Faith is a Birthright

I’ve been noticing how much I look to h to provide my happiness, now that I’ve accepted responsibility for my own happiness again. Or rather, come back around to acknowledging that I have more control over it than anyone else.

Recently I was feeling at my absolute limit of being sick with anxiety and barely-held-at-bay despair, so I determined to sit and meditate until something substantial was accomplished (with a slight amount of apprehension at the prospect of failing to do so, thus diminishing my trust in myself and in the idea that substantial things can be accomplished in such a way in the first place.) I alternately tried to clear my head, reminded myself that everything that I need and want to become is already inside of me, and repeated to myself the following lines: Knock and it shall be opened. Ask and ye shall receive. Seek and ye shall find. I told myself that revelation is my birthright.

I sat for hours. People came and went, two dogs investigated me, I put the blue sapphire in my mouth and could only respond with gestures to the woman who owned the second dog. It began to get dark, and then my phone died, and a small panic rose in me. I told myself that I could not leave until the decision was not motivated by fear. I held the sapphire, some tree bark, the skeleton key, and Syd’s pin in my hand and prayed. “I know the person I will become is inside of me already. So I know that I have the capacity to make this happen right now. What am I looking for, exactly? The sapphire is here to help me channel the resources to explore abilities that I may not understand or possess yet. The bark is to remind me that I am always here and now. The skeleton key means through all obstacles, but I don’t have the charm that represents the obstacle because…because I already have the obstacle. What is the obstacle?”

I thought about it. The obstacle to my joy recently has been fear. Fear fear fear. Fear all of the time. My troubled brain has been seeking signs of doom everywhere. I’m glad h laughed at the phrase “secret sex.” It’s a nice leavening from all of the angst to giggle at my fevered imagination. Secret sex. What he and c (different c) are having around every corner, if fear speaks the language of truth.

Last night, after drinking a fair amount in celebration of h’s 29th birthday, c and I slept together. H watched towards the end, and orgasmed right after c delivered me an extremely satisfying climax. It felt really good. I hope she enjoyed it as much as I did. She seemed to.

Oh what a hell the imagination can create from jealousy. Every detail becomes a dot to be connected by distrust. The two of them are both upstairs. They must be fucking. They are talking quietly in the kitchen. They must be in love. Neither has responded to my latest Facebook message. They must be messaging each other.

This situation is like a bucking bronco, trying to get my jealousy to lose its grip on the situation through sheer violence. So: fear. What is the source and the answer to my fear? I fumbled somewhat before seizing upon faith. I don’t have enough faith in…in what? In h, in the situation, in love…faith. I closed my eyes and relaxed my mind. I could sense something flickering faintly. A warmth surfaced and then disappeared. Faith…FAITH is my birthright. The flickering strengthened. I have a right to faith, faith which takes no shit from evidence or lack thereof, faith which shines independent of all else.

The hope at the bottom of Pandora’s box. I’ve been battling with a lot of monsters for a long time now. It was about fucking time I looked for the upside of all this darkness. How long has it been since I remembered this pilot light inside of me? How long have I been reconciled to despair?

I think after I left the Mormon church, I transferred that faith to love for safekeeping, so it wouldn’t lead me right back into the circular thinking, and then when a and I broke up, it went out. I think I’ve just finally figured out how to revive it now that I’m less inclined to turn around and hand it directly to h–like I was somehow protecting myself from surrendering one of the most important parts of me unnecessarily in the name of love.

It feels really good to look inside of myself and find it again: irrepressible, undying, bright hope, something that exists outside of my inner world of logic and reason. When you reason yourself into optimism, despair is always waiting just at the boundaries of it…because there’s plenty of evidence to support pessimism, too. Faith is something beyond that. Unwavering. Unresponsive to the external. It’s like the nub of me that was left when I went through that drug-induced hell was the unlit pilot light. It was always there, hunkering down, surviving, but it wasn’t warming me at all when the chilly winds of doubt and fear and despair came rolling in, which is why I kept slipping into a vacuum state, a needy energy with h. I wanted some of his warmth. I’m not sure whether his pilot light is lit, or whether he’s just more determined than me and shivering too. I’ve seen him shiver. If he doesn’t have it, I wonder if I can help him find the faith that is his birthright.

Though I’m still struggling to find my way, I think this renewal is the key to producing something I can be proud of as an artist. It’s the missing piece of myself I’ve been looking for all this time. It’s the spark that animates the dead material of art into life. NOW I feel capable of anything.
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, indeed. You know, what if religion really does exist to protect people from the deeper levels of hell you need to traverse if you’re ever going to experience the higher levels of heaven? So people in organized religion are there for a reason that shouldn’t be fucked with? This shit is gnarly, I can see how some people would rather just never even get close to it and also never experience a broader and more God-like view of the world.

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