There is no God but Science and Researchers are its Prophets

Every culture is revealed by its myths.  Every culture has its myths.  But those cultures ruled by their myths are doomed.  If the rest of the world is lucky.


Just thought I'd get that out of the way.


On to the topic:  Science and its followers.  Because that's truly the situation.  Scientists are quick to point out that people devoted to religion are fools following fairy tales.  That Creationism is laughable.  That they themselves know what happened billions of years ago.


Because someone told them the stories.  Their teachers, who know the facts, passed the facts on to them.  Everyone who believes anything else is wrong.


There are factions within science, those who believe one set of results and those who believe another.  And each sect despises the others, calls them fools.  Anyone who puts forth an idea that does not fit the current database is labeled a heretic, shunned and excommunicated from the larger scientific community.


Its students are inculcated with the beliefs they will hold to throughout their lives, through stories of the first scientists, through the trials and martyrdoms, through tales of victories over the nonbelievers.  Its teachers follow the doctrines as set in stone.  Its leaders are hidebound and Book-bound, citing studies as Gospel.  There is only one way.


Everyone needs something to believe in.  But it's time that scientists understand that the religious are not the only ones who believe in myths.

All Out of Love

Marriage.

Actually, let’s talk about divorce.  There are a lot of good reasons to end a marriage, but what I’m looking at is the reason most marriages are dissolved.

“I’m just not in love with him/her anymore.”

Well, you know what?  If you’re not in love anymore, you never were.  Admit that, and admit that you probably aren’t capable of love at all.  Particularly if you want a divorce so that you can go to another marriage with someone you do love.

You don’t love this person any more than you loved the person you’re married to.

Take a good look at it.  To say that love is gone is to say that the love for your children is gone, or the love for your animals, or for your parents.  It just doesn’t happen.  Either you feel love or you don’t.

This particular delusion about love, and falling out of love, is pretty rampant.  Leaving behind a string of exes in the search for your “one true love” is as American as McDonald’s.  And it’s ridiculous.  You might as well admit that, when you hit your third divorce, you’re not capable of love.  Whatever in your past has rendered you incapable of “staying in love,” deal with it and move on.  Stay single, and quit it!

Okay, let’s talk about a marriage in which you feel “trapped.”  You just don’t feel “it” anymore.  You’re not being cheated on, you’re not being beaten, you’re not being told every day that you’re a steaming pile of crap from the time you get up to the time you go to bed.  Deal with it.  There is no reason to dissolve a marriage in which nothing bad is happening, just because you don’t “love” your spouse anymore.  Whatever put you in that marriage in the first place is the same thing that you’re dealing with now.  Whatever it was that caused you to exchange vows with that person – she was comfortable to be around, he made you laugh, whatever, that still exists.  It may have altered for you because you’ve gotten bored with it, but it’s still there.  There’s no reason to end a marriage just because you’re “out of love.” 

All you want is the chance to search for the love you thought you found with this person.  And you’re not going to find it. 

You won’t find it.  You can’t find love, it has to be inside you.

There isn’t anything wrong with remaining in a marriage and pursuing your own interests.  I’m not talking about cheating, I find that abhorrent and I come from a long line of adulterers (literally), but hey, if it’s acceptable to both of you, go for it.  Pursuing your own interests means you develop your own circle of friends, your own hobbies, your own groups, and you get on with your life.

Again, I’m not saying stay with someone who’s abusive – and that covers a lot of territory – or cheating.  I’m talking about a spouse who’s going to be totally shocked and devastated when you wake up some morning and say, “I don’t love you anymore and I want a divorce.”

This is the adult equivalent of “I’m sick of this toy and I want to play with something else.  I’m bored.  Mommy, buy me something else.”

Nobody is going to buy you love.

This is the life that you bought.  Live with it, there are no returns.

