Alter

She stood in the back. He didn’t have a hope of catching her eye. He was only the opening act, barely a name, and yet the music moved through her, shaking her to the core like a hurricane rattles a fragile foundation of bones and mortar. She took a long drag from her cigarette and let it fall to the ground, heading for the exit. The night was young, but she was weary and unwilling to bear witness as the crowd around her departed from its state of righteous music-loving to one of drunken disorder. She slipped out the front door and past the line of hopefuls waiting to gain entrance. How young they all seemed.

The blocks stretched out before her as she headed toward her car. The streets were full of people, but she seemed to see through them, caring only for her destination. She did not know where she was going after she reached her destination, but it suddenly became extremely important that she reach it with haste. The parking garage came into view after several hurried moments. She climbed what seemed to be a hundred stairs before finally reaching the upper level. 

On the horizon, buildings grew from the ground, great vines and weeds breaking through the concrete to form the skyline, a breathtaking sight that she had never before been eager to leave behind. She lived and breathed for the city, for the bustle and the crisp air. She dreamed of monumental street signs and faceless crowds, glamour and power and all the rest. She dreamed of dreams long left abandoned.

He leaned casually against the railing at the side of the garage, as if the industrial wires separating him from sure death were a suitable replacement for caution. With a ragged mane of curly hair, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he was a sight to behold. His gentle smile could almost convince her that everything was okay.

“You look good,” he said, nodding to her platform heels and low top. She didn’t even dream of dressing like that anymore.

“Got a light?” she replied, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her bra.

“Classy as ever, love,” he said, lighting her cigarette with his own.

“I do what I can.” She breathed in deeply, appreciating the tender way the smoke tickled her throat and lungs, teasing her with release. “How have you been?”

“Dreadful at best, wretched at worst.” She nodded, leaning against the railing next to him. She refused to make eye contact. “You?”

“Wretched at best,” she replied. From the corner of her eye, she took a short look at him. He hadn’t shaved in days and looked dreadfully thin. Smoke poured from his mouth when he spoke and his eyes were rimmed with black.

“You get what you deserve, I guess.”

She turned her head, staring directly at him. “What,” she spat, “is that supposed to mean?”

“Look,” he turned his body to face her, casting his cigarette aside, “you had your problems and I had mine, but the difference is that I faced mine and you ran away.”


“What exactly did I run away from?” she asked. “Was it your perpetual childhood or your inability to bathe?”

“No,” his voice became very low, “you ran away from the only person who will love you for who you are, not who you think you want to be.”

She stood still. In the distance, she heard laughter and the low engine of a semi truck. His face was completely emotionless as he stared at her, as if he had been planning this moment for a long time. She wildly thought that he must have practiced before the mirror to achieve such solemnity, for he used to laugh inappropriately in tense situations.

“I ran away,” she said carefully, “from an overgrown child who would never stop chasing pipedreams to act like a grown up.”

“And I got away from a shallow pipedream who pretended to be whatever she had to be to earn her MRS degree before graduation,” he replied. “Tell me, are you happy now, or are you still faking it?”

“I don’t know why I came here,” she whispered. She threw her cigarette to the ground and watched it glow in the darkness. She hated smoke. She hated what it did to her teeth and how she always smelled like burned coffee after a cigarette. She hated the way it polluted the air and made things that were once beautiful shrivel under its influence.

“You came here,” he started. His voice was even, but his hands shook madly. Years of emotion poured through him as he addressed her coldly. “You came here to see what your life could have been. I’ll tell you what it could have been. I would have married you and done anything to make you happy. I would have quit music and done something practical. I would have left the city, left my family, left everything behind for you. I would have done anything. And you didn’t let me.”

“You would have done anything.” She rolled the words about on her tongue, tasting them and trying them on. They were words she had heard before, but they now took on new meaning. “You would have done anything, left anything, become anything. And you would have been miserable. We both would.”

“And I’m not miserable now?”

“I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”

She moved away from the railing, crushing the abandoned cigarette beneath her heel. She crossed the lot and he followed, stopping just short of her car. She started the engine and rolled down the window, gazing at him one last time.

