Only a MAN and a WOMAN -- but what about???

I am going to try once again with a topic that I have written about before.  I've never been able to get any traction on this, but that has bothered me for a very long time.

Today Episcopal Diocese of Albany Bishop Bill Love yet again issued a statement about how marriage must be understood as ordained by Jesus to be between one man and one woman. He said that "what the church should be telling partnered gay and lesbian couples is 'Do you love your partner enough not to engage in sexual intimacy? The issue before us is not about relationships but sexual intimacy.'"

I know that the idea of a homosexuality identity, as it is currently seen in our society, is a rather new development for the church to have to address. We have to move slowly and think deeply when we move into uncharted waters. But, why haven't we spent more time looking at what the Bible and the historic faith has to say concerning the closest analogy that people in biblical times did have to deal with?

I have been told over and over, by supposedly well-meaning, theologically grounded people, that God does not deny marriage to any category of people. However, that God requires that, if a person wants to marry, that person person marries a person of the opposite sex: the idea of sexual complementarity, and all that. It has, supposedly, a profound theological meaning...  I'd take that view better if God had created everyone as either male or female, but God didn't!  Or, I'd expect the Church to have an equally profound and public theological, and compassionately pastoral, response to people who are intersex. It's not like this is a new category of being, or unchartered social waters, we've had the whole of our religious formation period to ponder these questions...

What about biblical theology and instructions concerning individuals who are intersexual?  Shouldn't the Bible contain explicit instructions about sex and marriage for people who are neither (or both) man or (and) woman: instructions about whether to abstain from sexual intimacy; instructions that do or do not allow them to marry; instructions for their place in the family and community, if they cannot enter traditional marriage relationships; etc. If gender identity and sexual intimacy are so very central theologically, this should be spelled out clearly, right?

In the ancient world, it was not possible to deny or ignore that some people are born as neither male nor female, or both male and female.* Even at the lower estimates of intersex occurrence, in almost any community of a few hundred people there would be at least one person who was intersex, who visibly combined the distinguishing characteristics of each sex. This was not a secret, nor was it hidden. Moses knew about people (and animals -- Leviticus 22:23) who were born neither unambiguously male nor female, Jesus knew (Matthew 19:11), the early church knew. It has only been in recent decades, when surgical "corrections" and hormonal interventions have been available,** that we have had the luxury of convincing ourselves that sex and gender are absolute dichotomies, that there is no in-between. But that's not how God created us, and fortunately, that understanding is again changing.

Sleeping Hermaphrodite, 2nd century BCE

Different ancient cultures dealt with intersex individuals differently. We get our word "hermaphrodite" from the Greeks, who acknowledged a god, Hermaphroditus, the child of Aphrodite and Hermes. In some cultures intersex individuals were thought to be especially spiritual (Indian Hijras, for example). However, the Jews felt that that they should not be a part of "The Assembly of the Lord"-- a term scholars generally think refers to the leaders or rulers of Israel, not the wider faith community. (See Deut. 23:1, a passage that gives instructions about apparently-male individuals who have either congenitally, accidentally, or deliberately deformed male sex organs. Women and apparent-women were already, and ontologically, excluded from the leadership.)

So, with this whole class of people who are neither male nor female, or who are both male and female, there must be explicit instructions relative to sex and marriage and the theology of male and female, right?

In fact, where are the explicit, timeless, theologically-oh-so-important instructions relative to sex and marriage in the first place?

Sure, the Bible talks about God creating "them" male and female, and Jesus talks about a man leaving his father and mother and cleaving to his wife, and scripture holds up husband and wife as an analogy to Christ and the church. But it also talks about levirate marriage, about polygamy, about love between two men surpassing the love of women, about divorce being ok and about divorce being not-ok, about rapists being duty bound to marry their victims. The bible gives Abraham a pass on marrying his half-sister (his father's daughter) even though later law forbids any man marrying his father's daughter). It talks about adultery being the appropriation of another mans property. (According to the old testament definition, sex with an unmarried woman is not adultery even if the man is married. He is not his wife's property, but she is his.) Paul says (1 Cor. 7) that it is better to marry than to burn with passion -- so why doesn't he tell us how intersex people should deal with their passion, if the church did not allow them to marry***? 

When Jesus meets the woman at the well, he remarks that she has had five husbands and the man she is living with now is not, in fact, her husband. If there was ever an opportunity for him to clear up this confusion, to launch into his own views on marriage and what is or is not allowed, this seems like it would be the one! But, he does not even condemn her. Nor do they discuss the theology of marriage or whether she is "living in sin," but they talk about how one should worship God! Even when he gets asked about when and whether divorce is ok, Jesus gets confusing -- he starts talking about Eunuchs and messages being "hard for people to hear." Everywhere I look in the Bible marriage seems to be accepted as social concept -- but not always the same social concept. A man/woman, husband/wife, Christ/church archetype is acknowledged, but marriage is also taken to be whatever the culture and society accept it as. Who is or is not married, who can get married, how many people can be in a marriage, how long it lasts -- it seems to be different in different places and times. And, it never seems to bubble up to the essential, eternal, VERY THEOLOGICALLY IMPORTANT AND NO ROOM FOR ANY DISCUSSION, concept it has become for so many in recent times.

You would have thought the founders of our faith would have been more careful to leave better instruction, if it was really supposed to be so cut and dried -- wouldn't you?


*Estimates range from 0.2% to 1% or so of the population, according to research documented by the intersex society of North America (ISNA) on their website, depending on how one defines sex and gender and what conditions one considers to be "intersex." This number would significantly increase if what we now know about "brain sex" were added into the equation. Further research will continue to elucidate how much and what parts of the sexing of the brain are due to genetic factors and due to androgen exposure levels during different gestation periods.

**In general the "correction" is to render gender ambiguous infants to appear physically female, and parents are (erroneously) instructed that gender identity is a learned phenomena, so that all will be well if they were just raise the child as a girl (unfortunately, sometimes with tragic results -- see Colapinto's As Nature Made Him).

***I cannot, in my wildest dreams, imagine that God would require, nor the true church endorse, requiring intersex individuals to "just pick a gender and stick to it," and thereafter lie about themselves and their truth, in order to fit in with the congregation.

All Roads? (What I Believe)

I wasted a lot of time in my early life trying to make myself believe what I don't actually believe. I tried -- hard -- for years, even deluded myself and paid the price in internal anguish, but I couldn't make it work.  At least for me, I think, belief is sort of instinctive -- the feeling, transcending words or logic, that things just are what they are. Not something you choose, but something that just is. I think we believe first, and then think up the logic and find our explanations and reasons for believing the way we do.

[This is, neurologically, not so strange as it may sound. Researchers have found that it's not so clear whether intent precedes action on a motor-neurological level (see work by Benjamin Libet or Itzhak Fried, for example), so maybe belief also preceded conscious thought or logical consistency.]