Now, let’s explore my personal favorite for walking away from a stable but boring marriage.  “He’s neglecting me.”  You have a husband who’s a doctor or an executive or a lawyer who works 16 to 20 hours a day building his practice or screwing the competition or whatever.  And you feel neglected.

If he was doing this when you married him, and you thought, “Oh, boy, I’m marrying someone who’s bright and ambitious – and rich (or will be someday),” get over it.  If you’re bored, it’s probably because you’re boring.  He might be bored with you, but he has his work.  Find something to do, go back to college, join some social or volunteer organization, start your own business, just do something.

And, if you’re one of those professionals whose spouse stood by you through the lean years, through the learning and building process, and you walk away after you’re successful to trade him or her in on a newer model, then your soon-to-be ex deserves to get 75% of your gross income for eternity, no questions asked.

The upshot of all this is that most marriages these days, because of movies, books and TV, are begun in the heat of passion.  Not love, heat.  It’s exciting, it’s new.  What people don’t want to understand is that that fades.  What you have then is a comfort level.

If you had nothing in common in the beginning except sex, or doing exciting things together, people get tired and slow down, and sex decreases.

The intensity is going to fade.

You’re both going to grow up, change, move in the same or different directions, and learn new things.  But that doesn’t mean you need to walk away.

If you do, you walk into another relationship of fire and passion, and that’s going to fade, too.  It’s always going to fade.  You can’t be in a relationship for thirty years and have the same intensity the relationship had in the first year (or even before the wedding – most people have been in full relationships for months or years before walking down the aisle).  It’s going to fade, life is going to change, children usually come, you go through houses and cars and jobs, financial status changes for worse or better, and you grow.  You’re going to have fights, people in your family are going to have fights, they’re going to die or move or disagree with you.  Relationships alter.  These things are normal, and no reason to walk away.

Just as the world is not here to amuse you and keep you stimulated, your spouse isn’t there to amuse you and keep you stimulated.  Marriage is a partnership, both of you bringing something into it.  If you’re bored, again, it’s likely that you’re slacking some on your part of the bargain.  Do something.

I do not claim to be a marriage expert.  In fact, I don’t believe that anyone should be married.  But, if you’re married, it is your duty to stay till death do you part.  Not until Bored do you part.

Time Does Not Heal, But It Does March On

My aunt, the one from the previous post, died last night, outliving her son by just over a month.

I can, and do, take a small amount of pleasure in knowing she died alone in her home.  Not "surrounded by her loving family."

Still, FaceBook is full of "the kindest person I've ever known," "we miss you," "a terrible loss to the community"...

Are these people insane?!  Or is this how they deal with reality, shutting it out and remaking it into something rosy and beautiful?

I CAN'T.

I won't.

And I won't play nice and go along.  Or allow my daughter to be exposed to people who are so blind, probably deliberately, to the horrors committed by "loving, wonderful, caring, kind" family members.

I'm done.  The whole clan can go to hell.  I am not necessary to them, and they are poison to me.  I will not allow them to poison my daughter.

Time Does Not Heal

A cousin of mine died a couple of days ago.  He was a year older than me.  Way closer to 50 than 40.

His life was nothing to be proud of.  A prison stint for abusing his girlfriend's children, never convicted of molesting another cousin or his own nieces -- we keep our secrets, this family of mine.  He died a wreck of a human being, a final heart attack after many.

I haven't seen him in three decades or more.  His siblings have fared no better in life: a sister with many children who drinks herself unconscious every day; a brother who is totally immersed in Fundamental Christianity, also with several children who are secluded from all contact except church-related; another brother who appears "normal," but what festers beneath?

What do I remember about this cousin?

I remember standing beside him, before his mother, as the woman grasped his arm and held a flame from a cigarette lighter to his hand.  I remember her telling me that she wished she could do it to me.  She obviously was afraid that my mother might object.  A ridiculous fear.  I remember... I remember knowing there was no one I could tell, no one who would stand for me, protect me, help me.  Certainly not my mother.

I don't remember him crying. 

