Freeday 19 March 1999

Sorry folks. Things don't look all good here.

This may or may not be a psychological thing, but my heart has changed its rhythm seriously tonight. It's much weaker and faster than it was. It used to beat strongly, now it's more like a flutter, though I can feel it when I'm afraid. And right now I am.

There is no pain, though, which it would presumably have been if I lost blood supply to part of my heart (as would be likely with my age and lifestyle). And I've survived for over an hour already. But I know my body pretty well after 40 years, and it does not usually behave like this.

So, no funny stories today. I guess it's time for quite a bit of reflection, much of which must necessarily be private.
I grew up in the shadow of death, in a way, what with my asthma attacking me in the night. I would wake up struggling to breathe, and my days were a maze run to avoid things that could provoke another attack. The fear and the lack of physical activity marked me for life. It isolated me and turned me inward. Without this, I would presumably have been a very different person.

I wonder if fear of death really is the main reason for my religiosity, such as it is. I sure feel a lot more religious than I did a couple of hours ago! I have a feeling that this is a rather low-grade motivation. You see, if I am totally honest (and I guess I should be in this), I am an agnostic intellectually. Yes, I've seen strange things. My grandmother being healed from arthritis, for instance. Me surviving a long list of potentially deadly situatios in which I prayed to God. But I also know that if there were only one of these I did not survive, I would not been writing this, so ... Anyway, I'd rather be a living coward than a dead hero really. Particularly as applies to an eternal life, which I'd really really like. And unlike some, i don't believe that science will make an eternal (or even very long) life possible. So that leaves God. I've even checked several gods and versions of God. I hope those folks who met Jesus after the resurrection were not pulling our leg, or I could be in a heap of trouble...

The years of being small and weak fostered in me a white hate for those who bullied me, year after year. This has been sort of a dilemma. Hating people is a no-no for us Christians. But some times I can still feel it, in a more general way. When I read about criminals who trample on the weak (and this is in the papers almost every day) then I can feel the hand of hate on my shoulder, begging me to give in to it, to delight in the raw emotion, the focused purpose. Glimpses of blood and slippery intestines, steaming warm in my hands. The red fog waiting to swallow me. Or worse: The light of Revenge, that removes all color and leaves only black and white, without even feelings other than the need to kill.

So my sainthood would have been precarious even had I not been a dedicated egotist. I may be able to resist large temptations (in fact, this has happened) but the small ones got me. The things that did not seem to hurt anyone. Until suddenly all my time, all my money, all my interest was invested in my own comfort and pleasure, leaving little or nothing for others who needed it.
In a manner of speaking, I may be succumbing to this right now, which is sort of ironic.

OK, it's midnight here and I'm terribly tired. (Which is rare enough at this time.) I'll be sure to post again tomorrow if I'm still here, which I guess is the most likely outcome. I may be just blowing this out of proportion. Which is why I plan on not doing anything about it, like calling a doctor or some such. They need their Freedays off too, and it's sort of sheepish to just come there with no pain, no fever, no nothing but a heart that runs too fast.

If I'm right, then at least I got an hour of honesty in a superficial world. If I'm wrong, well, I don't think I hate anyone anymore. And I do think I love someone, sort of. That's not bad. Not bad at all. Whether you live or die, those things are what counts, right?