I am still a Christian (in my own mind, not in some other people's), but I no longer try to fit my head around some of the orthodox explanations of what Christian doctrine means. Instead, I try my hardest to find the truth of what I have experienced of life, of God, reflected in the creeds and doctrines I share with members of this historic faith. It is, at minimum, my cultural heritage and the framework in which I learned the language of faith and spirituality. It's a big part of who I am. And I have found that I can do that. But for others, this Christian creed doesn't seem to be the one that best fits with how they experience life and catch glimpses of what, if anything, is beyond and above. I'm OK with that truth, even if some fellow Christians are not. And, for a long time, that has been a source of discomfort for me. Is Jesus exclusive? Is Christianity "special" among the world's religions. However much I'm supposed to believe it, I don't believe it -- not the way others do, anyway. What is special or unique? What does that mean?

When my (also female) spouse started to get disillusioned with Christianity (It's hard to stay starry-eyed about the "promise of the gospel" when everyone is beating you over the head with the Bible for being different) and began to explore Buddhism, I should have felt like she was endangering her immortal soul, at least according to some people's interpretation of the teachings of my church. But I felt no such thing in my gut, which still always takes precedence over my head in matters of God. Instead, I felt a calm assurance that her desire to pursue spirituality in whatever form was most accessible to her was a good thing, and I encouraged it. The searching has certainly paid off for her--I can see a major difference in her confidence, her serenity, her connection with others--and for me. I feel so much more like we are on the same path, now that we are officially on different paths.

So, the problem was how to explain to myself what my experience was telling me is true, regardless of what I've always been taught. I got a glimpse when reading "The Shack," a book everyone in my current reading group told me they loved and that I had to read too. Mostly just OK, there were a couple gems that made up for what seemed otherwise somewhat muddled to me. In one spot, the "Father God" character was mentioning that true believers weren't all Christian and all Christians were not necessarily recognized by God as God's own, but true believers were any who had entered into a genuine relationship with God. The protagonist asks if that's not the same thing as saying that "all roads lead to God," which we all know most Christians think is the same thing as saying, "anything goes." God says no. In fact, we are told, no road leads to God, not even Christianity. However, God can travel down any road to meet a soul that is truly seeking. God refuses to be limited, and God is not Christian property.

God. Not us. We are not the gatekeepers. I don't know what/who God is (perhaps to be explored in a different post) but whatever else God is, God is in this context the attractor, and the actor, and the foundation that makes it all possible. Our faith does tell us that it is God's grace that save us, after all; that it is God that does the pursing, not anything that we can do to find God on our own. That's orthodox. We just have a difficult time living with so much uncertainty about the process, or that little control.

This is what my gut tells me I have believed all along.

Sophia's Christmas Letter 2014

"bored-bored-bored-bored-bored-bored-bored"

Hello all my fans!  I got so many kudos for my adoption diary that I decided to send out a Christmas letter to you, my "adoring public."  [Yes, I am worthy of all your devotion! Someone please tell Ann and Jan, who somehow think they are supposed to make the decisions around here. I don't know how that got started, but it has to change!]

My early life was admittedly pretty eventful, but life with Ann and Jan was getting to be almost too normal. To be honest, sometimes it's awfully boring. 

Since I last posted in my diary, only two things have happened that I think are worth noting in my Christmas update. The first thing I'm a bit reluctant to mention, because I'm just a little bit embarrassed about it. It's not often that **I** could be accused of being in the wrong about anything, but that's what Ann tells me happened. I don't see how I could have misjudged him, but you decide...

In August, I was sound asleep one night at Ann's place when I heard a noise on our back porch. I went downstairs to investigate, and as I was going down the stairs I saw a man coming in from the porch and walking towards the stairs. (Admittedly, it was strange that he came in through the window and not a door. But, all people are strange! I don't think I'll ever truly figure humans out.) I assumed he was coming to see my mom, so I met him on the stairs and led him up to her bedroom. (At least that's what he later told the police. I have never actually admitted it!) He did seem like a nice man, and I assumed he wanted to see mommy so I took him to her. What's so wrong about that? But, when mom got up to see him, things didn't go so well. He hit her a few times and she fell down. She was screaming so much it really scared me. Then he ran down the stairs, grabbed her purse, and went out the door. Pretty soon lots of people showed up at the house with bright lights on the tops of their cars. They began swarming all over the yard with flashlights. Then they took mom away on a stretcher in a big white van with lights on top, and I was just so scared and a little afraid I'd done something wrong. The nice man (who maybe wasn't so nice after all) had left the window open on the porch, and I decided maybe I'd better go. I ran out of the house and yard, and tried to find a new place to stay. I was afraid mom wouldn't want me back, and besides, they took mom away and I didn't know when, or even if, she was coming back. Only that scardy-cat Amí was in the house, and she was no help. She'd been hiding in the closet since we heard the first noise. (I found out later that she stayed in the closet for 36 hours. Wimp!)

There was an alley only a short run from mom's house that had many other cat smells. I thought maybe I could find my old cat colony. Would they remember me? It has been a long time! Or maybe I would find another colony to join. But, I was wet and lonely and I didn't find any new friends. I stayed away from people, because now I wasn't sure if I could trust them. That hitting and screaming really confused me! So, I found some dark, protected places and just sat, getting colder and hungrier by the minute. I discovered that I was really out of practice at hunting for my meals. They had appeared magically and regularly for so long I thought I'd always have enough to eat. A cat like me shouldn't have to work for food! I ate a few bugs. (And could feel more bugs crawling all over me! Ewww!) The next day I did hear Ann and Jan (I found out later that Jan drove up from New Hampshire to be with Ann, who was back at home after all the fuss.) walking around the neighborhood calling my name. They didn't sound angry, but I was still too afraid to come out. So I just watched and listened. It wasn't until I had been on my own for two whole days that I smelled something that I just couldn't resist. I was so very hungry, and this heavenly roast chicken smell was on the air. I had to have some. Just had to!

The smell was coming from the back of my very own house. Mommy Ann was out in the garden calling for me. She looked a little funny - her face was swollen and her eyes were black - but she was my mom! I cried out to her, and she spoke to me, and I answered again. She went inside and came out with Jan and (most importantly!) some of that heavenly smelling chicken. I was still scared, so I climbed up a tree and onto the garage roof where I could watch things. I didn't want them to trick me! Jan climbed up the tree too, and put the meat on the garage roof a few feet from me. I couldn't resist! Even though Jan was there in the tree, just a couple feet away, I thought maybe I could snatch the food and be gone before she could react. (Note to self: Jan has very fast reaction reflexes.) Suddenly her hand was at the back of my neck and her other hand under my legs. I was paralyzed by the tension at the scruff of my neck and couldn't resist her when she picked me up and handed me down to Ann. But, Ann wasn't in a position to get the scruff of my neck securely when she took me from Jan (who was still way up in the tree). I managed to really struggle when she tried to hold onto me, and almost got away. (In my defense, I was afraid for my life! I've always had to be a fighter, and never lost that instinct. I still wasn't sure if they wanted to feed me or punish me.) Ann held on with an iron grip, but I managed to get in some damage of my own before she just threw me - lock, stock and barrel - in through the porch door. Ann ran back to help Jan get down (humans aren't the best climbers), and they both came back into the house where I was cowering in the corner and feeling like my life must now be over. (I was thinking, "I was right when I wrote in my blog that nothing good would come of this adoption adventure!")

Chicken!

