Mermade

As most of you know, my ex-fiance and I broke up last November, a couple of days before Thanksgiving. I spent the majority of Christmastime and the Winter Intersession recovering from its aftermath. After Christmas was over, I was surprised to see myself heal so quickly. I planned on waiting at least a year before dating again, but alas, I met a boy who, at first, captivated me shortly after the spring semester began. I will call him “James.” I met him at a Christmas party right after the break-up. He sat next to me and demanded all of my attention. My first impression of him was that he was vain and materialistic and it will also be my last.

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I am so white. Being a former editor in chief doesn’t help, either. I read over my posts at least a half a dozen times to catch grammar errors. How sad.

I find it even sadder that I will spend at least half my summer reviewing basic grammar rules. I need to get ready to take the grammar test in order to be an Instructional Aide at PCC. That means: $18.00/hour AND priceless teaching experience. And I am only 21. Woohoo! I will definitely be a real grammar snob by the end of August, but hopefully one with a better job.

I am not sure what it is, but I have felt a lot more spiritual lately. I think that is evident from my last blog posts, especially my poem. (Thanks again for inspiring to publish my first poem on my blog, Hilary!) I feel spiritual even in doing ordinary things, which is something I have never felt before — especially in high school when I was my most religious. How ironic. For the past year and a half, I felt very ashamed of everything that I represented in high school. Since the version of Christianity I was raised with was so rigid, I assumed that all Christianity was like that. Not true. I do know for a fact, though, that I am not interested in being religious anymore; I am interested in being a Christian. I also feel the need to move on with my life. That means I must stop whining about the Religious Right, my parents, and how bad I feel about what I said and did to others when I was a fundamentalist. I can’t change any of those things. I have gone through the grief period, made my amends, and now it is time to move on in love and faith.

I will always maintain my beliefs with some measure of doubt to give me some breathing room. I wish to think more logically, but there is much to be said for faith, too. It is possible that God does not exist, but I find it beyond improbable. Given that it is improbable, I find it highly unlikely that we are all but an accident. Atheists like Sam Harris do well in pointing out the flaws of modern-day fundamentalism. I do not believe that he is against God as much as he is against black-and-white religious thinkers, like those who were responsible for 9/11. His book The End of Faith was awesome and I highly recommend it.

I also recently realized that my Christian beliefs are always changing as well. I am definitely Protestant in belief, but Catholic in upbringing. The only thing I take with me from Catholicism is the emphasis the Church places on Mary. I can leave the rest. I do not believe that Jesus is literally present in the Eucharist. I do not believe in Purgatory. I do not believe in saintly intersession. The American Catholic Church also must get with the times in terms of Mass — Protestants do a much better job at incorporating a contemporary feel in their services by addressing timely issues. It isn’t just the same old stand-up-sit-down-we-believe-in-one-God- monotone-prayers routine every Sunday. Mass is not entertainment, of course, but given the choice, most people my age will go to the service that is more contemporary in feel and content. I also seek to learn more about the Bible and not rely on Holy tradition to do my thinking for me. I am liberal in the sense that I now wish to move forward instead staying back, at least on most things. I feel that God is calling me to serve His church soon. I plan to get involved in some sort of women’s or college-aged ministry this summer because long for fellowship with Christians my age.

The pro-choice issue is a tough one for me, given that I once believed it morally justifiable to bomb abortion clinics when I was a sophomore in high school. I believed that abortion should be outlawed and that any woman who had one was undeserving of respect. While I long for a world in which no abortions would ever be performed and where every child would be a wanted child, the fact is this: women will seek them, and need them, for various reasons that are, frankly, none of my business. Therefore, abortion should be safe, legal, and rare. I personally could never get one myself and I would have a VERY hard time suggesting that one of my friends get one (in fact, I really don’t think I could). However, it is not my choice to make. By that standard, I am pro-choice. And that term still breaks my heart because I only began calling myself pro-choice last week when I read a book that pushed me over the edge. When Hugo handed it to me, my heart sank and pulse shot up, because I knew it was a done deal — I would be pro-choice once I finished reading it. And I was. I had been straddling the fence for two years and it was time to take a side.

And so, the important thing is to always let yourself evolve as you live and learn. Don’t cut off rationalism, and don’t cut off faith completely, either. I pray more and feel much happier now that I have moved on from the “I can’t believe how stupid I was in high school” way of thinking. Quite frankly, my experience with a narcissistic love interest indirectly taught me more about what this dog-eat-dog world has to offer. I didn’t like what I saw. It’s time to get back into a life of faith, hope, and love, albeit without Brio magazine.

(I have never published one of my own poems on my blog before, but here it goes.)

