Kellie’s blog

I'm worried that faith is just a chemical reaction in the brain. One that simulates a "spiritual experience" and makes me think I am experiencing a "faith moment" when really all it is, is chemicals reacting in my brain to give me certain feelings.

It wouldn't be a big deal if that wasn't all it was. If the "spiritual experiences" are chemical reactions, that would be alright as long as those chemical reactions are initiated by the Divine. But what if they're not? And how do I know they're not?

Maybe if someone who was incapable of emotion had faith. That would actually do it. If there's some mental disability that makes that person incapable of loving, of being happy, or sad ... some autistic kids are like that ... if they believe, then it would mean that faith isn't just a feeling. That it's something real.

I hate to ask for proof for faith like that. But sometimes I worry that everything's just in my head and I'm wandering around this world blindly, functioning from chemical reaction to chemical reaction, relying on the authority of everyone who's come before me, that someone got something right.

We could all be pawns to our own imaginations. Victims. Clueless to our fake realities. Created pretend worlds where everything is explained by not explaining it.

eff comm papers.

That is all

Me: "I hate walking around knowing I look like crap. My lip's swollen (cold sore), there's toothpaste on my shirt, i didn't even brush my hair and I'm wearing glasses."

Him: "Stop saying that. It's impossible for you to look like crap. It just doesn't happen."

*glowing*

He'll regret it when I start wearing sloppy clothes everyday. But for now, insert *awe* sound.

On the one hand, its terribly frightening to think that you cannot know whether you are "saved","going to heaven","God's chosen" for sure. What happens in that moment when you are about to draw your last breath? Do you really think what they say in all the Christian books--"Here I come, God!"-- or are you seized with the pressing fear--"I hope I was right!". Because there's no way to know for sure. It seems quite naive to assume ... quite prideful. Who am I to say that because I said this prayer and acted this way and believed all these things... who am I to say that that ensures my ticket on the train to heaven?

On the other hand, its a comfort to know that you can't know for sure. To know that, even though you vividly remember every sin you've committed, and don't even know of others... to know that even though theres no way you could ever deserve to be one of those raised to dwell among the saints ... that God may just be merciful, may humor you just enough, to catch you up in the wake of those much worthier who have ascended before you.

And since I can't know, how do I behave? With the hope that maybe something I do here on earth will turn His head and cause Him to add my name to the list? With faith? What is faith if I am constantly doubting? Faith is a pretty word for a weak hope. A hope that all they've told us in Sunday School just might be true. A hope that this world isn't mere chance but a Divine Masterpiece: a glimpse of things to come.

I want faith to mean something greater than a hope. Is the faith a belief? I believe my toes are cold. No, I know my toes are cold. We never say, "I know" because we don't know. We have this believe, a faith, a hope that what we feel is right but we don't know. Those who assert that they know are vainly trying to validate a feeling.

What if its all a feeling? A chemical reaction within the brain that simluates spiritual experience and connection? Are we all biologically conditioned to have something to rely on, simply becuase we've found that "feeling" keeps civilization intact?

So I function on a hope that someone conditioned the chemicals in my brain to react so I feel a certain way that shapes my faith into a shaky belief. I hope becuase I must have that belief. I believe becuase I know nothing else that keeps me on my feet.

The lady at the bus stop stares in a permanent frown. I can't say I'm upset. It's just a little strange. We've been sitting here for five minutes and those wide brown eyes haven't moved their fixed position upon my face. I shift my position and adjust the notepad balanced precariously on my knee. Searching for a smile, I manage to push a pained grimace in her general direction. Her response ... a blink. Ah, so she is not from another world: those dry eyes do require the occasional closing of the lid. In a manner I hope is subtle, I tilt my body closer to the opposite end of the bench.

As I lift a page in my notebook to glance at writings from a previous day, her fingertips betray themselves in a twitch. I flick a glance at that sign of life and rustle the paper again. The fingers tense upon realization that their secret motion has been discovered. Mischevious paper leafs whisper at the trembling fingers. Now my paper seduces the suppressed digits, pulling at their muscles so the strain is visible in every dirty joint.

Finally, as the bus grinds to a halt and the doors breathe open, the fingers are liberated from their prison. I look up and the woman is still staring, but now it's at my notepad. Her fingers dance wildly: grabbing, reaching. The door inhales and I am separated from her efforts. My notepad trembles in my own hands and I console it, caressing my pencil over its tired pages. As we pull away, I look back to the woman. The frown has resumed its position in her brows and her eyes soon freeze in their timeless stare ...

but her fingers are still dancing.

