anobody

credits

Sam S. for suggesting that I add my references after I write. It really helps with the flow of writing, uninterrupted by incessant reference checking.

I also want to acknowledge my spiritual fathers and mothers, whose words I allow to be embodied in my living. The fathers include – Henri J. M. Nouwen, Augustine of Hippo, Thomas Merton, and Christopher Yuan. The mothers include – Mother Teresa and Corrie Ten Boom.

finding meaning in the dark

Reading between the lines. Over-spiritualizing (Peter Scazzero). Making up meaning – even to a absurd level – as a meaning-seeking creature (Alister McGrath).

Being silly. Being heretical. Being a dumb-ass.

In the last nine months, I find myself wanting to die. That if I had a gun (they are practically illegal in my country), I would hold it against the bottom of my jaw, and play with the trigger – with no bullets in the chamber. In these moments, as I lay crumpled in bed, weighed down by my thoughts, I find myself straining for any kind of meaning. Something to lift me out of my nihilism. I hated feeling useless. I find it hard to disconnect my identity from what I do. Ending my journey with physics, especially at the beginning of this journey’s end, it was like a part of me died.

Having quit physics – on which I spent approximately eight years of my life (eighteen to twenty-six) – and realising I had no sense of what I wanted in life, nor what constituted myself. I had given little thought (except for a brief time in a first year sociology unit) about my past and how it has shaped my identity, especially when I was engaged in the PhD program. It was work, work, and work. The blind, unthinking, aimless kind. Seemingly purposeful but not really at all.

It was partly for the money, because the COVID pandemic looked grim, and I wondered whether my father, an immuno-compromised patient, and the main breadwinner of the family, would be taken down.

It was partly for a sense of security, because this is what I have always been doing, since I was eighteen. I had a really good physics teacher – he was like Jesus to me – and that was all I needed. I was an empty chasm entering high-school, and I turned to the subject with the most loving teacher I have ever had.

But upon uncovering these reasons was part of the process of losing my will to continue in physics. I found myself falling into a dark mood very easily. Many a moment I had screamed at The Silent One (Andrew Peterson) “Why don’t you kill me now!” to no avail. Only tears and more tears.

And so, in this dark night of a soul (Gerald G. May), I find myself imposing meaning on my sense perceptions incessantly, even when The Skeptic within (or without) me scoffs at my foolish and delusional attempts to extract meaning from my life. Squeezing out of my current circumstances, my past, even my dreams for meaning – like they are lemons and they are all that I have for sustenance.

Note on my dreams: These took some time to materialize, since I really had no working dreams. All dreams were relegated to unrealistic fantasy, always fully severed from my experience and perception of reality. I was a complete pessimist. Dreams were considered tomfoolery by The Survivalist in me. It was only survive, survive, survive. No thriving).

I have been watching the Halo television series lately (Paramount+). One particular line stuck out to me whilst I watched it. It follows …

“The mind is certainly capable of invention. Particularly when we’re lost in the dark and desperate.” Catherine Halsey

And so, since the beginning of this turmoil within me, which started in March of 2021, when the fear of The Judge After Death descended upon me and sent me running to my shrink for help, I have been cultivating my own meaning – based on real life events that have happened to me – while I continue in this Dark Night of The Soul (Gerald G. May). This cultivation has come into full swing since The Girl had left me (March 2022). She was the last straw that broke my back (not that she was harsh at all, she left me with kind words), as I crumpled before the invisible, seemingly silent God of this universe. ISHO is the name I call God by.

