beautiful monsters

It's so hard to dream up good titles for entries

About that picture over there *pointing to the right.*
I painted that about a year ago. It’s called “self-portrait as madness,” but it doesn’t really look like me, because I’m not very good at portraits. But Greg O’Brien said it was a particularly strong image, “evocative - delicate yet somehow robust.” And he should know, cos he writes books about art.

blog addictions

It’s funny how attached you can come to your daily to your daily dose of blogs. Funny how much you can care about people you’ve never met. I’ve been worrying heaps about Salam Pax. Is he just silent because the internet is down in Bagdad, or is he hurt, or did his blog get him into trouble? Likewise, I have been worrying about some of my Xanga friends, who are going through some difficult times.

And I miss my daily shot of Life on Earth

Tips for life on earth when there is no Life on Earth

Pass the time by stranding kittens up trees. If you run out of kittens, move on to puppies. Practice your maniacal laugh.

Develop an addiction for drinking chocolate with kahlua. Spend the days in an alcoholic stupor and caffeine and sugar induced mania. Simultaneously.

Make a time machine and travel back to a time in your life before there was Life on Earth. At least you won’t know what you’re missing.

“Life-Giver, Pain-Bearer, Love-Maker.”

When I mention to someone that I’m a Sunday School teacher, I always make it very clear that I’m not part of any old church. I’m part of St Andrew’s on the Terrace, the one where the minister is a lesbian, Lloyd Geering is the resident theologian, and there’s a big “No War on Iraq” banner out the front of the church. I’m not a bible-basher. I’m not a fundamentalist or a charismatic. I’m not a conservative homophobe. I don’t bite. Much.

Why do I always feel as though I need to justify my spirituality? Perhaps for the same reasons I feel I must defend my sexuality. Layers of stereotypes cloud both identities.

Christianity. What springs into your mind when you hear the word? I’m usually very wary when I find out that someone is a Christian. Ah yes, I think, but what flavour? And then I make a big show of discussing my sexual preferences and political ideologies to see if I can scare them off.

When I was a naïve little third former I had a crush on a Christian girl, and I followed her everywhere, including to church. Somehow I got sucked into the Jump for Jesus brigade, and things rapidly deteriorated. In retrospect I often think that becoming a Christian was my teenage rebellion phase – it was the only think I could do that would shock my parents. The queer thing was a relief, at least they could understand it.

I tried really hard to be a fundamentalist. I prayed every day for the Holy Spirit to help me to have faith. I tried really hard to believe everything, even the bits about people going to hell… but to know avail.

There, now you know. I’m a Failed Fundie. Can you ever forgive me?

So what do I believe now? Not in any kind of hell, except the war and pollution and injustice we create ourselves. Not in a god with a beard sitting somewhere up there, separate from us. Not in a god who punishes us. Certainly not in a god who allows children to “inherit” sin. Not in a god who condemns us for loving people of the wrong gender. Not in a perfect paradise at the beginning and a perfect paradise at the end (because that gives us permission to trash the world we live in now).

(Why do I feel I must begin by listing all the things I don’t believe? Perhaps I’m worried that you’re judging me by the same myths that are ingrained in my own mind).

I do believe that there is more to life than the physical, more than we can scientifically understand. I believe that there is a creative energy, a self organising power, a life force that infuses all matter, all plants, animals, and that, in people, becomes consciousness. And the wonder of being human is that we give God a voice, shape and form. When we hug someone, we are God’s arms. When we write music, God is creating music.

That’s what I believe, anyway. I think I put it better in this poem that I wrote.

Creed
(for Fiona Farrell)

I believe in a shower of fire

I believe that the fire explodes, condenses, flows, changes

becomes stars, and the spaces between stars

becomes water, stone, leaf and bird

I believe the fire flows through our nervous systems
becomes nucleic acids and atoms, blood, sweat
heart, lungs, mind

becomes music and poetry, laughter and tears

and becomes aware of itself

I believe in a shower of fire

but is that God?

I believe that in each of us a spark dances
but sometimes we pour wet sand on the flame.

I believe that sometimes we hurt each other
and ourselves

but is that sin?

I believe there are people
who do not give in to fear, apathy or excuses

but are they saints?

I believe
the Son lived
(hard to deny a life
so well documented).

I believe he spoke about justice
and lived his life for others

but was he the Son of God?

I believe he gave his mind and heart
to the call within, a call to free people from fear
to guide us in the ways of peace

I believe his life can teach us something
about God.

I believe in a shower of fire

I believe the fire burns and burns and burns

but is that life everlasting?

I believe.

*

(Once I showed this poem to a friend and he thought that the fire was symbolic of hell. It’s not, in case you’re wondering).

I kinda miss Xanga

You guys have been so good to me. I transferred all my archives to stonesoup, and painstakingly transferred all the comments, one at a time. It was overwhelming, reading them all at once like that. I had tears streaming down my face, and then moments later I was laughing. It means so much to me, knowing I have such amazing friends scattered around the globe.

Cheesiness aside, ya better keep visiting me in my new home! And for goodness sake, someone comment on here, it’s mighty quiet.

Posted by Fionnaigh at April 15, 2003 12:22 AM