“We would have been happy,” he said softly, a sad smile playing on his lips. He considered her carefully, taking in the paleness of her skin and the few grey hairs mixing with her blonde. Her lipstick had long faded, leaving only her thin, cracked lips and the moonlight cast shadows upon her face that showed the toll the years had taken on her. Still, she was beautiful, and his heart soared when their eyes met, though somewhere deep he knew it was for the last time.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she pleaded, hurt to see the pain upon his face.

“Like what?” he asked, as if he did not already know.

“Like you want to kiss me.” She put the car in gear and backed up, leaving him to be a reflection in her rearview mirror.

“Can you blame me?” he replied, but she was already gone.

As the city fell behind her, the reality of her life lay ahead. Every mile that spanned between her and the love she left behind brought new relief, and by the time she reached her home she could almost breathe again.

She tiptoed across the darkened halls, past the fine furniture and family portraits, up several stairs and into the safety of her bedroom. Her heels were soon discarded on the floor and she slipped into bed, pulling the linens up around her and consenting to fall restlessly into sleep.

In his slumber, her husband turned to wrap himself around her, placing a tender kiss upon her cheek. “I missed you,” he mumbled, his speech muffled by sleep.

“I missed you too,” she replied, settling into his embrace. “I’m glad to be home.”

Morning

Darling, I hate to wake you
But I just need to say
I love the way you dream
The way you meet the day

Dear, I hate to wake you
But truly, we must go

There are trains to catch
And time to waste
Lives to live
And dreams to Chase

Songs to write
And ways to be
Beauty to find
And love to leave

Love, I hate to wake you
But day has come too fast
The stars forever fading
Too beautiful to last

Darling, I hate to wake you
But I simply need to say
I love you more, and more again
With every passing day

"Hominem, memento te."

[You are] man, I remind you." Said by the slave holding the laurel leaves over the general's head in a Roman triumph. Its basic meaning was, "Don't presume, merely because you are dressed as an image of Mars and processing through the streets like the deity of a religious festival, that you really are a god." [Source]

A lot of people seek religious, mainly Bible where I'm from, quotes to guide and inspire them. Words are powerful things, and so are religions. Personally, I have seen beauty and hatred sparked from both, and my experiences have led to my prolonged religious conflict both internally and externally.

I was never told by my parents what to believe. Though I was baptized in the Catholic church and my earlier religious views were notably based in Catholicism, I never believed it. When my parents took me to various Baptist and Nondenominational Christian churches as I grew older and I eventually attended a Lutheran church briefly when asked by a friend, I never felt comfortable. I didn't know what I believed, but I knew subconsciously that I didn't believe in Christianity.

I think I started to realize that I just wasn't Christian in ninth Honors Ancient History. We were studying the origins of Christianity and the thought occurred to me: "What if Jesus was just a bored teenager that made it all up?"

While I am fairly certain that the origins of such a major world religion could not be so simple, the thought stayed with me, and slowly grew into doubt, and then the realization almost two years later that I simply was not Christian.

As I grew to understand my beliefs, I gave myself many titles. First Agnostic, and then briefly Atheist at a time when I was particularly adverse to religion, and then back to Agnostic. However, until a few months ago, I was scared to say exactly what I believe, and until very recently, I didn't feel that what I am is okay and the labels were unnecessary.

I can say that I have been genuinely hurt because of my religious beliefs. I have lost a handful of relationships, engaged in heated arguments with my parents, defended myself to classmates, felt sadness, longing, rage, and shame because of what I believe. Or, rather, what I don't.

I used to hope that religious topics would simply not come up so I would not have to talk about my views. I would meekly accept the Bibles that people presented to me while I worked in the grocery store (yeah, they do that), pretend not to be home when Jehovah's Witnesses came to the door, and even lie when people asked me where I attended church so not to stir up any controversy. It was not that I wasn't strong in my convictions, but rather that I did not expect acceptance for my beliefs and did not wish to have to defend them.

