Dear God
June 15th, 2016

There's no way out is there?

A way out of this world? Except death. A
where where I could make sense of it all
without having to become a Saint. A
where where my instinct is aligned with Your Will
before I go out to the grocery store. Or leave for work. Or leer appropriately at...
guess my own solitude.

Or a
where where I could cheat and hold on to bliss, the little I have of it sometimes.
Synchronicity? Or a
where where I could delay the traffic of desires at my will. Or
prolong them.

No?

A
where where I can Love You AND this world simultaneously without compromising
my appetite for self-indulgence.

A
where where it's alright to want a different road than the one You have chosen for
me. 

I'm sorry for writing that sentence (and should utterly feel so too but sadly not as
much). And I am sorry for allowing myself the freedom to not erase it. The arrogance,
more like.

For the record, I do want the road You have chosen for me. I'm just tactlessly taking
the liberty to kick and scream the entire way instead of staying quiet out of reverence.
And gratitude. And just sheer sensibility.

Or at least making an effort to quell my objections for not being smart enough to
Understand You while simultaneously being upset with myself for seeking You to my
manipulative ends instead of for enlightenment. Or deliverance.

But God, I am not sure if I believe in You by default or by preference?

Does it matter? I think it does.

I know I don't want to believe in evil. And I know I don't want to believe in what this
material world has to offer either. I see and feel how fickle it is, by the grace of Your
blessing too I am certain. But I do want it. To a degree, I do. To a satisfactory degree
of gluttony that is.

Can't I have it without believing in it?

No?

Is my choice really Death or Sainthood? Death being enacting my mortal will while
Sainthood undoubtedly being the death of my Ego.

Just live your life and be a good person.

That only works for the un-examined life. If the upkeep to maintain a 'be good, do
good' personhood takes the same amount of energy as it would a Saint then what's the
difference? There is enough hate in one sitting of a news story to pollute me for a
lifetime.

So I avoid it to "survive" it. I pretend it's beyond me or throw up a tiny prayer and
retreat, retreat, retreat when really I'm just trying to abandon whatever call-to-action it
might require of me if I were to engage so it won't rob me of me-time.

And me-time is all I've got left at this point, Lord and I'm terrified that's what You want
most from me.

So I keep looking for a space, a safe-haven, a loop-hole would be the right term, to
house my weaknesses so I don't lose them. Because what am I without them? Strong.
And that's no fun.

The kind of girls that like
strong men are not the superficial kind which would make
my crimes against the heart - and there will always be crimes - super real & hurtful.
And I can't deal with that. I'm already a crime against myself.

At least with superficial girls, I know they'll get over me before I've even left their blind
spot. Even though I kinda suspect they hurt just the same as "real" ones regardless of
what I may label them as which makes my crimes that much more hideously hurtful.   

Still, and not surprisingly, I enjoy my weaknesses. I indulge in them. Because they're
weak. They're dangerous. Exciting. But above all, they are liars. And nothing is as
comforting as a lie. The entire essence of a lie is comfort.

And what's wrong with comfort? What's wrong with equating comfort with Good?

I can be comfortable with being uncomfortable but that's another issue.

I'm talking about the seduction of lazy morning, the temptation of self-loathing, the
eroticism of apathy or denial or escapism, all of them! What's inherently bad about
falling for them and feeling good about it? Reeeeal gooood. Even if just for a little bit.
Ultimately not but even so.

It's not water.

That's what's wrong, I know. A lie is flavorful but True Good has no flavor, no color,
no taste. It's water.

But my naked make-up is such that it values flavor over water, decadence over
substance, indulgence over sustenance and somehow making this distinction does not
permit me whatsoever an exception to this world in any way at all. Really?

No special pass? Carte-blanche? License to be unchristian? Spiritual immunity to
explore the depths of my depravity?

No? 

Is there no other way to be with You than being a Saint?

I'm definitely not in danger of becoming one, I know that. But since You have taught
me to value my
needs over wants, I am desperately looking for confirmation that You
DON'T NEED me to become one.

Please don't.

Don't recruit me even though I pledge allegiance to Your Cross. It's tough to answer
Your call. And I don't have the heart to say 'no' even though I clearly am, in my usual
back-handed not-so-subtle ways. Being a Saint is no fun.

I am sure it is Divine Fun - the elation of spirit liberated from Ego. The unequivocal
planting of self, rooted in Your Word to be Word at which point one ceases to be the
prisoner of fugitive meaning and radiates meaning ceaselessly beyond time and grave,
like the Sun of History.

Just beaming and flying in the face of all adversity like a super hero of Emotion. THE
Emotion. Love.

What joyful Fun indeed.

But... since I subscribe to my flesh a tiny entire more than to the well-being of my
spirit, I define fun as 'The Exception to the Rule of Death' - which I cowardly ignore
but I know deep down to be true as the subversion of the real thing.

Hence any phrase of music, curve of body, dance of lips, flirt of song that elicits
immortality - no matter how ephemerally it singes like a birth mark on my soul -  I am
indebted to it as though I am required by Law. Ironically, I am inclined to say Your
Law even though I know that to be false.

I seek
that eternal (and ultimately cheaper, useless, trecherous) fun as involuntarily as I
believe in You. Is there worth to my involuntary belief and kindless faith?

I must not have faith.

If I did I would trust You with my life intentionally instead of begrudgingly.

Faith requires heart which I do. Not. Have.

My instinct is to shut that organ down. Let no one in. Not even You. Maybe a little bit
sometimes but not all the way. Because I know once I open it, it's not going to stop
opening up. There's no end to how much it can grow. And that's a liability I don't want
to find out that I can afford. Because it's too much work which will inevitably keep me
away from me.

Besides, it isn't really there so I have nothing to shut down. Or shout down from
whatever tower it has locked itself away like a damsel in distress of this unforgivable
world which my Ego, lurking and grunting and pounding and growling in the dungeon,
never ceases to unforgivably desire.

So I sit outside in the garden of my own making, keys to neither place dangling at my
waist, and write sorrowful sentences, feeling sorry to have written them while
attempting to say sorry through them.

I pray.

My selfish prayers.

But I don't even understand - or rather I should say I misconstrue the recitations of
Your name as payment for protection as though You are the Good Mobster on whose
good side it's best to be while at the same time trying to convince myself to be available
to Your decisions for my life, specifically and very absolutely including the termination
of it.

You are Kind. No freaking doubt there. But as each day passes, I am becoming more
and more aware that even though the days are getting progressively longer it's actually
getting darker and darker out. And it makes sense too - out of everything else that
makes sense. It does.

Because why would the world get any better? Why? The logic doesn't compute. It's
only gonna get worse in the same way it has been for years and years - with trade-offs
of lesser evils and greater not-so-goods. Especially not with people like me.

I daydream most of my day where I as a hero save the world one genius tackle of
interminable social issues at a time, of course by special permission from You yet to
the total glory of my name.

But none of that will come to pass just as much as there is no
where to retreat from the
ills of the world to indulge in the ills of the self.

So, I have to decide. Let my Ego out or break into my heart. And shut up my
complaints. And find my faith so I can stop using You as an excuse to have none.

Yes.

I need to get away from You.

Sorry.

Yours truly,
The Fugitive Christian

P.S: Thank you for everything.