Another hot-take. I am finding the meaning that was always there for the taking. Finding the self (Brian Rosner) that was always there. At this thought, I swiftly add “…” around making in the title. I don’t think I can actually make my own meaning. Rather, I begin to familiarise myself with what was always there. What was already given to me. What was placed in my story, my journey.

before hell

My story. My journey. A story. A journey. Depersonalising it – removing the possessive – helps with objectivity. I want treat my life like an experiment with ISHO. I want to live a examined life. I want to be ready to see my maker, armed with a analysis of my life, knowing I tried my best as the first commandment states, and be ready to defend my case before The Judge ISHO. Make ISHO hesitate before I am thrown into hell (Technoblade). And as I am being dragged down into Hell, I will scream to all those who are to enter Heaven “Remember me!!!” (Luke), as I enter the top floors of Hell, because I certainly don’t belong in the bottom with Stalin and Hitler. But, who knows, really? I am just playing the fool. A religious fool who doesn’t really believe in what he is saying. All hunches, no theories.

hunching

I am cultivating a collection of hunches that binds all these seemingly disparate events in my life. Drawing lines of causality. Spotting points of new beginnings, of change. I believe I can rewrite this theory with ISHO (Peter Scazzero), at any notice. For ISHO knows better than I (DreamWorks). His ways are higher than my ways, and his thoughts are higher than my thoughts. So I am always ready to adjust my theory, my theology, till the end of my life. I just need reasons and have my heart agree with it. We will see how it goes.

ISHO is The Theory. I have a theory.

And why am I open to rewriting a theory of my life? Because I believe it will bring me closer to The Truth. And the truth will set me free. Free to love (Jay Stringer). Free to be loved, to be one of the beloved (Henri J. M. Nouwen).

a cross of consequential choices

I have lost – and continue to lose. Some are my choices, some are not. I have chosen to drop my opportunity to become a Doctor of Philosophy. I have lost the favour of my first crush. I decided to lose most of my religion (quitting church and the two Bible studies) and morality (unsubscribed from charity, throwing everything into the trash), the false dignity as a masked sinner masquerading as a saint in heaven. This isn’t heaven we live in. It’s more like Hades. I lose my religion and morality in hopes I will find them again – better, purer, more authentic. Lose my life so that I can find it again.

But I know now that I must carry my own cross (Mark). My past, my present, and my future. Carry them all with me. Not leave a single bit behind. Revisit my past in order to come to accept, come to forgive, all the past selves, the good and bad choices they made. Discover, in silence, in dreaming, in observing the world, all the hoped-for future selves. This is how I am taking care of myself. Caring about who I was and who I want to become. Try to not hate who I have been (Relient K.), as much shit I know that I have done.

masquerading The Spirit’s presence

I use the word “self-acceptance” from a video about relationship advice for pornography addicts. I remember balling my tears out on that afternoon, as I watched it in my family’s living room, bedecked with new sofas, alongside my first brother. I knew I didn’t accept myself. I was never enough for myself. Neither has anyone that I trusted – convincingly – told me I was enough (Em Beihold). I hated myself (NF), with reckless abandon. I have lived in the near-impossible standards of the church for most my life. Not knowing, that in the absence of The Spirit (Luke), these are perhaps impossible to fulfil. And some of the rules – no, most of the rules – are just fake (Peter my Shrink).

And yet people are bludgeoned into thinking that they must be able to deliver on the fruits of The Spirit without The Spirit. Without ISHO (Shane & Shane). Or they bludgeon themselves into displaying those fruits, because they want to be accepted, not for their base identity, being children of God now (John), but purely for what they can do. And so they become more like human doings than human beings (Peter Scazzero). They become enslaved to the Inner Pharaoh (Moses).

And how would one know if they have The Spirit if one never actually knew them? If one didn’t know the story that was given them? If you don’t know how ISHO has weaved people, events, and advice into their lives?

I sound like a Pentecostal, I surmise. Though I really got to stop with the labels. If you could hear me say the above, you will hear antagonism lace my very syllables that I utter.

shattering masks

And certainly no one is going anywhere with real knowing – real fellowship (John), if they not dare to bare their souls (King & Country), to walk in the light, as ISHO is in the light (John). No, saving face will get no closer to freedom, closer to love.

It’s time to shatter (NF) the masks, shatter one’s perception of others, and shatter other’s perceptions of self.

But the status quo is purely religious. Display the fruits of The Spirit. Impress one another. Pretend to be angels, pretend to be gods. More like angels with broken halos (King & Country). And gods as flawed as the gods of Greece. But we are all just ordinary people (Mocca). Humans. We like to forget that. Instead, we act like either animals or gods. But we are neither. We are beings. People. Humans (and yes, it is gendered).

