|August 11th, 2017
I know You never said it was easy God.
But why on earth would You make Love feel easy when it's downright near impossible to
either give or receive it?
Feeling it? It is the EASIEST THING in the world. THE EASIEST! But next to how
ungrateful it makes us towards those who currently love us and how needy towards those
from whom we feel we need it most - to say nothing of how incompetent of language it
renders us the moment we need it expressed, LOVE should come with a caution label that
exclaims EXTREMELY NOT USER-FRIENDLY - PROCEED ONLY IF YOU MUST. And if
indeed you must then R.I.P to you my friend. Meaning "Godspeed!!" in the same way 'Love
is Blind' means LEARN BRAILLE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD YOU FOOOOOOOL!!!!!!!
Of course, this is less of Your making than it is our reflection of ineptitude at being rational
and sentient beings at the same time. Given our state of things as a species, I know You
would prefer I look to You for guidance on how to keep myself love positive. But, by
affording myself an assortment of self-gratifying delusions, I, as I'm sure You've noticed, am
opting to forfeit Life itself. I may even be claiming that I'm justified in doing so. Of course,
by unburdening You from having to hear any of my prayers, what I'm really doing is hiding
so that You don't ask of me the inevitable requirement I have yet to fulfill as a Christian:
Is there no way to be exempt from these human conditions like Love & Sacrifice?
...was probably my first thought at some point if not my on-going rallying cry since I realized
I desired to be You only if it meant having power over everyone and everything without the
price, or cost, of Suffering.
In Capitalism, the self can be sacrificed for the self. That is to say, an individual's identity can
be sacrificed for the sake of the Individual (with a capital 'I'). In fact, not only can it be
sacrificed but it can also be mythologized as the poor non-entrepreneurial self that dies to rise
from the ashes of rags by the bootstraps to the soaring reaches of the phoenix, embodying the
pinnacle of Individuality that ultimately - perched from the height of wealth - fathoms not, nor
trusts not, any other identity that is not fire born out of the furnace of economic distress.
Coming on my twelfth anniversary this September since touching ground in these United
States and having just pledged allegiance to the flag over two weeks ago, I now find this
challenge of becoming commercially successful - in the business of being me - as my
personal American destiny. Despite my generic revulsion towards the faceless corporate
Capitalist, my new found destiny will now most probably dictate that I too would need to be
one. If I must be one then I choose being a moral Capitalist; as in both an ethical Capitalist as
well as one who capitalizes on the quality of morals, one who refines morals according to
religious ideals. A moral Capitalist, in my view, will therefore be positioned to identify value
only when Christian morals intersect with market demands which, safe to say, may very well
In Christianity, on the other hand, the self cannot be sacrificed for the self, it must only be
sacrificed for the other. One's idea of self (commercial or otherwise) must be sacrificed for
the ideal self before God (i.e in my case, my Christian identity). And to sacrifice my selfish
identity in the name of God is to sacrifice all my worldly goals I harbor for my fleshy flesh.
And in so doing, freeing my body to be in service of others which in turn frees me to acquire
an identity with God. Identifying with God through sacrifice. This means one can't truly
comprehend one's own value without valuing the lives of others. In other words, to know
myself is to appreciate others.
If Freud understood the human condition as the fundamental conflict between the self and the
world, then I understand my current conflict as being between my sense of self (as I desire it
to be) and my ideal self before God (as a practicing Christian). The former is fueled by
tyrannical hedonism (hence the need for commercial success) whereas the latter is motivated
by spiritual conscience ("mo' money, mo' blues baby boo"). So not only does my Christianity
implore me towards sacrifice but so does common sense. Since hedonism & spirituality
cannot co-exist; one clearly must be sacrificed. And I know which one. Deep down, I think
I've always known (as do we all[?]).
Sacrifice Over Pleasure
In theory I would have loved to sacrifice my dreamy self at the drop of a hat - if only it was
that easy. In reality, however, I can't even mentally free myself from it. Because ultimately it
represents the impossible co-existence of my possible future Capitalist identity in perfect
harmony with my present Christian ideology; a filthy rich Christian Capitalist who cannot
stop making money by giving it away to people for pennies on the dollar. I whole-heartedly
entertain this science-fiction without taking any real action in the real world of any kind,
neither towards being a Capitalist nor even a better Christian, precisely because it affords me
an easier crutch, yes, to forfeit than to prop any sign of conscientious life.
