If God were to blog

My father and I have been exchanging emails for a few weeks about how God doesn't directly communicate with us because a genuine connection is hard to achieve and words are so difficult to infuse with real meaning..."if that were not so, even God might have a blog!"

Some days I wish that God did have a blog. Imagine if we could gain access to God's innermost thoughts and concerns! Perhaps this is just wishful thinking, however, that God would blog about his feelings. Maybe his blog would consist of healthy living tips or of amazing photographs...each one accompanied with a proud "Yeah, I made that. Lets see anyone else try to do better."

I believe in God. I have believed in God since I can remember. I grew up in a Christian household and went to church every Sunday. It was only in my late teens that I started to doubt my religion. I never doubted God I just doubted the fact that I called myself a Christian. I have never had that "a-ha!" moment that Christians tend to have with God. A time when they felt him so close and so dear that they decided to dedicate their lives to him. As a camp counselor in high school for a Christian camp I had to give my testimony on a yearly basis, on why I was a Christian. I can't even recall now what I said. I felt that the camp experience should be about showing those kids love and showing them that good can exist in the world rather than just forcing them to learn a handful of bible verses.

The abuses of the church and the hypocritical nature of some of the Christian institutions that I have attended and the behaviour of some (not all) Christians towards me have forced me to think long and hard about how I label myself. I would never call myself a non-believer but I certainly hesistate to call myself a Christian. I do not expect perfection from myself or anybody for that matter as I believe, as humans, that we are frail and fallible creatures. Some of the best people (my parents, my siblings) I know are Christians and have set such an amazing example of how to live one's life to the fullest and I have nothing but respect and love for them. Simply put I am just choosing a different path.

I have always questioned what I would believe had I been given the choice; if I had grown up in a secular home and as a twenty-something was confronted with Christianity or simply the idea of belief in a god. In university I sought out electives that would educate my one track Christian mindset about alternate religions. I immersed myself in the teachings of Buddha, scratched the surface of Hinduism, Jainism, Confucianism, bought books on Zen Buddhism, read Sufi poetry, analyzed the differences between Christianity and Judaism...I could go on and on. It all came back to what I was raised to believe, that there is a God and what all religions have in common is that they believe in God and believe in living a life that is good. A common goal, a common people.

I strive to live a life that is good but I am still trying to figure it out and I believe that it will take a lifetime. In the meantime I will hold out hope for a blog with some answers!

Oh. So. Romantic.

"I'm a romantic; a sentimental person thinks things will last, a romantic person hopes against hope that they won't."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald

Unfortunately romantics still feel. But better to hurt than to feel nothing at all, right? Right?

Afterthoughts.

You see. My love. My lover. I love you the same way that you love me. Sexual feasting of the body. I writhe. My fingers. Into your. Liver. Entwined. Intestine. Quivers-

Sway like. Wheat. Gyrate. My hips. And thrust. Into your. Canvas. Moan and. Lick and. Twist and fail. To mention-

I love you. I love you . My love. Just. Not. Enough.

Love (or lack thereof) Poems

“In a perfect perfect world you could fuck people without ever giving them a piece of your heart. Every glittering kiss and every touch of flesh is another shard of your heart you’ll never see again.” –Neil Gaiman, Bitter Grounds.

The Poetics of Desire...

Of course like all real life love stories the issue isn’t love or lack thereof. It’s about how one behaves in the confines of a relationship that really makes or breaks the couple. Time lays heavy on those with heavier hearts. Slog through each day and search for the light at the end of tunnel that I am told exists. I want to believe that it exists. Don’t fight, don’t scream expletives at the top of my lungs, choke back tears that steam in October air because in the end they are wasted. Don’t say it—I love you—I love you. I said don’t say it. Empty words like empty air explode like firecrackers on Halloween night. The unresponse like rain but colder.

I’m not built like a computer on command. I can’t press exit, there is no delete button, no return to previous screen. If only I could re-wire my hard drive. Become more like him. Then I would still feel it. Then he would still feel it. It’s all about you—it’s all about you. Next time can we make it about me? Press command button relax. It’s there. Search harder. Search deeper. It will all be okay in the morning. But what if it isn’t?

Dear Future Lover

Dear future lover:

Please forgive me
for the mistakes I will make
while trying to get you
to love me.


Bonsai - (Haiku series)

A bonsai, Chloe.
I gave her to my boyfriend.
A housewarming gift.

His house was too cold
for Chloe to survive in
so she lives at mine.

Bonsai should bring luck.
The longer she lived with me
the less that he called.

He left me last month.
My life changed, hers stayed the same.
What luck Chloe has.

It's kind of random but YES!

The week in review: Christy Clark became the new Liberal leader much to my chagrin. However, this piece of depressing political news was offset by my acceptance to grad school not only by UBC but UWO also. The news of my acceptance was followed by fifteen minutes of jumping up and down whilst screaming unintelligible words at the top my lungs which led to a friend on the phone asking how many people were with me in my apartment at the time. It was just me.

Not wanting to get my hopes up I figured I wouldn't get into the Masters of Journalism programs that I had applied to because of the extreme competitive nature of the schools and my lack of experience. But now, faced with two acceptances, I have to decide where I should go to school and yes I am losing sleep over the decision. A friend advised me to follow my heart. Solid advice except I no longer trust my heart. I have spent my life following my heart. My heart has led me to move to Abbotsford and that should have been warning enough. Sparing the gritty details of the last eight years of my life I have spent the last year with my walls and guard up. From one extreme to other. If I am honest with myself though I miss letting go and letting myself feel without fear of consequence. I miss the excitement of not knowing but of falling into my decisions head first without looking back. For the first time in my life I am making this decision based on myself alone without letting extraneous factors affect my head. Or my heart. I am letting go. I am saying goodbye. I will be moving across the country in less than two months, (hello UWO!) and I am utterly terrified of leaving everything and everyone I know behind. I am also more excited and feel more alive than I have in. A. Long. Time.

Some found poetry. For my [scant] following! The first two are from articles in a New Yorker mag (date or month I cannot recall)

Domestics

A Wife.
Absurd person singular
With three kitchens,
shoutin'
he da mythic man
low class geechy concedes
progressive bravado.
Sizzle in daft potency and
penetration.

Wife
Eloquent, iconic,
white society stick figure.
Flinging hodgepodge
racism.
No understanding except of
notional, prefab kitchen.

The Wife.
Theatrically satisfying.
A placebo.
An ass.


Relationships

Honour.
Sex.
Use me in church
while maids co-habit with men.

God danced dizzying
and said
take your time single sister.

Don't love half heartedly
and lose me baby.

Champagne?

Hell no.

On a broken down bus in Clinton, BC

Use spring as your alibi
don't fall prey
to sparkling caribou

leaving gold nuggets
on the gold trail
for self service.

Make your way to the blue barn
in this shady bus.

Become a used bookworm
or, perhaps, sales merchant.
Just don't look at the catalogue first.

Revel in this flea market
that was once an amber emporium.