But then. Oh! Then! Ann put down a whole plate of the best roast chicken you have ever eaten - farm raised, organic chicken that she had gotten to serve at a family reunion! She had roasted it just for me, opening all the doors and windows so I could smell it cooking, even from far away. She told me I could have all I wanted. Having had nothing but bugs for 48 hours, I can tell you that I ate and ate until I had a round little belly like a baseball. They told me I should slow down or I would be sick, but not me! I have an iron constitution. I was, however, almost ready to burst. (Note of continuing dispute: I'm sure she told me I could have as much as I wanted from that day forth, for the whole rest of my life. We still disagree about the actual wording of her promise, and I had to go back to cat food the very next day. Deep sigh! But I have to admit that it was good while it lasted.)

Amí wasn't particularly thrilled to see me back, but I was very glad to be home - warm, fed, and loved. I think, maybe, I've decided to stay with Ann and Jan for good.

In November the other incident happened - or, series of incidents is a more precise way to put it. Ann and Jan started hauling me around in a case like so much baggage! For long trips! Is that any way to treat the embodiment of the Wisdom of the Universe!?!?

I was living in Virginia again, at Jan's house, when these episodes began. That first day, I was relaxing with Jan on the sofa when she suddenly grabbed me and tried to stuff me in this big green cage (a kitty condo, they called it). I, of course, fought her off successfully and left her with some red marks on her hands and arms to remind her that such indignities are not allowed. I went off to cool down in Ann's bedroom, and Jan went off to tend her wounds. But (do you believe it?) they followed me! I went under the bed. They pulled off the mattress, then the box spring, and then took off the slats and reached down for me...

The aftermath

When they tried to grab me, I fled under the bed frame and out the door. I ran down the stairs. But the doors at the bottom had been closed! I couldn't get into the living room or the den. They followed me down the stairs! I ran into the bathroom, the only way I could go, but then I was cornered! I hid behind the toilet and waited patiently for my fate. With Ann on one side and Jan on the other, they grabbed me and stuffed me into the carrier. The indignity of it all! A quick trip to the car, and then a long trip (12 hours) in the car. I had a box, water, and food in the kitty condo with me, but I just sat in the back and tried to be as small as possible for the whole trip. I don't think I even moved a muscle. Occasionally the car would stop and one or the other would look into the condo and say meaningless things to me in soft voices, but I didn't let it didn't calm me down a bit. I was angry and I was going to stay that way! Finally, they took me out of the car and carried me, condo and all, into a large basement room in a completely different house - it would be Amí's and my home for the next 10 days. (Yes, she came too!)

Sophie and Ami, with Jan in Jan's Mom's basement

Actually, the new place wasn't bad at all. There was a lot to explore, toys, warm places to sleep, and an easy climb to windows at ground level. We could see the squirrels and birds right outside - just inches away! Ann and Jan both spent a lot of time with us, reading on the futon, and we got to meet lots of Jan's relatives. Since Amí is so shy, I got all the attention. 

After we had been there long enough to start getting bored (I had explored everything ten times already!), Ann did a "grab and stuff" that so surprised me that I was in the kitty condo again before I knew what was happening. Then we were back in the car. (This time it was Amí who made them upend the bed, to grab her.) The trip was about 5 hours (still too long!), and then we were at Ann's place in New York. I was pretty scared on the ride, but not quite so much as the time before. Nothing terrible happened then.

I recognized Ann's place right away, and went to explore all my old haunts. Food, water, and boxes were right where they were supposed to be, and my old toys were still around. Of course, Amí had to come along, which wasn't ideal. But there's lots of room in that house, so it was OK. Jan kept the fireplace going all the time, and I spent almost all of the next 10 days on "Sophie's sofa" in front of the fire, supervising Jan's work and Ann's wrapping of Christmas presents and entertaining. Everyone who visited had to come there and do me obeisance.

At Ann's, I also had a picture window and private viewing platform, to watch the show of squirrels and birds in the backyard. I cleared off the viewing platform all by myself, so there would be a convenient place to sit. (Ann had all these silly knickknacks on it. I'm sure she's  glad I got rid of them for her.)

My viewing portal

But again, after about 10 days, the great "grab and stuff" move was performed. I was sleeping for heaven's sake! Ann grabbed me and before I knew it, she was putting me into the kitty condo. Her fatal mistake was letting go with one hand so that she could do the zipper. I used the opportunity to attack! Even though I didn't get away (at least not right then), I did perforate her hands and arms in at least 12 places. Revenge! She held on like a madwoman and finally zipped me in.

However, when Ann was in the kitchen doing something with with items called "Polysporin" and "Bandaids," I discovered that a paw carefully inserted where the zippers come together can be used to work the zipper apart. I had just made a hole large enough to escape through when Jan came down the stairs after cornering Amí in her own version of the "grab and shove." Jan called out, "Sophie's escaped!" Even better revenge. Ann groaned like a bad actor in an overblown tragicomic play, and said, "Now we'll never get her in the carrier!" (I am so good!) Jan saw me run into the dining room, and she closed off the doors to the living room and hall. I ran into the kitchen, but Ann had already closed off the door to the back stairway. I knew I was lost, but I still got as far under the kitchen island as possible. They were at least going to work to get me! 

We were back in the car at last (a bit later than they planned), and this time it was almost 13 1/2 hours before I was let out again. After 13 hours, I had had enough. I tried the paw in the zipper trick, almost successfully, and Ann had to ride the entire last half hour with her hand around behind her holding onto the zipper part of the carrier to keep me from prying it open. I wanted out right then and there! Don't you think 13 hours is long enough? (Ann said something about wiring the zipper ends together next time, so I'd better put on my thinking cap and come up with some more tricks!)

Finally, we (Amí too, unfortunately) are back in Virginia. I suppose Ann might be right when she says that going with them was better than staying in Virginia - with nothing to do an no one to feed me. But, I'm still holding out for more treats before I will let them think that I agree. In all, it was an exhausting vacation. So I will say, "Good night!"

good night!

Diary of Sophia Sage (Nimbus) -- (a.k.a. Cumulus-II, a.k.a Stormy)

Prelude

Hidden in the recesses of my current cell, I have discovered a diary.  I trust it is my destiny to record the details of whatever time I have left.  (As you will see, it's probably not long!)  Let it be a warning to any who come after me.

I'm a little sketchy about the details of my early childhood, actually about any of my life before today.  They say that trauma does things to one's memory, and my recent life (as you'll discover) has been nothing if not traumatic!  Nevertheless, I'll try to put down the gist of it in his prelude.  Today I shall call "Day 1."

I remember my mother and my siblings (we were a big family), and that we lived in a colony with a large number of close friends.  I was never lonely.  Life in the colony was hard, though.  We were out in all kinds of weather, didn't always have enough to eat (it wasn't always very tasty either!).  There were fleas and sometimes sickness, and occasionally dangerous animals came around and threatened to attack.  Every once in awhile, members of our colony went off to get food and didn't come back, especially when they had to cross the road to get to where the hunting was good.  

When I was still a teenager, some people came to the colony and hauled a whole bunch of us off to some kind of local detention center -- including me, my mom, and my siblings.  They took us to a warm, bright, noisy building and put us into cells.  There were a lot of other prisoners there, and most of them didn't seem happy at all.  Then I had something called an exam: pokings, proddings, pinpricks and worse!  Something made me go to sleep (I think I was drugged!  Is that legal?)  When I woke up, I had a very sore tummy, and someone had nicked off the top of my left ear.