I was three years old.  But I remember her face, her words. 

My mother, sister and I lived with these people during one of my mother's many "vacations" from her abusive husband.  So many bad things happened in that house, but this is seared into my memory, as clear 45 years later as if it had happened yesterday.  Seared with the flame that scarred him, outside for a while, inside forever.

He chose to deal with the abuse by becoming an abuser.  I do not feel sorry for the man he became.

I cry for the child standing beside me with his hand in the flame...

Standing Before a Door

I’m standing in front of a door…with the only key. I built this door, carved a place for it in the wall I raised to protect me from what’s on the other side. And to protect what’s on the other side from me. What’s on the other side is thirty years in the past.


I’ve kept many things from that other side, bones I bury and dig up, bury and dig up. My own personal graveyard with angry ghosts that scream and weep and demand retaliation, and weary spirits who plead for release from the too-frequent resurrections.

None of them whisper, “forgive… forget.” To forget would invalidate who I am, because the past created the person I am today. The person whose rage and pain gave her strength to fight back, to make different choices, to refuse to accept still more pain. To forgive would dissolve their guilt, tell them that their actions were acceptable, and they do not deserve that.

They deserve to burn in Hell. And in this life, to know no peace, no joy, no happiness.

Yes, my past has given me interesting hobbies. Such as the Hunt. When the ghosts scream too loudly for retribution, I can quiet them with the Hunt. When the Hunt is done, they are appeased, all I hear is the soft pleadings of the weary, and I am as tired as they are. My mind can rest for a while; the bones return to the earth.

What is the Hunt? The search for those who made my life a torment. A search driven by my need to know what they have made of their own lives, and the hope that those lives have been scarred, wasted, marked by loss and failure. I do nothing with the information.

How does this work? In a brief pause in writing this, I picked a name out of the past, and began the Hunt. Within five minutes, I had her married name, the name of her husband, the names and ages of her children, how long she’d been married, and the names of several of the friends she’s maintained contact with since those halcyon days. Fifteen minutes more, and I will have her address, phone number, and other personal information. And it won’t cost a thing.

I am not a nice person. I never pretended to be.

But this recent Hunt has snared more than the previous, and laid out before me is the proof of their freedom from divine punishment. Spouses, children, successful careers, stature in the community, beautiful homes… happiness. And this has caused the ghosts of rage and revenge to tear at their cerements, demanding … something more. Demanding explanation for the deeds of the past, and acknowledgement of the pain they caused.

So I am driven to build this door.

And the key is heavy in my hand.
 
Do I open the door?  What would that accomplish?  Would there be explanation, apology, acknowledgement?
 
Or blank stares?

Anthropomorphosis -- or -- Puppy Kisses Don't Mean a Thing

Some people say that we shouldn't "anthropomorphize" animals. That is, we shouldn't ascribe human characteristics to lesser creatures.

The people who say this are usually "professionals" and "experts." Folks who are trained in these matters. Folks who make their living in the use of animals.

These people say that animals can't feel emotion. We're silly to think they can, they're just animals.

Emotions. Fear, joy, love. No, I guess I've been silly when I thought I've seen a terrified dog, or a cat who rubbed against my leg purring. That dog that ran and leaped at a Frizbee, it wasn't happy to be playing. Ridiculous. The dog that ran past one person and to another, greeting him with "kisses," didn't really have any idea that the person was his own, wasn't showing love, attachment and recognition. The cat who meowed loudly on the return of "her" owner wasn't expressing loneliness. That's just silly.

How can anyone say that animals feel no emotion? Isn't that the ultimate egotism to deny that another living thing can feel what we feel?

Or is it something more, something worse? Is it that, in diminishing recognition of the cognitive and emotional life of another creature, humans can feel (!) justified in causing that creature pain, in separating it from its family, in using it and deciding when and how to end its life?

It's "just an animal."

As are we.

Won't You Be My Neighbor...