Now, I've realized that I should never have to defend them. If people are going to judge me because of what I believe, I will put them in the same category as the racists and sexists and refuse to associate with them. I am more than my religious beliefs. I am more than what I do on Sunday morning. I am a person, and my religious views are only a small part of the whole. What I am is fine. If the Creator was personally offended with the way I was living my life, I would have already been struck down by lightening.

Well, I'm still here. I must be doing something right.

I should not be ashamed to declare my beliefs. If people can come to my doorstep asking to share their faith, if my obnoxious manager can say "Merry Christmas" over the intercom, if religiously based groups can speak in my school, if this is truly a country based on freedom of religion (and it is, I wrote a paper on it), then I should be free to declare my beliefs without need to justify them. So I will:

I am not Christian. I am not Jewish, Buddhist, Muslim, Hindu, or anything else, and that is okay.

I believe in openness of heart and mind. I believe that no one religion is right, but they all have some Truth and something to offer. I believe there is a God and an afterlife. I believe in Fate. I believe in happiness. I believe in love. I believe that I can achieve enlightenment and eternal bliss from simply being the best person I can be and practicing compassion at every opportunity. This is what I believe, and this is what works for me.

To those who believe that their religion is right for you, proceed. If you don't stand for something you will fall for anything. Faith is a beautiful thing that is often envied by those without it, believe me. Share what you believe and stick firmly to it, but only if in return you have an open mind and are brave enough to examine why believe what you do. Sometimes, being told something by our parents is not enough. Parents have the right to share their religion with their children, but children also have the right to explore other faiths and decide what we believe. Parents have more influence than anyone upon their children, but we must remember that in the end, we all end up ultimately alone, and the grave would be an awful place to begin to wonder why you believe what you do.

However, to those who believe that their religion is the only way to Truth, I beseech you to have an open mind. Religion is about being in touch with your beliefs and spirituality and having an individual relationship with God. And to those who are quick to judge the Muslim woman in a headscarf, the Wiccan wearing a pentagram, the Catholic carrying rosary beads, or the quiet Atheist who has never done a thing to offend you but not believing in your God, I beg you remember that you are not God. You are man, and you have no divine right to judge. Every person you encounter has something unique to offer and a reason for being in your life, but if you deny them the opportunity to offer it because of difference in beliefs, you can never grow spiritually.

We are all one. Every single person, regardless of age, gender, race, sexual orientation, religion, or football team allegiance bleeds red. I have no authority to speak of what any Creator wanted or planned for humanity, but I feel confident that He/She would grieve to see His/Her children fighting, killing, and isolating one another over the best way to worship. Ultimately, we don't know. We have no solid answers, so why divide ourselves?

"Alone, we can do so little; together we can do so much."
-Helen Keller

Today, I burned my past. Literally. I attended a service at the Westside Unitarian Universalist Church. (My computer insists that 'universalist' is not a word, but I promise I didn't make it up.) This was only the second time I attended, but I felt very accepted and responded well to the message. I think this will be the place or worship for me, but I'm not making any commitments yet.

A longtime member led the service. The theme of the day was a letting go. He spoke about embracing the future and moving on from past regrets. He spoke for about twenty minutes, using poetry and Buddhist-based texts as well as his own words to get the point across. When he was done, he told everyone to get a piece of paper and pencil.

He told us to write down our regrets of 2010, the things we wished we'd done, the things we wanted to forget, and what we wished to move on from. Then, one by one, we went to the altar and dropped our paper into a small fire in an urn, symbolically erasing our regrets and vowing to move on. It was strangely therapeutic, and now I feel like I will be able to move on from my list of regrets.

I came out of the service today feeling very happy. I'm sad to admit that I have not felt very happy in quite some time. However, the incredibly welcoming community at WUUC and the prospect of a clean slate cheered me. Maybe that's the power of religion. Maybe having a place where you are welcome, accepted, and inspired to be your personal best is more healing than the touch of any prophet or messiah. Maybe if everyone could realize this monumental power of acceptance and togetherness, the world would be a better place. Maybe.

"We're one, but we're not the same. We get to carry each other, carry each other. One..."
-U2, "One"

Happy New Year
May you go in peace