Later some more people came and looked at us.  I heard them talking.  One said I was "feral," but some others said my siblings and I were too pretty to put back into the wild.  They said we might be something called "adoptable."  The next thing I knew I was in a cell again and being taken to yet another noisy building with many inmates.  We were together for awhile, but eventually my siblings got taken away one by one.  I got taken away too, to a house with a warm basement.  There I had my own condo, my own food, and my own toilet, but I shared the space with several other tenants.  I've always been timid, and I was here as well.  I was content to just sit in my own condo and watch, but I didn't want to be noticed.  If my "big-eyed, poor-me" stare didn't work, I also perfected a "stay-away" stare and would hiss pretty sharply to let them know I was serious.  I hid whenever I thought any one was looking for me.

Still, it wasn't a bad life.  I made friends with the other residents, had plenty to eat, and they gave me something called "medicine" (admittedly I didn't like taking it) to get rid of my fleas.  It was great not to feel that constant itching.  I eventually got rather fond of the dear-lady-who-fed-me.  In fact, she did more than feed me.  She would pick me up and put me on her lap, stroke me, even brush my hair for me.  She had a soft voice and said such nice things.  I lived with her for quite a long time, and I thought I would be with her forever.  That would have been fine with me.

Day 1

My foster mother (that's what that dear-lady-who-fed-me told me to call her) put me in a small cell this morning and then moved that whole cell into a big, noisy machine that moves.  It was frightening, and I objected as strongly as I could. I kept repeating, "Take me back.  I don't like this at all!" But, she just said, "Shhh!  It's alright."  Harrumph.  It wasn't alright!  When the noise and motion were over, I was in another place entirely. She put me into yet another cell in a brightly lit, glassed in room. 

There were about a dozen other inmates in several cells.  Mom said that I was in a place called "PetSmart" and that maybe, if I was lucky, I would be adopted.  I don't think there is anything at all lucky about this!  It's noisy here, and dismal.  People come in randomly and poke their fingers into my cell, tormenting me.  I am writing from the highest shelf in my cell, as far back into the corner as I can get.  I am using my "big-eyed, poor-me" stare for all I am worth, and trying to make myself invisible.  What did I do to deserve this?  Will Mom ever come back?

Day 2

Today, as I was sitting in my cell trying to be insignificant, two ladies came in and made eye contact.  I tried not to look, truly, but I couldn't help it.  I was so nervous, and I needed to keep an eye on them.  They didn't look like they were up to any good!  I heard them talking to my jailer out in front, and asking if they could see me.  He brought them into the glassed-in room, then closed and locked the outer door.  Then he took a key from his pocket and opened my cell.   The cat in the cell below me hooked his claws into a leg to try to divert their attention at the critical moment, but it didn't work.  Besides, with the outer door locked there was really nowhere to run.  First my jailer scratched my ears a bit (as if I was going to warm up to him!), then he suddenly pulled me out of the cell and put me into the red-headed lady's arms.  It was all over before I could resist.  I buried my head into her sweater so I wouldn't have to see when they completed their purpose.  I am sure now that this has been a prison holding cell, and I suspect I am about to be executed.  I thought it was going to be all over right then, but instead they have decided to torture me with prolonged anticipation.  That woman just petted me, and then the other one petted me.  They both spoke to me about seeing me again, and then they put me back into my cell.  After talking with the jailer, they asked for the phone number of my Mom and then they went away.  I have surmised that Mom must have turned me in for some crime (the nature of which, I am unaware).  These must be my judges, not my executioners.  They will talk to Mom to get the facts of the case.  I am still sure I am about to be executed, but perhaps I have another day to wait.

Day 3

Mom was here first thing this morning.  At first I thought there might have been a trial, and maybe the judges had concluded that I am not-guilty.  I might be going home!  But Mom had only been with me for a few minutes when one of the judges who came to see me yesterday arrived.  She and Mom conferred, and then Mom took me out of the cell and put me into a small, portable cell.  She handed it over to the judge.  They went over some paperwork, and the judge signed her name.  Then she picked me up and we got into yet another one of those noisy, moving machines.  I guess my place of execution is somewhere else, and she is taking me there now.

The judge, now my new jailor, carried me into a different building and up the stairs.  Then she put me down in the hall.  Another cat appeared and I eagerly went to the front of the cell to talk to her.  Maybe she could tell me what this new place is?  This cat wasn't in a cell, like me, so she must have special standing with the jailors.  She sniffed me and I hoped that she would be friendly, but then she hissed at me!  She must know that mine is a hopeless case.  Then my new jailor put me, cell and all, in a small room.  She unzipped the portable cell's door, and then went away. 

In exploring, I have discovered that there is a small toilet, some fresh water, a little food, and a blanket.  I guess it's no worse than my previous cell.  There is also a large porcelain object fastened to the floor, and a little space behind it where I can just manage to crowd my body in and be almost hidden from the door.  Both women who are my jailors came in to talk to me about once an hour, all afternoon.  Sometimes they reach behind the porcelain object and try to scratch my ears, but I try to back up and curl into the smallest ball possible.  They have left me alone for the moment.  I will hide here while I contemplate my tragic fate.  I am beyond depressed; beyond hopeless.  Am I about to die?  For what reason was I born?

Later, Day 3

One of the jailors came in late this evening.  She dragged me (kicking and screaming, I am sure I don't need to say) out from behind the porcelain, and put me in her lap.  She held me down, and I thought the best thing do to would be to just give in and not move.  There is nowhere to hide, and I am too small and too frightened to put up much fight.  She got out an object with soft bristles and started to stroke my fur.  It felt a little bit like my (real) mom grooming me way back when I was tiny.  The lap was warm, and the stroking was nice, and the lady hasn't done anything too terribly scary for awhile.  I have to think about this...

Day 4

It was all quiet for several hours after that incident last night with the lap.  In the early hours, I just had to come out and use the toilet.  I couldn't hold it anymore.  I made it safely, and since there wasn't any immediately evident pursuit, I took out some of my pent up energy by redecorating my abode with sand.  It didn't ALL need to be in the toilet!  But, as soon as I heard noises out in the hall, I went back to the safety of my porcelain hiding place -- only to get dragged out again and put back on a lap.  It was the same lady as last night, and she got out the object with bristles (she called it a brush) and started to stroke me.  I thought again about my mom and how she would wash me when I was little, and something strange happened.  I started to purr!  I can tell you right now, that I was NOT happy.  No, not one bit!  But...  I plead exhaustion and fright.  It can make one do strange things.

Later on, the other lady came in and let me sniff her hand.  It smelled like meat!  She said something about turkey and ham in a sandwich, and let me lick her good tasting fingers all over.  I liked that.  But then she seemed to think that, just because I liked the good tasting fingers, I would allow her to pick me up!  I told her in no uncertain terms that she was taking quite a liberty.  These ladies do not seem to be in any hurry to execute me, so I am beginning to feel a little bold.  It's probably a bad idea, but then, just sitting here can be a little boring!  The first lady just came in a little while ago, and sat down next to my blanket container. (Yes, I moved out from behind the porcelain fixture -- it was cold and hard back there!)  She didn't even try to pick me up, she just talked to me and scratched my chin and behind my ears.  I was DETERMINED not to respond, but somehow my body betrayed me.  Suddenly a little rumble came out of my purring apparatus.  I suppressed it, but in a few seconds it happened again.  Before I knew it, I was purring away, and I'm afraid she thought I LIKED it.  What do I do now?  My resistance is weakening.

