The Guise of Faith

“The easy confidence with which I know another man’s religion is folly teaches me to suspect that my own is also.” – Mark Twain

devil inside

lorelainw

Throwing the covers over my seething nature, I burrow beneath religion, hiding who I am. Pops said, “Religion is for the weak”, that may the case, but my reasons are that I’m fucking scared of who I really am. If my soul had a window, I’m sure there’d be a line to watch the horror show. Damn humanity, they love to watch insanity in action, paying millions of dollars to watch all kinds of degradation on the big screen and drooling, lonely, over their computer late at night. I’m sure people I know and haven’t known have stayed around only to see what kind up fucked up shit I’m gonna do or get into next. The guise of church and God is the ultimate facade. I really do believe in God, but I feel like I’m a fake when I act according to my faith, and almost feel like I’ve been duped when I “do good things” not because I want to, but because my beliefs tethered me into obedience. Being good is desirable, but only because I’m scared of whats inside me. I can honestly say that God is real to me and that I try to listen and obey, but (there’s always a but in religion) damn if I don’t feel like it’s a trick. I’m religious not out of love for God, but from fear of who I’ll be if I don’t “obey”. My soul is filled with many violent and revolting perversions, and most of my self destructive behavior comes through that realization. I don’t want to hurt anyone, to cause mayhem and destruction, I don’t want to be what I am. My detractors, the greatest of whom reside in my head, taunt me saying, “how can you write all these hope filled articles about God and His work in your life while being a whole different person inside. Your the ultimate hypocrite.”. It’ll be known when all things are known that my battles where never seen by humanity, and my greatest victory will be to go to the grave without fulfilling the deviant nature that claws at and through my robes of righteousness.

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Nemesis – Stalked From My Youth –

This poem depicts the spiritual entity that from my childhood, stalks me. I know him, he knows me, and the battle continues. I have one refuge, that of prayer. Wouldn’t you pray after seeing that the enemy’s power is far greater than your own? 


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Prowling, eyes alert, glowing red’s the sign 

That what stalks me, is a spiritual kind

All it’s attentions, frothing tongue a tell
 
With growls preaching, at me from hell
 
When it comes, the dark is it’s lair,
 
No matter where I go, it finds me there
 
Words of religion, it does completely despise
 
I’m never away, from those deep red eyes.

Related Post: Hour of the Wolf – Wrestling With 3 A.M.
012412 

Drowned

“Well, any love makes us vulnerable. Whatever we love will give the gift of pain somewhere along the road. But who would live sealed in spiritual cellophane just to keep from ever being hurt? There are a few people like that. I’m sorry for them. I think they are as good as dead.” ― Gladys Taber, Harvest at Stillmeadow  
 

aniaikiru

 Thinking she with baited breath, breathed the bearing winds
and with heated highs holding hands of holy fortune
But I was wrong

Believing the best of both between beaten breaking waves
and with hope helping a healing of heavy history
But I was wrong

Being wrong is easy, but the scorching blisters that remain from the heat of desire bring the pain of dying belief. Having lifted her up with my service and hope, giving all of my time and energy to see a buck shot doe come to life, who would know that she would attack me? A desperate soul uses no discretion in the flailing attempts at survival. Once on solid ground she looked back and saw me, floating on an ocean created by my sweat and tears, upside down, blue and bloated with discouraged heartache. In my resurrected state I can see her, and still I believe in her, being taught that my sacrifice means nothing in the comeback of the starlet. I only see her from a distance, and beholding her as the stars, hope that I never see her come streaking out of the night sky, burning through the atmosphere of her wantonness, and crashing into a broken blaze of kindling people.

Be it religion or love, in the end, who will use you up?

The Hermit Chronicles: Cup of Conversation

“Not all those who wander are lost.”
Some things were better lost than found.”
annasasylum

Lost is good, that’s when I find places that appear on the horizon of experience, places that are exciting, painful, and perhaps enlightening. Being lost and alone sounds terrible, but these are exciting lands and through wandering I pass by many old and tattered road signs that point out toward a different way. Beyond addiction’s sign, I see the detritus of the many who travel here strewn about and the bones of those who scarcely made the turn on that road before they died choking on the false hope of that distant city. Violence, that sign bears holes shot through with blame and anger against foes seen and unseen, real and surreal. Down that path I hear echos of private wars, fought more often in that travelers head, then on the road itself. Fame, this sign is hard to see, covered with thick strands of luck and persistence. Looking far down that road I see no one, I only hear crowds gathering and yelling praises at the swollen headed partakers of that way. I love to pass by those exits and the many crisscrossing and circuitous forked roads called psychiatry and religion. Bah, I turn my back on these and wander through my solitary confinement. It’s there I’m comfortable and being lost gives me a reason to go back over my favorite parts. Don’t feel sorry for me as you see my shambled figure shuffling, my face overgrown with disconcerting opinion. I’m happy here, but wait, would you like to share a cup of conversation, speaking without words over my fire? I didn’t think so, you have your eyes set on the exit signs…you’ll be back though, I’ll keep a light on for you.
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Cup of Conversation
 Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Fallen Trees
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Aimless 
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Hounds  
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Unbelonging 

Also published in Broowaha
Also published in Life As A Human
041113

Rebirth of Born Again – The death and life of faith

“Never shall I forget those moments that murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to ashes.” – Elie Wiesel, Night
scenicreflections