But to return to the main point (wait, there is no main point to this blob of text) … I can never keep a consistent line of thinking (Justin Bieber) … I find myself reading into every single event, every single verse I can remember, every single word, every single piece of advice of my life.

And maybe that’s a good thing. Or a delusion. A really serious (but helpful) delusion.

I have a hunch, like the Hunchback of Notre Dame (Disney). I am trying to know who I am. Whittle out the adjectives. Consider the facts. But it ain’t that clear cut. Memories tend to be remembered because some kind of emotion is attached to it. I want to know what’s in my heart, my mind, my cross. If I was to lose all my memory, all my past and dreams will be gone. And so ‘my’ mind will be lost. And I will be lost too.

My life was really never mine to begin with (Francesca Batestelli). It was given. Rented to me. My life is like a vineyard, and ISHO is the vineyard owner (Matthew). ISHO will come back to collect the fruits one day. Am I ready to see him? Six months ago perhaps not.

But now, I am. To die is gain (Paul). I am ready for The Hammer to fall. I am ready to be judged by ISHO.

And so I go merrily on, leaping with my delusions about myself and all that has happened to me. Something is better than nothing. Nothing only makes me want to put a gun to my head and blow my brains out. Something is better than nothing.

Even if it is the most insane, stupid, ridiculous theology – or theory – or a heresy – about my life that I can come up with. I have invented a God, fashioned ISHO in my own image, perhaps. No, I have.

And for those worried (I might be mistaken, but I still have in humanity, the imago Dei, the images of God) about my suicidality, I will say that I am trying enjoying life a lot, and ignore my problems when I am not trying to solve them. Keeping death in my purview (I saw that it kept this guy – TheOdd1sOut – awake at night) really did the trick. Playing StarDew valley with siblings, watching the Halo television series, moving my body more regularly (and not having as much fat as I used to have on my body), whistling and singing while I clean up the house. Binging on missions in Bleach : Brave Souls.

All joys. Simple joys. Simple joys are holy (St. Francis of Assisi – from memory).

Final Note: I have come to accept that lots of people will call me a heretic. That I speak lies. And I actually agree with them. But I have lived in the church too long to just kowtow to the status quo theology. I might reach the “true” theology one day, but I will not do it unauthentically. This is going to be organic. I will not just accept things. I will wrestle to the truth, and in the process, wring out all the lies.

I will treat my faith as a science. My belief as a science. I want to be able to give evidence for my faith. My faith in action (Paul). I will adjust my faith accordingly. And vice-versa. Theory-laden data, data-laden theory (Karl Popper). Theology-laden love, love-laden theology. What love looks like is very debatable, cuz it all depends on what you mean – what pictures come up in your brain, what scenes play out – when you see the word “love” (Christopher Yuan).

I equate data = love because Christians can’t stop talking about love. Let’s get real then. Let’s see how much love they (and I) got. Let the evidence of our actions speak for themselves. Let’s make some honest comparisons – healthy comparison is a thing – and see whose God is real

For ISHO is apparently a God of intimacy and action. So separating the two is not really possible. They feed into each other. We are to undulate between them.

And I think I am getting “death-grip” from masturbating too much.
And as I reread this post in my editing phase, all I can think of is “This is a hot mess”. Well, it certainly reflects its writer, who is in a hot mess atm. Undulating between construction and deconstruction.

And in submitting this rough work, I admit to myself what I am doing, what I am being. Inconsistent (with my references). Wordy (over my newly set word limit of 1000). Fragmented & unfocused. Haphazard. A mess (Dreams | NF et. al. +2017). I quote books that I have read, haven’t read, and don’t intend to read. Too many books to read. Of the writing of books there is no end (Solomon).

I am just learning to accept myself. Move towards perfection slowly and sustainably. Being okay with imperfection in this pretty imperfection world … but gunning for perfection because that’s the best.