Day 5

Last night before bed, the red-haired lady came in with a bowl of what she called "Amí's rejects" -- shredded chicken with consommé and ground bone meal.  I have never tasted anything so delicious.  I swallowed it down in one gulp, and wanted more.  But, she said I could only have a little at a time or I might be sick.  I can't believe that other cat won't eat this!

Speaking of that other cat, we made eye contact this morning.  I really want to meet her!  They tell me her name is Amí, and that in Japanese it means beautiful.  In French it means friend (I know that much about the world).  I hope she will be my friend, my ami.  I tried to jump off the lady's lap to go over to meet Amí, but she ran away.  I don't know why.  Certainly, I'M not the one who is scary!

Over night, I redecorated again; moved my blanket container to the middle of the floor, put more sand out to make the texture of the floor more interesting (I make designs in it), dropped some sand in my water -- the usual.  Again, I had it just the way I like it when the red-haired one came in and put it all back the way it was.  I guess this is her idea of a game.  This morning the other lady held me in her lap for awhile, and then she sat on the floor reading while I rested on my blanket in its container.  I put my hand out to touch her, so she would know I was grateful for her presence, and then I fell asleep for awhile.  I liked having her there, but think she misinterpreted my touch as an attempt to push her away.  She seemed sad.  I guess I do act a little standoffish -- I just can't help trying to hide every time the door opens.  I still worry that something really bad is about to happen.  I know enough to know that life is scary and the good times don't last.  But I'm also getting bored in here, and so far they have been very nice to me... 

Day 6

Today was NOT a good day.   I didn't even redecorate my room, since the red-haired one (I found out her name is Ann) doesn't seem to like me to.  But, my consideration didn't seem to make them any nicer to me.  Well, yes, the other one (her name is Jan) did come in a few times and sit with me.  That was sorta OK.  I think they would both like me to call them Mom, but they are not my Moms!  I'm still hoping Mom will come back for me.  But, later Ann let Amí into my room!  She put me back in my little cell, and the let Amí into my room to sniff it all over.  I tell you!  Is that nice?  Then Amí sniffed at me in my little cell, and we both growled and hissed at each other.  I think I won.  She hightailed it out of there, let me tell you.  That whole experience sent me back behind the porcelain for the rest of the day (well, to be honest, only when Ann or Jan were looking).  Later, Ann tried to drag me out and sit me on her lap.  I purred for a bit, but I was just so stressed from the whole day's anxieties, that I also hissed at her and swatted at her.  I'm not exactly sure why.  I do like the laps, but sometimes I just need to be by myself to calm down.  At least she did give me some more of that good chicken.  I guess the day wasn't ALL bad.

Day 7

Today started out better, with laps and soft words from both ladies.  But, then, horror of horrors, Ann tried to give me a PILL!!!  I don't even have fleas anymore.  Just something called a tapeworm.  It doesn't bother me.  I'd rather have a tapeworm than a pill, I'm sure.  We had our first real fight about that.  Now I'm hiding.  She did give me a little of that chicken after the pill, though.  I'm mad, but I'm not crazy.  Of course I came out to eat it.  But now, I"m back in my hiding place.  I hope she doesn't think that her "little peace offering" makes us even.   That pill was a SERIOUS insult.

Later, Ann caught me napping in my blanket container and she came in and suddenly zipped up the container and moved me into another room.  She closed the door, unzipped the container, and left me to come out when I wanted to.  The room is very big and bright, and frightening.  I emerged and ran for the door to try to get back to my small room.  But since the door was closed, all I managed to do was upset the water bowl and bang my head.  I quickly scampered into the darkest corner I could find to think about this new development.  Ann cleaned up the water and left me alone.  For awhile I sat still and worried, but eventually I decided to explore.  There might be even better hiding places.  

I have discovered that this room has several likely hidey-holes, and some of them are soft and warm.  It also has lots of levels.  I can jump up on the bed, or on a platform by the window (it looks out over the backyard), and I can climb into boxes under the table, or hide under the sofa.  It is much better than my old room.  I think maybe this means they are not going to execute me after all.  Maybe I'm going to be some kind of a slave.  I'm certainly still captive, and they still do scary things.  I'm not optimistic, but it is slightly better than I feared.  Both ladies come in and out regularly and talk to me, or try to pet me.  They seem to be able to find me wherever I hide, but I can at least get far enough away that it's difficult for them to reach me.  The cat Amí comes by and sniffs under the door, but so far I haven't approached when she is there.  Dealing with the ladies is enough for now.


Day 8

Last night I did a lot of exploring.  My toilet and food bowls are significantly further from my hiding places, which is scary, but there are also lots of interesting things in here.  I didn't realize that Ann sleeps in this room.  I was afraid I would not be able to explore.  However, I am nocturnal and she is a day person.  When I was sure she was asleep, I came out and looked all around.  A few things moved when I tried to discover what they were, and that made some noise.  Ann must be a really deep sleeper, because she didn't come after me or scold me, even when a few minor items (that I'm sure she doesn't want anyway) went bump/crash.  

During the day, Ann and Jan left me mostly alone. Ann came in a few times to talk to me, and she did bring some of that good food, but she never tried to pick me up.  Jan went away somewhere, I think.  Even Amí left me alone.  I am glad to just sit and think today.  So much has happened recently!

Later, Day 8

I suppose it is about time to tell you something about my name.  It has not grown any longer for the last few days, so maybe they have settled on Sophia Sage (Nimbus) -- (a.k.a. Cumulus-II, a.k.a Stormy).  Here is what they tell me:  My foster mother (Mom) called me Sage, and that was my whole known name before Ann and Jan got me.  Ann tells me she had been looking for a wise companion, a Sophia.  When she saw that there was a Sage in PetSmart, she thought we must be destined for each other.  (I didn't even know that Sophia and Sage both mean wise, and come from the same root word -- sophos.  How about that?) 

However, Jan said I looked like Cumulus, a cat they had before I was even born.  That's Cumulus in the photo.  (They also called him Cumie, Q, Kumo and Cloudy.)  Cumulus means a kind of cloud.  Jan calls me Nimbus because that's also a kind of cloud.  Nimbus clouds are darker and more stormy, and I am darker than Cumulus and have less white on my paws and belly.  My personality is also stormier, they say.  Jan thinks maybe some of what was once Cumulus might have gotten reincarnated in me, or maybe Cumulus is my guardian angel and led me to them. (I'm not yet convinced that leading me to them is something a GOOD guardian angel would do.)  Also, just like they called Cumulus "Cumie," they have been calling me "Sophie" and "Nimby."  It's got a nice sound, actually.  I don't mind answering to either one.  (But I don't understand why, when Ann calls me Nimby, she sings a the song "Don't throw your junk in my backyard."  Do you?) 

