What is it about faith that makes us both wise and stupid, often at the same time?
I don't speak of any particular recent incident, though I could mention plenty just within the last few months. I find myself dwelling on it, especially on days when I've just come out of yoga class and someone makes fun of it.
I've been there. I've done that. I even admit to a certain amount of prejudice against certain religions. So I try not to take it personally. I don't follow any religion of any kind. Why should I, when all religions seem to have at least one truth in them? And isn't the point of any religion to find your own connection to God or the world or whatever? Does it even matter?
Yes. Because I have found a certain kind of faith in my new life here in Clarkston, with grandparents who love me enough to let me stay and stuff my face. It's the kind of faith that apparently can only be found after a major, traumatic experience--perhaps many traumatic experiences and no rest in between.
I speak of the faith that I now have in my ability to survive. I can survive just about anything. And now, I find, I can survive the very treacherous journey that I'm about to embark on that will take me to the very depths of whatever is left of my shredded soul, to the very height of pure humanity--both of which might very well kill a lesser person. Like I was even a few weeks ago.
This journey isn't necessarily a physical one. It's the one we all try to take, consciously or not, to find that unnamed, unknowable force that some describe as God, others Allah, still others as themselves. I don't know if I'll find any of those things, though through my yoga practice I tend to believe that I will find the first two already residing within me, as me, as myself. I'm able to quiet my mind, to hunt the stillness until it has no choice but to come to me, weakened.
The yoga teacher I'm currently learning from described the process as the same way you would find something to listen to on the radio. Most everything you find is static until you find the one station that's playing your song. That's what meditation--even yoga--is. Your thoughts are the static, the unnecessary that you've programmed yourself to listen to. Then you find the station that plays that song that speaks to you.
That's what it's kind of like, this meditation and yoga business. That's why Americans flock to India and all that, even when they don't understand it and act like the stupidest tourist. That's why the yoga teachers go over there, to learn from the great ones who don't have to put this process into words. Instead, they show you through the strength of their faith and the calmness and serenity flowing through them that is both annoying and awe-inspiring.
But yoga is not enough. While it's a universally human trait, the process of finding the faith seems to be very personalized and so yoga cannot be the only path that seems worth it to me. As a species, I feel like we've become so detached from each other, the Earth, the other creatures living here, and the "divine" by whatever name you call it that it's a wonder any of us manage to claim to have found God in any form.
I have no answers, though I hope to find a few. I don't want to find them all, ever, because what would be the point after that? What I have found is an inner core, this internal sphere inside me that is quiet, solitary, strong and unknowable. It's the unknowable part, this part I cannot name, that tells me it's somehow divine.
It's kind of like the G-spot, this sphere. Many aren't sure it even exists and probably don't believe it's really there. Until you find it. Then you know, you believe absolutely that it's there because you've felt it, and it is gloriously divine.
I know. I'm supposed to be blogging about my weight loss and my writing. And I'm supposed to have already posted about my coastal trip. But this has been on my mind for the last day or so. Isn't this experiment of mine supposed to take all the pieces of myself I can find and put them together like a puzzle, one that is worth taking the time to figure out and enjoy the work after you're done? And isn't this faith stuff supposed to be one of those human pieces you must face eventually?
Maybe not. But since it's obviously on my mind and now I'm bugging you with it, now it's stuck and I have to face it.
Because this weight loss, my writing, even my little trip are all tests of faith. Are you strong enough, Vanessa, to endure the pure agony and humiliation required to go to the gym every day, face the skinny little boys and girls and show them that you were depressed enough, hurt enough, lazy enough, weak enough, to let yourself get this way? Can you, Vanessa, discipline yourself to write for yourself every day and grab hold of the one driving ambition you've had for your whole life? This travel dream you claim to have, Vanessa, is it a must-do dream, willing to spend the money, the time, the effort, the exacting toll it takes on your sanity, or a little pipe dream that you only wish you could have done when you find yourself on your death bed?
Yes, goddamn it! is what I'd like to scream. I'd love to be able to tell you, whoever you are reading this, that I have all that in me, that I can do that, that I'm worth that, that I'm able to set aside all this self-loathing I've programmed myself with and all this ridiculous second-guessing and overanalyzing bullshit long enough to do these things, and more. I'd love to be able to tell myself, with absolute certainty, that not only do I have the ability, I'm going to do it.
But right now, what I have faith in is my ability to survive. I've survived a lot, though I'm only freaking 23 years old. If I have to survive the death and destruction of all my dreams, then I will. I'll even endure the unendurable pain that will come with it. Of this, I am certain.
Okay, enough with the whining. Now go do it. By writing this, I've shown a hint of life in me. Questa รจ la vita, now go live it.
I can't be the only one who feels this way, right?
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