I think in the lesson of faith, gratitude has to be the most important skeleton, otherwise the negativity of the world overwhelms me. I always feel the feather of gratitude beatific and ethereally tip-toeing around my blanket-covered face, but then a window opens, morning air is breathed, and I know, at crux, the world is full of life, energy, and an inherent nature of giving. In clinical depression it is difficult to see gratitude, or even its opposite, selfishness. It’s not as though the air of both aren’t there, but the weight of reality or the suffocation of evil pushes an existential agenda, demanding one to take sides in a battle we’d rather remain in the trenches for, or never arrive at all.
If we look for the bad, it is easy to find. There are broken cars, broken finances, broken families, and worst of all–broken people. When someone says, ‘I’m broke,’ they often refer to money, but deep within that is the truth of I’m broke, the human. The human heart is broken, from loss of love, loss of worth, loss of self, loss of identity, loss of community, and the loss of hope. We see issues and things we value having such complexity, being dealt with so frivolously and thoughtlessly, that it’s difficult to be grateful for the common, the everyday, unless something new comes along to give an insight or indication that God or people or the Universe hasn’t declared us a singularity of oppression and isolation.
We want to matter.
Sometimes people want to matter so much they force it, others wait years for their value to be handed to them. It doesn’t matter to the hurting what family says, what friends say, what books infer, or the internet debunks. Christianity is so distorted, commodified, and weaponized, that even the truth that God values a person and what the Christ did for humanity has been diluted and impressed into its own stele of granite hearts and broken commandments to love, to dry up tears, to give hope.
I’ve spent years hiding Christianity, not because I’m ashamed of the Christ, but because of what it has become publicly. Neither do I want the cultural saturation of Americanized dilution, so what truth can one live when there are answers I just don’t have? I only have one, and it is foolishness. Unless someone would want to meet the Christ face-to-face, to comprehend that there is a universe that doesn’t conflict with science nor reinforce mythologies, to realize we are not abandoned, but chosen and somehow intended for relationships that aren’t broken, with God and with each other, I will always sound like a delusional contradiction of my rational comprehension of reality, let alone a hypocrite in my own world of introverted depression. To this I can only say that I am still learning the poetry of living the difficulty of a brand that has been used for just as much evil as it has been for good. In my life I only seek authenticity, but even in that, I fail often.
In time, we will all know truth as in a mirror, only we won’t be able to walk away. We think what we’ve done, or continue to do, or even what we’re unaware of, is beyond redemption. I used to think that, and at times, forget to think otherwise. But the reality is, and the truth stands, that it’s not our business to say what is or isn’t salvageable in our being. We had no part in arriving to life, only in living it. Dying can be a choice, but regardless of when it comes, it will surely come. The hope is to realize, despite our desperate quest to claw the aether and become seen, despite the panic of being uniquely known or defined, your DNA has already determined that, so be at peace. People will never give us what we want, they will always fail. Their gods will always fail because they were made from wells of fear, injustice, and sorrow. A man or woman, no matter how divinely inspired, can never give you what only someone divine can.
Someone once said to me, ‘Miss me with the Jesus bs.’
Aye, comrade, I intend to.