Day 9

I did even more exploring last night.  Since Ann is such a heavy sleeper, I don't worry about making noise.  I even jumped up on her bed once in the middle of the night, to take a look out the other window (it faces a house next door, not so interesting as the back yard).  She didn't move.  She didn't even wake up when I tipped over the whole basket of laundry -- that was fun!  

This morning Ann tried twice to put me on her lap and pet me.  I still don't like that.  I managed to get away pretty quickly both times, and we just looked at each other across the room.  She said "sorry" and talked in low tones, but I smell a trap.  She probably has another pill hidden in her pocket!  At least she brought me some chicken.  She called it a peace offering.  Otherwise, I just take turns going from one hiding place to another.  Boring!  The Amí cat played with a rubber ball in the hall outside my room for a long time, making a lot of noise.  I think she wants me to know that SHE is the preferred cat, that SHE has the run of the place and all the toys.  It would be nice to have more to do, but I think it's safer to just sit here -- for now.  

This afternoon the weather was nice, so Ann opened the windows and I got to sniff the outdoors.  She leaves me mostly alone, just talking to me or scratching my ears when she comes in.  I don't want more indecent liberties!  After she went to bed, I went exploring again.  For awhile in the middle of the night Amí and I played footsies under the door, but neither of us is telling.  

Day 10

This morning Ann brought in some of the good chicken, but she put it out almost in the middle of the floor.  She sat down nearby and wouldn't leave.  I thought long and hard, but it smelled so delicious I finally came out and ate a little.  I was about halfway through when she reached over and put her hand near my head.  I sniffed at it and went back to eating, but when she tried it a second time I thought I would teach her a lesson.  I retreated to under the sofa until she went away.  I miscalculated.  She took the food with her when she went!   

Currently, I am reclining in my warm muff because it's chilly in here.  The weather turned nasty and it is snowing outside.  If it were warmer, I could hide in more secure places.  Although I am toasty in here, the problem is that they can (and do!) reach in and scratch my ears every time they pass.  I don't want them to think that I like that.
  
Maybe I do sorta like it...

The last time Ann scratched my ears, she asked me why she hadn't heard me purr lately.  She said she really missed my purr.  I thought about it, and -- what the heck?  I relaxed my heretofore iron-control over my purr apparatus, and I let one rip.  The ear scratches actually ARE pretty nice.  Pretty soon she says she'll bring me my supper, and maybe Amí and I will play under the door again tonight. (Although she still sometimes hisses at me!)

Day 12

I think Ann loves me!  Or maybe I'm just shameless.  In any case, she discovered that I would do essentially ANYTHING for uncured, $9.99 /lb, gourmet deli ham: even take it from her fingers, lick her fingers, sit on her lap, allow her to pet and brush me, and purr like a freight train.   It has been said that one should beware of geeks bearing gifts (they are both engineers!), but I make no apologies.  There are circumstances under which even the most committed, vigilant freedom-fighter will, nevertheless, find herself compromised.  After all, it's not like I'm planning to be friendly ALL the time.  Just when it suits me.

P.S.  Today is Ash Wednesday.  Perhaps they are giving up torture for Lent.  This bodes well for Easter, as isn't that the season when captives are set free? 

Day 16

Both Ann and Jan have been bringing me deli ham a lot.  I heard Ann remark to Jan that she never knew being ham-handed was a good thing, but I don't know what she could mean.  I can't think of anything better!  

Even without ham hands, I've been coming out for pets lately.  They think I'm quite an athlete, because I roll and tumble and bunt so hard I almost knock things (and people) over.  But, I still get frightened easily and spend a lot of time under the sofa.  They call it "Sophie's sofa" now.  The home of the "clipped-ear club."

They left me alone yesterday, though.  They didn't even SLEEP here.  I was pretty lonely, with only Amí to play with under the door, and the birds to look at out the window.  When Ann came in at lunch time to give me my food, I wouldn't even let her pet me.  I just ignored her and sat on the window sill looking at the birds.  I did relent later on, though.  I am too nice.  I simply can't stay mad when there are pets to be had.  

I plan to keep her awake all night  -- retribution.

Day 18    

They have discovered that I don't like deli turkey (Ann said it was "a major snub"), but I LOVE deli roast beast.  That's my new favorite.  Sometimes they try to get pets without bringing me an offering, and when I'm feeling nice I will indulge.  But if they come in too often looking for pets, sans treats, I remain under Sophie's Sofa. The nerve!

I do like playing with the mousie, though, and sitting in the window now that the weather is warmer. 

Today Ann tried to pick me up without my permission.  Just on the principle of the thing, I decided to use my secret superpower on her.  After all, it doesn't do to let the hired help get TOO familiar.  But, my fabulous and ultimate superpower (I can fart on demand) didn't have quite the expected effect.  Just as she picked me up I let a good one go, one of those they call "silent but deadly," -- right in her face.  All she did was LAUGH!  If it weren't for the ear scratches and deli meat, I just might be outta here. I don't get no respect!

They have installed a baby gate in the doorway to my room, so that Amí and I can see each other through it.  I really want to be friends, but she just growls whenever I come near.  She must be curious about me though, because she is always right there.  Anyway, people are scary, other cats are not.  She can growl all she wants; it doesn't bother me.  Ann and Jan apparently don't know that Amí and I could both jump the gate with no problem (stupid people), but for some reason I feel like maybe I should stay on my side for the moment.  It does give me a feeling of having "my own space," and she has "her space."

 Day 19

I am on the prowl!  This morning I jumped the gate and decided to explore.  Amí is following me around and hissing, but she's really just a big wuss.  I'm not letting it bother me.  She runs away if I try to approach, so I will just ignore her. 

There are lots and lots of interesting things in this house.  Great places to hide.  I've already discovered a closet with boxes that weren't very stable when I investigated them.  Ann figured out where I was when those came tumbling down, but I ran into another room across the hall rather than back into my own room.  I'm afraid she might shut me up in there again if I go back, and I'm not ready!

Day 20-something

Hi.  Sorry I haven't been writing much lately.  I am free most of the time now, and I have so much exploring to do!  I do occasionally get shut back up in "MY room," but usually only when Amí and I have been hissing at each other enough to annoy Ann or Jan.  Otherwise, I am trusted. 

There were a few days when I was shut up in my room.  Ann and Jan must have gone somewhere, because somebody who called herself my "cat-sitter" came by once a day.  She was nice, and sat with me for awhile before giving me fresh food and water and taking care of my toilet.  It was pretty lonely for the rest of the day.  That routine lasted 3 days, and then Ann and Jan were back and I was allowed out again.  I hope they don't go away very often.  It's boring.

Amí still growls at me.  That's her in the photo, just the way I usually see her -- showing her teeth and hissing.  I usually just ignore her, but sometimes it really just gets to be too much.  She is definitely a coward.  All I have to do is run at her and she scampers away and under the bed or into a drawer.  But when I rush her, I get yelled at.  You would think they'd praise me for my selfless patience, but  all I get is a reprimand when I've finally had too much.  They tell me to "suck it up" because "life isn't fair."  I have learned a new phrase, though;  "Deep sigh!"   

