Sunday 12 December 2004

Pic of the day: "Let sleeping gods lie" ... a bad pun in its own right. But some people's gods just don't lie down quietly in the first place.

Feeling is not believing

I have for years held the opinion that my subconscious remembers my years-ago entries and arranges for me to write about the same time a year to the day later, or two years to the day, or even three. Subconsciousnesses are supposed to be able to pull off tricks like that, because even though they are not very self-aware, they hold a vast store of information. But is it really my subconscious? A trace of doubt hits me as I read my 6 years ago entry and see that I had a visit from the same pious friend that visited me today, and that we even talked about one of the same things (albeit briefly this time). Now this might be coincidence if he showed up every few days or even every month. But half a year is more like it, judging from the issues of Illustrert Vitenskap (Illustrated Science) which he borrows. The bunch he returned were largely from 2003, indicating that he has only visited me one time before in this year. Hmm. I really don't think my subconscious would have the power to draw him here.

I also don't think he has read my years-ago entries, or my journal at all. If he did, he would probably have kept a safe distance while praying for my scarred and rotting soul. I try to tell him every time he is here, that I really hate it when he treats me as if I am some kind of holy person or someone who wants to be holy. I may be eerily innocent for a 46 year old in some ways (especially as regards drugs and sex) but that's just the way the cookies crumbled, not some long and hard fight from my side.

In some other parts of my life I am guilty as sin. As you can see in my five years ago entry, there has been a violent streak in me from my childhood onward, and it is largely God's grace (or coincidence as some call it) that I'm not a murderer. I am truly convinced that lots of people would do the world the greatest favor by dying, but I refrain to act on it because I would not want that to be done to me. The golden rule, plain and simple. If not for it, I would positively delight in killing some people. Not just any random person, mind you, but it would not take me months to find worthy candidates if God gave me the OK. And people (including my friend) think gays are sinful. Wow. If my most evil inclination was making love to willing people of the wrong gender ... I would consider myself suddenly at the very gates of Paradise, instead of camping out here by the entrance to Hell.

***

Another point, which I actually brought up, was my doubt. Many Christians believe even though they feel nothing. Or next to nothing ... perhaps they have a vague feeling during a particularly good church service, with massive music and lofty decorations and a great sermon. Or perhaps when seeing a breathtakingly beautiful sunset on the sea or the great vista of a forest or the view from a mountain top. Perhaps something briefly touches their soul when witnessing the miracle of birth and facing the dark mystery of a loved one's passing. A vague sense that there are things beyond the colorful curtain of this world. But some don't even feel that. And yet they stick to their faith, year after year, and die in the faith alone.

With me it is exactly the opposite. I cannot say for how long, but at least since my youth, possibly in my childhood as well... there has been this sense of a Presence. Being raised in a Christian country, I have assumed that it was Jesus. After all, he is supposedly a good and caring person with high morality but lots of forgiveness, and able to stay in the hearts of his believers at all times now and forever. There isn't really any way that I can think of to check whether I've got the identity right, but the Presence seems to have accepted my assumption and answered to it. I cannot point to any day in my life that has been without this Presence. Minutes, even a couple hours I think have passed in the dreadful absence that feels like perdition, as if the core of my being has been removed. Without the Presence, even sitting in my living room feels like spinning off a high cliff down into the abyss of death. With the Presence, I might resent martyrdom but I would not flinch from it. I cannot imagine me giving this up without first deceiving myself. Certainly that is what I need to do now to sin, convince myself that it won't make a difference, that it will still be the same.

And despite experiencing every day what others hope and pray for during decades of desert wandering, I doubt. I am not at all convinced that this experience is truly spiritual rather than some psychological effect. I am not sure, if it is a spirit, that it is the one I think. I am not at all sure that I have found the right way, and I have no idea whether I will enter Paradise some day or burn in Hell or simply rot like any other dead ape. The future is still a matter of pure faith to me just as much as anyone else. And despite years with this Presence watching over me (both in the meaning of protecting and advising and chastising), I am still not a saint. I am not even really good. They say that you become like those you spend time with, so why haven't I become a Jesus-like person if this really is the spirit of Jesus Christ? It seems to me that my heart must be that much harder than average to resist in the face of all this.

So there is the heart of it. Where others believe without feeling anything, I feel but still doubt. God alone knows what the judgment will be on me for such a life. I can't say I am very optimistic. And still my friend is as excited as if I had somehow earned this as a reward, rather than being held against a standard that I don't even want to be worthy of. All of this, I believe, is because I insisted on the truth. I thought I could handle the truth. But now that I walk in the brightness of it, I run away so often and hide in my fantasy worlds. More about them another time ... God willing.