sense of familiarity? We see faces made by the grills and lights of cars, figures in the constellations, pictures in clouds and flames, the face of Christ on a piece of toast. They’re all real, we really do perceive them that way, perception is real to the beholder. However we are all different, we all see things from different perspectives, what one sees another may not, the stories may be different between one person and the next. Who’s to say which is the truth, however ‘real’ the perception is.

This is what I love about religion. So many vagaries  that it changes for each person, I don’t think there is a ‘truth’ more real than the personal truth taken by the individual believer. The patterns and the stories that make most sense to each person build their idea of the religion they follow, facts fit their theories, familiarity is found and settled upon and life becomes tolerable. People of religion have hope, love and peace, until they are contradicted, then the whole house seems built on sand. I find people of faith slightly different. They may practise their faith through religion, but their house is built on the rock of just knowing that there is love, hope and peace. The words of religion become a guide book to navigate their faith, but it doesn’t have to be right, their theories change to fit the facts.

I know there is no God, how? The same way my faithful/religious friends know there is. It is what it is, to each of us our own perceptions drive our feelings on the matter. I can’t prove there is no God, they can’t prove there is one. Neither of us need to right or wrong to prove one of us is better than the other, we just need to be and be mindful of each other. Here’s my Anarchism, do whatever you want to do, just don’t hurt other people in the process. Be free to practise your life in the way you see fit, just don’t trap people in your own ideals.

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