Fascinating thing happened today, or rather this evening. I was in the bedroom working on my writing, when the doorbell rang -- at 8:15 pm.

Now, who could that be?

I hear from the kitchen, "Oh, hi, Terry!" It was our next-door neighbor, come to pay us a visit. I've seen him maybe a handful of times in the four and a half years we've lived here, he's never come to the door, and honestly, I don't even know his last name. I think he works in health-care, but even that is sketchy.

Being the friendly neighbor, I go to greet him also. And there's something odd about neighbor Terry. Doesn't seem to have his balance, he doesn't. And he's flapping a paper around.

The rest is rather a blur.

He's yelling that the census workers had sent him over to find out information on me. The little paper was "from the census" with the "sorry we missed you" message across the top. Left at his house. He got 6 inches away from me and said I had to call the number right then, while he was there. The man smelled like he'd bathed in Jack Daniels, and his balance, as noted before, was rather off. "It's the LAW!" he screamed, like he was going to be carted off if he wasn't successful in this bizarre mission from God -- I mean the government.

I asked him why he was so angry. "I'M NOT!"

Really.

Next salvo? "YOU'RE ONE OF THOSE GODDAMN CONSERVATIVES!"

No, actually, I'm one of those goddamn women who won't put up with abusive drunks. Been there, done that, the teeshirts are way too expensive.

So he staggers on out the door.

A little backstory: I did indeed send in my form, after April 1, as sending it in before constituted perjury. Read the not-so-fine print, folks. And people show up to my door claiming to be census workers, telling me they'd not received anything. They were quick to admit that "things get lost." Too quick. With worn badges that were unreadable. I sent them on their way.

See, I know someone who works for the census. He said they change badges every month, or more often. And the "official gear" is easily attainable.

So on with the story.... I called the number on the paper and asked the man why he sent my neighbor over to get information. I'd certainly been home all day, except the two times I'd been outside enjoying the fine weather.

The man asserted he had not sent Terry over, that he "did it on his own." So where did the paper and the message allegedly targeted to me come from?

Oooo, silence. Then more assertions that he was not responsible for my neighbor coming over for the first time ever, drunk and abusive. And (you'll love this) the guy knew who I was even though I hadn't given my name, he had my phone number, and he knew exactly who I was talking about! I was calling from my cell phone, which shows a number with a different area code (family plan from my old hometown). He also stated that he had my information for the census. Hmmmm.

I informed him I would be going over to Terry's to sort this out, and tell him what the man said about his doing this on his own.

So I walk over to the neighbor, and he's lurching up his driveway, as though to meet me. A moment later, he is three inches away (he'd apparently fortified himself further with good ol' JD), and begins screaming at me, calling me a bitch, saying that "we'd always been good neighbors but THAT'S ALL OVER NOW, BITCH!" Again with the "conservative" and "law" shrieks.

Ya just gotta love drunks. No, not really.

So, tomorrow, being the bitch I am (oh, he really has no idea), I'm going to begin a campaign. Please reference my first post. I'm not really a nice person. First the census worker. I called him back and thanked him for sending a drunk to do his work. I got the number for his supervisor, though he wouldn't give a name as they are supposed to. I'll be calling there tomorrow. Next I'll be finding out Terry's full name, and doing a little research. Health care licenses are fragile things, especially if one abuses drugs and alcohol.

Oh, no, Terry, I'm not a bitch. I'm a Bitch. There is, as they say, a difference....

UPDATE: I've discovered that he has no health-care license of any kind, and neither does his wife. Strange, he told us she was a nurse when we first spoke. I also found out his drunkenness is the norm. At least he's always been a quiet drunk...until now.

The census office is unresponsive. What a surprise. What about the "call when the census worker is there if you want verification" spiel? The strangers showing up at one's door would have to wait a long time before continuing with their interrogation. Of course, they will probably just leave, tag you as a troublemaker, and send the next person. Our tax dollars at work...

And I'm not done yet. Oh, no, nowhere near done.