Spiritual. More specifically, christian. Even more precise, Born Again christian. These were my labels, my cult, my passion. It sounds good, it sounds right, but the reality wasn’t so cut and dry. It wasn’t right, because I wasn’t. I had to lose my faith, get put through a hell on earth called divorce, burn in the fires of addiction, be put on the cross of heartache and betrayal, lose everything to find the real me. Not the me created by the fan club of a very generic “God”, but the me that’s reality. Only as I went through those fires did the impurities of my fake belief come to the surface. I hid in my religion, pretending everything was fine and arguing with grandiose and severe speech that condemned other points of view and defended mine. During this humbling process of losing everything I believed in, I was aware of all my pride and boasting. I was aware of not seeing people for who they are, where they are. Of misjudging, not only the good but the bad. My daughter was molested by the janitor of my church. The same man I reached out to and helped. The one that I let into my family on the pretense of rescuing him. I didn’t see his evil, because I hid my own. So consumed with my point of view, blinded by my weakness, I had no defense against the evil coming to me through the channels of my misguided belief. I’m recovering from this, my family still suffers from the effects of both this man and my collapsing faith.


I’m rebuilding my faith, but it’s an entirely new creature than the previous abortion of truth. Here’s the premise: I have a rubber meets the road faith. I cuss when I pray. “Big Daddy, thank you for this fucking beautiful day”. I say it normally, why would I be different when I pray? I believe that if someone is talking shit about you, you should confront them and if necessary, deal out an ass whooping. If you hurt my family, I’ll hunt you down with a never ending quest for vengeance. If I do something worthy of an ass whooping, I humbly bow to receive it.I’m tired of playing nice little church boy. I’ll call us out on our bullshit. I’ll let you know my weakness, my sins. I’ll not hide how imperfect and hideous my thoughts are. You’ll hate me or love me, it matters not. This is real, this is my faith. These are my new tenets. My meekness isn’t weakness. I’ll defend my life, my household, my family, and my friends with my life. I’ll be plainly honest and transparent. I give you freedom to be you, just don’t fuck with me.

Also published in Broowaha
01122012 

Rebirth of Born Again – The death and life of faith

“Never shall I forget those moments that murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to ashes.” – Elie Wiesel, Night
scenicreflections

Spiritual. More specifically, christian. Even more precise, Born Again christian. These were my labels, my cult, my passion. It sounds good, it sounds right, but the reality wasn’t so cut and dry. It wasn’t right, because I wasn’t. I had to lose my faith, get put through a hell on earth called divorce, burn in the fires of addiction, be put on the cross of heartache and betrayal, lose everything to find the real me. Not the me created by the fan club of a very generic “God”, but the me that’s reality. Only as I went through those fires did the impurities of my fake belief come to the surface. I hid in my religion, pretending everything was fine and arguing with grandiose and severe speech that condemned other points of view and defended mine. During this humbling process of losing everything I believed in, I was aware of all my pride and boasting. I was aware of not seeing people for who they are, where they are. Of misjudging, not only the good but the bad. My daughter was molested by the janitor of my church. The same man I reached out to and helped. The one that I let into my family on the pretense of rescuing him. I didn’t see his evil, because I hid my own. So consumed with my point of view, blinded by my weakness, I had no defense against the evil coming to me through the channels of my misguided belief. I’m recovering from this, my family still suffers from the effects of both this man and my collapsing faith.


I’m rebuilding my faith, but it’s an entirely new creature than the previous abortion of truth. Here’s the premise: I have a rubber meets the road faith. I cuss when I pray. “Big Daddy, thank you for this fucking beautiful day”. I say it normally, why would I be different when I pray? I believe that if someone is talking shit about you, you should confront them and if necessary, deal out an ass whooping. If you hurt my family, I’ll hunt you down with a never ending quest for vengeance. If I do something worthy of an ass whooping, I humbly bow to receive it.I’m tired of playing nice little church boy. I’ll call us out on our bullshit. I’ll let you know my weakness, my sins. I’ll not hide how imperfect and hideous my thoughts are. You’ll hate me or love me, it matters not. This is real, this is my faith. These are my new tenets. My meekness isn’t weakness. I’ll defend my life, my household, my family, and my friends with my life. I’ll be plainly honest and transparent. I give you freedom to be you, just don’t fuck with me.

Also published in Broowaha
01122012 

Wisdom’s Seven Pillars – Pillar #6 Easily Entreated

“Wisdom has built her house, she has carved out her seven pillars:” Proverbs 9:1. The aim of this series is to present a non-cliche, non-religious point of view of wisdom. I do subscribe to some religious interpretations of the subjects addressed, but wish to here, only point out the common understanding of the principles.”
Pillar #6 Easily Entreated

In all debates, let Truth be thy aim, not Victory.”
‘Tis the glory of a man to vail to truth; as it is the mark of a good nature to be easily entreated.”


Wisdom is friendly to questions and petitions, entertaining them easily. Being available to answer questions and grant petitions, facilitates the growth of wisdom. I must be willing to accept that I may be wrong, in both my knowledge and/or the application of it. Entrenched ways or knowledge that refuse to entertain oppositions and petitions limits my understanding. Though the questions are tedious, though the petitions are continuous, I must apply myself to them, willingly and easily. Allowing questions to my beliefs, working my through my limited understanding, achieves the purest and simplest knowledge applicable to life’s challenges. Without being approachable and entertaining questions, wisdom will be corrupted by egocentric desires, my will overriding the greater good, and create a religion of Me.