Was I subconsciously still clinging on to what my father put me through? Or was I in fact over it and just still clinging on to the effects, as a defense mechanism, as a wall, as an answer of “this is just the way I am” to avoid the real issue at hand. I do not know how to deal any other way, with any other mechanism, with any other thought pattern. You know, someone who constantly lives there life defending themselves, explaining themselves, overcompensating for loss and betrayal, pretty quickly just gets fucking tired, fucking exhausted with themselves. They get on there own nerve, they kick themselves, they scream at the person in the mirror and demand an explanation for their actions. Ha ha ha, ridiculous…isn’t it? No.
Sometimes I just go out and walk the streets here, up Downtown and back down, I sit at a coffeshop, on a bench and observe. I watch people. The way they move, there mannerisms, there gestures, there faces and eyes. What’s their story? If one just sit with ppl and have them tell you there story, there real story, with no restraints or limits to it, fuck, I don’t know, man. Sometimes we see people and judge them. Oh, they’re so happy, they’re so sad, they’re rude, they’re judgemental, they’re weird, they’re so reserved, etc. True that I do believe that there are people out there that just have bad hearts, but again everything with reason. Who am I to talk about someone, to judge them, to say who they are, no one. For we do not know the history that lies behind every face, action, looks, decisions, and so on.
I see people and I ask myself, how did they end up here? Where have they been and what have they seen? Who has hurt them and who have they hurt and why … I ask all these questions without ever being satisfied because I’ll never know. Maybe I should become a psychologist so I can find out, ha ha. Anyways. I’m going to read now, The Art of War – GREAT BOOK !
Having ironically come from a very Christian home, with high morals and regard for the correct in God’s eyes, I’ve let go of all the man-made interpretations, distortions and vomit. I do believe there are genuine men and women from God, yes I do. I would never say they do not exist. Just as there are hypocrites, there are the transparent who find intimacy with there God and project it in their life.
And I do give myself fucking kudos, a lot of fucking kudos for having jumped back in there. I explain. You have a father who is a pastor, who heads about 5 or 6 churches at a time, including various schools of evangelism, both scattered through the US and South America. A man who was a very well known and popular pastor at his time, who had the charisma and the intelligence to attract people enough to listen to what he had to say, which was the important part. I do believe their was a time when my father was genuine in his preachings. A time where he was “good”, but every person has a demon, and I believe everyone has a measured strength, and what you lack in it is supposed to be asked of to your god. My father’s demon was too much for him to bare, and he allowed it to consume him, hence the downfall. Now please understand how this can completely distort your ideas and perception of this world that has been created for you of peace, love, honesty and holiness of the human being. But I jumped back into church, I wonder now what would possess me to besides my mom pulling me by the ear, but I’d find it safe to say that it must have been because that was all I knew. I was a scared child, scared to try anything else, scared to see if anything else could work, in a twisted way this was still a comfort zone for me. And my heart was crushed again. Crushed by this idea of what this was all supposed to be. It is enough that the Bible has been translated so many times into so many different languages that who knows what is the real Bible, but then to have people come on top of that and have their own interpretations and say that that was it, no way man. One thing I do believe, I believe that at the core of the original written word was love. Point blank. Love. Love brings peace, it brings patience, it brings all those things that the bible says. And it’s gone. It’s gotten buried underneath all the different interpretations, versions, languages, distortion … people forget that that is the point. The majority of the people out there besides needing serious help, just need love. They need to feel that supernatural love that no human being can give.
I recall one night in youth group feeling something like this. The pastor was praying over us, a powerful prayer, not one of those monotone, boring, everyone repeat sfter me prayers, a powerful prayer from his belly. And I had left church for some months and came back. That was my second day back actually. I got on my knees and lowered my head. And for the first time in years, I opened up and just let go, of everything. I have never cried like this. I told God, rip my heart out or fix it, I couldn’t take it anymore. I cried for what felt like hours. I felt like I was on acid, which is what I can compare it to unfortunately. I couldn’t open my eyes, but I felt something more powerful than me, but it didn’t bring on fear, it took over my body. I felt something had wrapped me and just stayed there, and it was warm. It’s a feeling I can’t explain and will sound crazy for saying it was God, but it was. Being surrounded by so many fakes, and hypocrites it was hard to stay focused. I wanted to help in everything, be a part of everything, not for recognition from any man or woman, but for recognition from God, because everyday I felt Him doing something for me. Situations in church started to uproot that bitterness again against this concept we call Christianity. I grew hateful and just pissed. I saw so much two facing and knew in my heart that I was being genuine and sincere for what I wanted to do, that I grew disgusted and wanted nothing to do with these people. I was so fucking sick. I remember running into my moms room and yelling, cursing the heavens, weeping, and she just sat there and listened, and never told me I was wrong for feeling that way, never told me I was being rebellious or ungrateful to God, she understood that I was human, and that was all. I thank her everyday for that, I thank her everyday for allowing me to be my species, while so many in church wanted you to be a fucking cloned, emotionless robot. I haven’t been back to church since, been invited and just don’t want to. I find myself some days wanting to go in and just sing to God, cry to Him, I don’t even have the energy for that. I have grown so numb to it, and I hate myself for saying that. I know it took more of Him than of me to get me past everything I went through and everything I saw and heard growing up. I owe him more, but I feel that by just being honest, and not a hypocrite, and trying to really show love to people, I’m doing more than many. Just because I am not out there preaching to everyone doesn’t mean I am a bad person.
I want to have my own relationship with God, for He is the only one that truly understands me. I’m sure going to church serves its purpose, yes, but I relate more in the privacy of my home, of my solitude and loneliness, talking to Him alone, one on one. I don’t need someone to sit there and tell me how to pray or how to talk to Him or in what order, or what to say, or how to fucking feel for Christ sake. Fuck them and there formulas. This is MY relationship with Him isn’t it? The Word says he is my friend, my lover, my father, my confidant, and all that. And don’t we talk to all of these as ourselves, honestly and brutally. Then that’s how I will talk to God. Honestly. Holding nothing back. I’ve gone into His prescence and just yelled and cursed and demanded answers. And not for one second did I ask for forgiveness for that, or felt that it was wrong or that I disrespected Him, because I think our God is so much bigger than we make Him out to be and much more intelligent. He understands better than anyone that we are human and our limitations as individuals. He doesn’t expect me to always be understanding and patient, He expects me to come in on a rage once in a while, be upset, be hurt, because if I never did then what would I need Him for?
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