Ann has been brushing me a lot lately.  They both look at me after I've been brushed and say things like, "She's so beautiful" or "Look at how silky her fur is."  Music to my ears!  I like the pets too, although sometimes it gets to be just a little too much and I swipe the hand that is petting me to tell them to stop.  I don't mean to do anything except send a message, but sometimes I produce red stripes on their hand and they have to go get some kind of medicine or bandage to put on it.  Humans are pretty fragile, I guess.  But, how am I SUPPOSED to let them know that I have had enough pets?  So much to learn. 

Day 28

Hard to believe it's been a almost a month since this saga began.  So much has changed.  I wanted to write more, but I discovered this magic diary I found only works when something called "the intenet" is working.  Ann told me it was down for the last several days, and that's why my typing wasn't producing anything in my diary.  I got so angry about it at one point that I jumped up on the keyboard and just sat on it.  I made the computer beep at me for a long time, until Ann yelled at me and made me get off.  But, it still didn't work.  She told me it was "fixed" this afternoon, so I am writing again.  

They told me I had been "fixed" after I had that operation that gave me a sore tummy.  I wonder if that's what they did to the internet?  And why?

 I have a regular routine now. In the morning I play with Ann and Jan for awhile and get my breakfast, then I bother Amí until it's time for my first nap.  After that, I sit in the side window and watch the birds, until I feel like second nap or second breakfast.  I sleep most of the afternoon too, but then I am up all evening and I play with Amí (she calls it fighting, but I enjoy it since I get the best of her every time).  After they have their own dinner and feed us, Ann and Jan play with me and pet me in the evening, until it's time to read.  Jan calls me "tumble-bunts" because I bunt so hard I sometimes fall over.  I can do somersaults too.  Later, I curl up beside Ann on the sofa and she pets me while she reads until she goes to bed.  I explore at night.  I like this routine just fine, but sometimes they do something different and it upsets me.  Why do humans always have to switch things up?  Can't they just be like cats -- find a routine and stick to it?  That's all I ask!  

Today as I was reading with Ann I accidentally engaged my superpower (my superfart).  I was embarrassed about not always being able to control my superpowers (I am still pretty young, you know).  I didn't want her to think that noxious smell came from me when I was having such a good time, so just after it happened I turned around and swiped her hand to indicate that I was offended by what SHE did.  Do you supposed she was fooled?  She just doesn't understand about my superpower.  What she said was that, when I have to go see the doctor for a check-up, she will ask her to do a test to make sure I don't still have any intestinal parasites.  Can you imagine?  She completely doesn't understand about superpowers.  People can be so dense.

Day 30

This will be my very last diary entry.  Read on, you'll see why. 

This morning I was extra nice to Ann.  She called me cuddly, because I kept bunting her and trying to get just as close as I possibly could when I settled on the sofa next to her.  I even crawled into her lap a few times.  She spent a long time brushing me, and she said I was shedding bucketfuls. That's good, isn't it?  She made some fur felt from my hair, and said she'd keep it for a souvenir.  There I am after a good brush, all relaxed and ready for a long nap.  I have been very happy here, and I think they really like me.  Ann even told me that she and Jan bought a new car JUST so that Amí and I can each have room for individual kennels when they travel.  I'm am not so sure about this "travel" idea, but they said they must really love me to go to the bother of getting another car just to fit the cats!  

Today Ann and  Jan signed papers to formally adopt me.  Ann told me I was now "bone of her bone, and flesh of her flesh," her own daughter.  As you have seen, I know what her blood tastes like because I've accidentally gotten some on my fingernails a couple of times.  It doesn't taste like cat at all, so I have grave doubts about the "flesh of my flesh" part.  But, if it makes her happy to think so, I'll never tell.

Now that Amí and I are going to have to live together, we are negotiating a settlement.  We are not buddies yet, but we've been having serious conversations about our future relationship.  In fact, we've started planning our world takeover.  We'll begin with training Ann and Jan to know who is boss in this household (the naive humans still think THEY can tell US what to do).  Then, once we have our slaves settled satisfactorily into providing for our every whim, we'll be looking for recruits in the cat revolution.  That's us at our first strategy session below. (Amí was sitting on Jan's lap, and Jan didn't even come close to guessing the subject of our conversation!) This task is going to take all my energy from now on, so I'm afraid there will be no more diary entries.  But, be sure to look for our joint kitty-manifesto, coming soon to a blog near you!

Yesterday I Killed My Cat

Yesterday I killed my cat.  [I was going to write this yesterday because "today I killed my cat" sounds more raw and shocking, but I just couldn't bring myself to write it, and I can't make myself tell a falsehood about something so significant.]  Actually, I didn't kill the cat myself, I brought it to its executioner.  Even that is not quite correct.  My sister-in-law brought me and my spouse to the executioner, where I delivered it up for the lethal injection.  He didn't want to go.

Later in the day we were talking about some horrible boys the family once knew who tried to drown a cat, and how something like that was so unthinkably inhuman and cruel.  And yet, everyone told me that I was doing the right and kind thing.  How can that be so?  Yes, my cat had a horrible tumor that was making him increasingly miserable.  He wasn't going to live long anyway, but he trusted me to speak for him, and to make him better.  I did ask him what he wanted -- to live longer, even though he would be miserable and in pain, or to go now.  He said he wanted to feel better and stay with me just like always. [ It was just like with my dad before he died, who made my sister take him to doctor after doctor to get his eyes fixed because he couldn't accept the truth of advanced macular degeneration.  Reading was, by then, about all he had left and he wanted his sight back; the only acceptable solution.] 

So, I made the decision for my cat.  He was very good when I had the vet examine him, and even calm when they gave him the injection and put him in my arms.  But, when he could feel the cold and stiffness taking him, he gave three sharp cries, not in pain but in protest.  Then he went far away, all alone.  He didn't want to go, and I didn't want him to.  I did it anyway.  Life is so insane.

Thoughts on Hellbound? (the documentary)

Hellbound?: 

I finally got a chance to watch this 2012 film.  Wow!  Not an easy movie to watch.  Some parts (Westboro Baptist Church, in particular) just almost impossible to sit through.  I hated that so many of the strict evangelicals they interviewed insisted on framing "the way the world works" so narrowly that there was no way to even begin to argue.  They start off with "well, since this is true, then THIS has to be the case..."  but their initial "since this is true" is so far from how I view things that there is no common point to even begin a dialog!

I did end up thinking a lot better of Brian McLaren, though.  He's really come a long way in his thinking since his earlier evangelicalism, and he just keeps getting better.  There was a lot of real depth to his perspective, I'm impressed.  I also liked the Frankie Shaffer interviews.  That man has been through hell already, and is now creating a bit of heaven, I believe.  What a powerful witness.

But, my biggest problem is with the presupposition that the film only partially questions; that something special happens when we die, and that the concept of an eternal individual personhood even makes sense.  The film essentially presupposes that its only atheists who don't believe in continuint conscious life after death, and if you do believe in some kind of God than you must also believe that an individual, specific, conscious identity survives after death in some kind of heaven or hell, for eternity (which is a concept that doesn't even make sense if you believe that God is the creator of the universe, since time is a property of the universe--not an independent reality).  As for me, I don't even need to contemplate death to wonder if there is someone unique and absolutely defined who is called "Ann," someone who could objectively exist for more than just the present moment.  I am not the same person I was as a child, or young woman.  I don't expect to be the same person tomorrow as I am today.  And, when I really look inside myself, I don't find "Ann." I find bits and pieces of my mom, my grandmother, of Jan, of my friends, my enemies, all the people who have been important to me in my life, and even some whom I never really thought of as important.  "I" am a jumble of past and present influences, thoughts, experiences, actions, feelings, ...  I keep changing.  What kind of separate "me" would I expect to continue after death?  How would that work?