Spilling secrets to closest Love, the young girl parades

around the room, blooming. He laughs and shakes his head at her antics.

She is cooly confident. Sparkling eyes trusting.

Watch careful now the transformation

as they enter a bustling room, full of tortured

Teens, concealing Real behind Smiles of Glass.

Young girl is stifled by their blind eyes blinking.

Even Love leaves her stranded;

The Cowering wallflower in the corner.

Watching shallow conversation float about the room.

Without knowing why, she's crying.

Spirit suffocating, her hands fiddle

with threads on her shirt. Prison walls--enclose.

In light of Valentines' Day... Single Awareness Day .. what have you .. I have decided to evaluate my perception of "love." While any explication of this term is going to inevitably be inadequate, I think I can fairly gloss over my experience with the "feeling" and come to various conclusions.

Love:

Spiritually [in] Sync

Desire Unconditional Dedication

Action Evidences    Inner Emotion

Purposeful Abandoning [of] Self [in] Commitment [to] Other

Mutual Understanding [of] Hopes, Dreams, Beliefs, [and] Morality

Impossibly Comprehensive Knowledge [of] Other's Faults: Affection Despite

Passionate Connection [of]    Eye [to] Eye, Hand [to] Hand

Being Awestruck [at your] Own Undserving Wretchedness

Clenching [of the] Heart [at] Presence [of] Other

Longing [for a] Lifetime [of] Unity

Complete Surrender ... to

Love

Happy Valentines' Day, everyone. Don't forget to share the Love.

I received an email response to my previous entry entitled "Wealth" and I thought I'd share the further conclusions I've drawn on the subject.

I'm going to have to evaluate my future and come up with dreams and goals that belong to me, and only me.

1. I want to get married.

Contrary to popular belief, Kellie does in fact desire an intimate bond and lifetime commitment with a someone. I know I have professed in previous years that marriage is the last thing I may do before I die. Like on my death bed pick someone up off the street and say "You'll do. Since I never did it when I was young." But I do. I want to get married and have a pretty white dress and hear everyone tell me I glow but not be able to hear it becuase that other someone is watching me with, "I want you--always, forever" in his eyes.

 It doesn't have to be this dreamy romantic engagement with fireworks and starlight and roses. It just has to be real. There has to be passion and fighting and conflict and agreement and everything in between .. all those everythings that are the proof of love. Everythings that go deeper than words and understandings. God-given, God-instituted. I want that marriage to that husband who is imperfect but who seeks for meaning. Maybe we'll be poor but we'll love each other and trust God's provision and we'll be happy even in the bad times. Maybe we'll be rich and be able to spend it on doing things of worth in the world. I don't want to die alone.

 And hopefully it all happens before I get old and wrinkly. Like you know before I'm thirty. (haha) .

I'm not talking now, either. I'm just a kid. But in a few years.

"We buy objects, not because we need them, but because we want others to know we can afford them. We want our consumption to be conspicuous or obvious to others. The more useless the object, the more it reflects the excess wealth the owner can aford to waste. Changing fashions represent an opportunity for the affluent to show that they can afford to waste money by disposing of usable clothing and replacing it with new, faddish styles that will in turn be discarded after a few years or even months of wear."

--Thorstein Veblen, 1899

While everyone today says that we have become a "consumer society" where our self-worth is based on our wealth or appearance of said wealth, its clear from this quote that the problem's been around a while.
His statement is pretty accurate though. I know I've bought things for the mere sake of having them, not becuase I needed them. I mean, I look at my closet and wonder, where will you ever wear that? What are you going to do with all those shoes?

I wonder what the cure is. Is it logical to just get rid of everything and start over with the most meager supply of necessities? A shirt and a pair of pants? Kind of counterproductive. See I feel like even if we try to be aware of how we waste money and how we buy things we don't need, we are still subject to society. If I planned to go into business, I could not show up everyday wearing the same thing. You have to dress the part and conform if you want to be "successful."

It's kind of futile don't you think? The only way to avoid being affected by the consumerism appetite of society is to like ... seclude yourself in the mountains like Thoreau did and build a cabin and rely on yourself. Maybe all we can do is be aware of the problem so we don't make it worse.