"It gives me pleasure" would be my deflective quip. But it's more of an escape. And I'm
addicted. I love my imaginary alter-ego(s). It is literally my personal source of escapism apart
from the "occasional" movies & shows I consume on a daily basis. And I have come to "live"
these fantasies only in my mind as an end in itself. Definitely in silent critique about the social
inequities of real life while simultaneously offering up my depraved fantasies to You, Lord,
without irony or shame, as my unspoken (self-serving) solutions should You ever decide to
grant any (or all - please choose all!) of them true.
Which I know You will not and which, not surprisingly, I honestly agree You shouldn't - no
one should be subjected to my fickle whimsies. Nevertheless, this does not discourage me
from seeking further refuge into my mind. In fact I think I use Your non-approval as one of
the reasons why I should keep on indulging my delusional fantasies - ever perfect, ever
morphing, ever immune to the physics of reality, and immortal only in the confines of my
mind. So I abuse it to the point of paralysis to sustain a self-authorized excuse from having
failed in Life. I binge on it as if it's the only thing that's keeping me afloat from drowning in
cosmopolitan depression when in fact it is precisely what's causing it.
It's almost as if I'd prefer to die fantasizing an alternate glorious life from the comfort of my
lonesome, having completely fooled myself into believing I do not owe anyone a single thing
and that my absence from society will not result in anyone getting hurt (except maybe the
collection agency?) RATHER THAN LIVING one painfully lovely & unimaginably real day
where I acknowledge others as having emotional significance in my life while allowing them
to recognize their significance in mine; where I faith in humanity in the face of its apparent
decline to barbarity; where I turn the other cheek for my enemy, for my brother, my sister,
for Racism - that seeming abstraction yet barbwire-against-skin concretion, and to do so all
without an ounce of judgement or any reservation of compassion or - and this is sadly the
most crucial - without the reality of feeling superbly inadequate at doing so, at times or
always, stopping me from being (or at least trying to be) open. For You.
This apparent quest to recover my Christian altruism is not helped by the fact that I do not
consider my self - the self I have so far examined - to be trustworthy. It flip flops.
Emotionally I fear I may be a born flip-flopper. The only consistency in my behavior that I
have yet to see break is my undying commitment to succumb to my every single whim &
fancy over any consideration at anytime for anything resembling common decency.
Consequently, I should be inclined to understand my current quest as one that must already
anticipate considerable amount of relapses into my choice drugs of Selfishness &
Me-Against-The-World Victimhood. This means now I have to overcome double-inadequacy
in order for me to execute my quest: public inadequacy of living in this world and private
inadequacy of living with, yours truly, Mr. Flip Floppy.
Regardless, I can suffer this.
In theory, I'm even willing to confront multiple crippling inadequacies, no problem. Sacrifice
my worldly self? Done. Commune with the suffering of others? Done. Because none of it,
and I mean NONE OF IT, Lord, hurts nearly (or is as monumentally difficult) as much as
trying to save a loved one and feeling totally helpless.
I recently tried to advise my little sister against her emotional intelligence. I needed to save her
from too costly a life lesson. I still would like to "save her" (quotation or not). But now,
because of my big mouth, we're not talking. Not as informally (or as often) as we did. The
war of our conversation violated the innocence & freedom we had - we need - to practice it.
Officially, we're professional enough to exchange peaceful dialogue which in some ways, I
hope, might slowly be restoring our relationship back to its former candid origins.
But, Lord, was it worth it?
Love does trump all - all logic & reason that is and therefore, I feel, should NOT be engaged.
Or pursued. Leave Love Alone is what my bruises warn (and these are bruises from so long
ago it'd make one question sanity). And I would rather leave Love alone and gain nothing than
risk hurting anyone which, empirically, should be worse than the elixir of successfully loving
It seems as though, when it comes to communicating with, or attempting a rescue of, a loved
one, the failure of language becomes directly proportional to the gravity of the message; the
urgent the message, the greater the miscommunication, as was the case with my sister. The
message, I felt, she needed to hear about her life decisions was arguably so dire that it
backfired as a betrayal of the worst kind. By letting the importance of my message take me as
far as breaking the unspoken pact we had as two self-governing individuals, I betrayed her
trust by completely dismissing & judging all her feelings, prior & present, as being motivated
by cowardice. And in so doing, I blinded myself from the very real risk of making her feel
inadequate about herself.
Projecting much Bez!
Fortunately, she's headstrong- yes you are sis! I love you but thank God and Thank You for
being stubborn cause I would rather you make a costly mistake than crush your defiant spirit.
Maybe you're not making a mistake. But even if you are, don't let anyone stop you. Shine on!