I think maybe a lot of our western problem with the concepts of life, death, and something beyond is too much individualism.  We see ourselves as intrinsically separate from everything and everyone else.  Eastern philosophy is more in tune with everything being a part of everything else.  My present, shadow, imagined existence will pass away even before I die -- tomorrow I will be something different than I am today.  But, the core of life that is in me (the "real self" of Hindu thought, for example) is unchanging and is shared by all life, perhaps by all existence.  I do believe that THAT self is not bound by time, and that it surpasses the universe itself, and that I am a part of it as everything else is also.  And, I believe that the words or thoughts we use to express that concept, ("God" in our language): wonder, gratitude, compassion, creativity -- are expressed best, lived out best, in "love God and love your neighbor."  As Hillel said, "everything else is commentary."  I think that "heaven" is the world as it could be if we all were true to our shared true self and lived this reality.  Hell is what we create when we allow our illusions to lead us to behave differently from what that "real self" is telling us to be.  I do think these concepts refer both to "now" and to "eternity" (or maybe that our choices have lasting, permanent effect would be a better way to say it). I think we are given a finite amount of time to live out our purpose in life, and the compassion and gratefulness we experience and share become part of what lives on in the world in others who continue as part of us, as I continue as part of all those who influenced my life.  And, hell is lost opportunities, the negative influences I've left because of my selfishness, the harm that I have done or allowed to happen because of my lack of care -- and those things live on too from generation to generation.  The film depicts universalism as being a philosophy that says you can do either good or ill in this world, but after death God eventually saves everybody.  I see universalism more as a belief that the essence of life, of being, in all that exists originates in the one source--which can be neither created or destroyed, and which never changes. However far we run afoul of it, we are created in God's image, God is inside us, and nothing can change that.

I have been thinking a lot lately about how differently most of us look at the possibility of our own death vs. the death of those we love.  We, most of us, fear losing those we love much more than we fear death itself.  I am wondering if how we look at our own life isn't telling us something about the real nature of life.  When I think about dying there is a brief sadness about plans I might have, things I wanted to accomplish or experience, maybe wrongs that I would have liked to right.  But, basically, it's not a huge deal.  I am not really capable of thinking that the "essence" inside me can die -- it maybe returns to the cosmos, or is reborn, or returns to God.  Whatever.  It is simply that I am incapable of feeling that what I truly value about life, the "real me," is temporal--can die.  Maybe other people don't feel that way, but it just doesn't seem to me that there is any possibility of losing what I really value.  I guess that is the part I think is God, the spirit of God in me.  [God told Abraham that his name is "I am."  The source and essence of being.]  I believe it is the same spirit of God in everyone. But I guess in being one layer more separated from that spirit in another person, I am less intuitively convinced that I cannot lose the essence of someone I love. Part of me fears and dreads that the separation might be permanent.  Over time, I have come to feel that I have not lost anyone from whom I've been separated by death, but it's a much greater struggle to get to that point, hence a much greater grief and dislocation when we are separated by death. 

So, a lot of musings that may or may not  have much to do with the film or the discussion of heaven and hell, but I'm inclined to bring it all down to what Paul wrote in Corinthians; "love never fails."  Everything else fails. Doctrine easily becomes ideology, and ideologies keep us from being open to the truth.  My friend Ori Soltes wrote in his last book: "We believe what we believe and the proof of the correctness of our beliefs is simply that we believe as we believe." I'm not saying that it's not all worth our questions and hard thought, but ultimately only love never fails!

Why do we pray?

A friend asked this recently in a discussion group we both belong to:

 A similar question was posed to the four "Abrahamic Program for Young Adults" coordinators this year at Chautauqua; "How to you deal with the reality of evil and still believe that God is almighty?" I thought they (all mid-20's!) had some great insights towards their question, and also yours.

A couple of them talked about recognizing the difference between tragedy/disaster and evil. Evil is a human concept, the intentional betrayal of the transcendental bit of God (our true self in Hindu terms, the Holy Spirit in Christian terms, etc., etc.) that exists in every human being, or perhaps in every living thing, or even in every created thing -- pick your philosophy. Thus, the essential role of the believer is in to engage in "fixing the world" -- trying to return, self and others, individually and collectively, to a proper relationship with their essential nature, the part of G_d that is within us all. I think then, in this view, prayer could be considered the ego-self engaging with the true-self (Allah, G_d, Holy Spirit) and attempting to willingly submit the ego to what this inner spirit is saying.

But natural disaster is a disaster only in human terms. For the planet as a whole, earthquakes, hurricanes, volcanoes, etc., are not disasters. In fact, they are essential for renewing the Earth. And cosmologically, even stars that collide, planets that burn out; we could potentially be wiped out as a planet at any moment. And yet that, as much human pain as it may bring, is not evil, although we often assume that it is so. In truth, is there really anything in our understanding of God and creation that requires that humans are central in the grand scheme of things?

In neither case, against evil or in the wake of disaster, are our temporal selves ever "safe" or protected, and I can't imagine why or how the Almighty we say we believe in could or would intervene. Evil must have its consequences, if we are ever to choose to listen to the spirit rather than to our own ego. And, G_d pronounced the Universe majestic and "good" and reflecting Her glory, even though it does not in any way appear to revolve around humans and our needs.

As long as we are primarily concerned about our temporal selves and physical/emotional wants and needs, we will never be in control or safe. Psychologists say most of us need to block out how "iffy" life actually is just to function effectively, and I think some people do use prayer to this end. As you say, to feel in control. But, I don't personally believe that this the purpose or intent for prayer that the great religions put forward.

If there is (and I believe there is) something before "in the beginning" and after "the end," something that is light and life, the full reality of love, that exists beyond our definitions and our understanding of existence -- that is not only transcendent, forever beyond and ultimately unknowable, but that also is our innermost self and essence and intimately knowable, then I think prayer is meant to be about trying to know, to merge with, to become that which in truth we already are. And which is the only constant in this ever-changing and unpredictable world.

In Christian scriptures, Jesus says that we must love God with all our heart, mind, strength and soul, and, interestingly, that a second command is "like" the first, to love others as we love ourselves. Not "as important" but "like." As in, you can't love God if you don't love others, because the two are sides of the same coin. I think of it as the active/passive aspects of the same concept. Prayer/worship/meditation/study are the passive components and service to others/compassion for others are the active components of loving God, just as God is the only true reality, both transcendent/beyond and intimate/inside.

So, as I see it, this is not much to hold onto if you are looking for security or comfort. Life is still scary and unpredictable and full of evil and disasters, and we are in many ways truly powerless. In another way of looking at things, though, the exercise of trying to know that which we call G_d is everything and exceedingly more than everything.