But, Lord, can You at least see why I would prefer not to Love at all? Knowing that I can
survive such authorship of pain - of any pain - even in the heart of someone about whom I
adjacently care let alone my own flesh & blood is, I think, absolutely worse than actually
risking the vulnerability of others in the name of elevating their condition. I'm saying, Lord,
the fact that I can survive, that it is very possible for me to live with the knowledge of having
hurt people's feelings should justify my sheepish escape into my fictional Life.
But here's the kicker though, right? Just because I force myself to "live" in a "vacuum", it
doesn't necessarily mean I won't hurt anyone. If anything, it most probably means I don't
want to know how many people I'm, accidentally or not, actively hurting. Time and time
again, I've come across moments with family and friends where my candid exchange has
ended with me causing a sour feeling in the pit of their stomach. And, like spilt milk, it would
often always be too late for me to retract or mend anything.
The truth is, I've been causing these sour feelings in a lot of people - like a lot - for quite
sometime now. You could say I'm just catching on to (the tail end of[?]) it only recently. But
now that I've seen how much hurt I'm capable of and of how much more I could still be, it
has completely demoralized me. Especially since it strongly suggests that; at best, my
subconscious likes to sabotage my every good intention; and at worst, it wants to reveal I
never really have any. Which, frankly, should make my yearning for my ignorant days where
I at least felt like I caused no harm at all - even if it was just in my mind - honorific, despite
the fact that it's not and won't ever be, ultimately, honorable.
Now, when it comes to family, Love is the sacrifice of security - one cannot always be there.
When it comes to country, it is the sacrifice of Life - one has to be there for others. When it
comes to friends, it is the sacrifice of money - friendships are priceless. When it comes to
God, it is the sacrifice of control - God's Will above all. When it comes to Love itself, Love is
the sacrifice of reason, logic, and death - donning 'being in love' the cloak of invincibility.
Love is the other side of Sacrifice and vice versa. So, what I'm really doing when I escape
into my mind is sacrificing my opportunities for Love itself. I'm saying I'd rather pretend I
love myself for fake more than I'm willing to find out for real. Not only because it hurts, but
also because I could hurt another and I'd be okay with that and that's not cool! You have yet
to forbid me from escaping into my mind. But You haven't expressed Your approval either.
So, I'm neither happy or proud of my little addiction. Not happy since You don't approve and
not proud because I derive no meaning from it.
Here's my problem. On one hand, I want to live a life that matters but, at the same time, I
don't wanna matter unless I can control it. Like capturing the perfect selfie after several takes,
I want to frame how I matter in this world after exhausting all of my personal desires. But
because there is no limit to my personal desires, I know there will never be any frame of
reference through which to matter even if I could control how I mattered. But then again
that's the point. To look & play the part of Life that really matters without actually taking part
in anything real so I can always be free from having to matter really.
I want to love someone that matters without that pesky matter of hurt.
In other words, I want to live without having to die.
No? Not even a maybe? Fine.
I don't wanna suffer the Meaning of Life so instead I suffer meaninglessness.
If Meaning is the attachment of Time to the Body of Life then Money is what makes it stick.
Only, its stickiness is inversely proportional to its quantity; the wealthier the stock, the less
stickier the Meaning. Which is why the poorest among us suffer saturation of Meaning so
intense it touches on meaninglessness but it never really sticks. A homeless man's life may
appear meaningless to a bystander but never to the man who has found a home in it.
I have so far been forfeiting my Life just because I wanted to suffer a wildly different
Meaning than the one You have chosen to afford me with, Lord. I've been opting to live in my
head because living for real would be too meaningful. As in admit that I am mortal contrary to
my fictitious immortal "identity". But I can't keep that up anymore.
The whole reason why I even wanted to write about this in the first place was because I
noticed - You made me notice, I'm sure - that I don't live in a vacuum. When I quietly
suffered my meaninglessness in isolation, my family was also silently suffering it with me. No
one said anything. But nothing needed be said. And the more I tried to isolate my suffering,
the more I exposed my family to it. I can't have that. I'm already responsible for so much.
So I'm opting in.
It's time I used my body to affect the Body of my Family in a good way. By sacrificing my
sensational self and nurturing my Christian Identity, I should focus on adding value to their
lives - yes, at the real risk of hurting their feelings. Because I must now consider the fallibility
of humanity in all its emotional pitfalls itself the reason why I should engage, be open, face
the world, and dare to hope. Turning my other cheek not just because Vengeance is Yours,
Lord, but also precisely because Life strikes so that I'm struck and therefore I must receive it
- as heart-breakingly, life-changingly, meaning-shatteringly, inconceivably challenging as it
can at times be - not as a victim but as a warrior witness.
Of from compassion.
Of from Love.
Of from You.