Plump and firm, pink and white,

My breasts float happily in the

Warm bath water.

The candles flicker and I watch

bubbles wander up my cleavage.

My dark brown hair reaches for

The edges of my nipples.

I blow air and they get

Firm, then soft again, firm,

Tingling with delight.

I listen for my heartbeat

And see it pulsating with my left breast.

I breathe deeply and watch myself.

I am in awe –

In awe of God

In awe of my womanhood and that

One day,

Milk will flow from my body

To feed a new life that grew within me

Through no real doing of my own.

I feel thankful for my sheer existence,

And for my joyful awareness;

That I can bask in His creation

That is me.

I praise God,

For I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Amen.

• The new blog template should be finished by around mid-June, so I will post the link right around the time that I get out of school.
• I hope my mom likes her Mother’s Day gift — it’s a Yankee Candle Reed Diffuser in Mandarin Orange. I hope to take her out to lunch this week to celebrate Mom’s Day.
• I am working on a speech for the upcoming Borders of Diversity conference on Thursday. Although I originally planned on doing it on domestic violence, I will likely discuss the difference between “freedom to” and “freedom from” as it relates to our contemporary Girls Gone Wild culture. My presentation needs some fine-tuning, though.
• I can’t wait to post about my experience with a Narcissist after school gets out, but I must wait until then. And I WILL write about it. He does not have my URL.
• I love my new haircut! My hair no longer has that washed-out look. I got it highlighted two months ago, and the top layer was essentially fried. My hairdresser also took charge of my hair and gave me a sweeping bang in front, which I really like. It is not emo.
• And now, I should work on that essay about sexual imagery as it is used to convey a religious message. I may have to take most of Monday off to finish it up. I really want school to be over with.

For the Renaissance unit in my British literature course, I chose to write an essay on why certain poets use sexual imagery to convey a Christian message in their work. I have mulled over this topic for about two weeks now, and decided to draw upon a lot of John Donne’s poetry to support my thesis. Sexuality and spirituality cannot be divorced. Sexual passion will always have spiritual overtones and religious zeal mirrors sexual ecstasy. In order to understand the soul, one has to go through the body because the body contains the soul; as the body and soul are interconnected, so to are spirituality and sexuality. We come into the world because of sex, and we exist because God created us. Most of the time, words fall short of describing our sexual as well as spiritual experiences. The more I think about it, the more parallels I can find with sexuality and spirituality and I hope to flesh them out within my essay this weekend.

On another note, it is odd that the Church has had such a longstanding tension between sexuality and devotion to God. Sex has long been viewed as something dirty, as if sex was a mere ”pleasure of the flesh.” Many Christians argue that sex within marriage is holy, but regardless of that, sex and sexuality in general is not something that the Church has traditionally celebrated, but rather suppressed — especially female sexual desire. Even today, it is evident that the Catholic religion believes that sex is merely for procreation. Why else does the Church continue to reject the idea that contraception, like the Pill, is indeed a good modern innovation? Also, it seems that Catholicism assumes you can either be religious and celibate (like priests) or engage in more “humanistic” desires. I think there is merit to the idea that priests should be dedicated to merely the Church and not be distracted with families, but I have two problems with that: 1) Protestants do it just fine, and 2) It makes it seem like engaging in sexuality and being devoted to religion are (or at least should be) mutually exclusive. This is tied into the virgin/whore dichotomy, or the idea that “good” or “pure” girls abstain from sex before marriage, whereas “sinful” or “bad” girls don’t. Poems such as John Donne’s The Flea bridge the gap in the sense that they suggest that our most spiritual experiences are, perhaps, sexual. And vice versa.

My essay deals with that irony. But this essay prompt feels sort of ironic on a personal level, as I recently wrote about why I could never have sex without love several weeks ago. I believe that there is a spiritual element to sexuality and therefore could never have it with a person who does not share that sentiment.

I love this class.

While visiting my professor in office hours today, she told me that Theresa of Avila (who happens to be my patron saint) had such an experience with an angel. It is captured in the marble sculpture The Ecstasy of St. Theresa by Gianlorenzo Bernini. My professor read some of the book’s analysis of St. Theresa’s experience to me, and I literally began to cry:

Theresa of Avila, one of the great saints of the Counter Reformation, had described how an angel pierced her heart with a flaming golden arrow: “The pain was so great that I screamed aloud; but at the same time I felt such infinite sweetness that I wished the pain to last forever. It was not physical but psychic pain, although it affected the body as well to some degree. It was the sweet caressing of the soul by God.

I closed my eyes as she finished reading that passage and was teary for a good fifteen seconds. Although my professor is not religious and sees this from an academic lens, I truly see myself and my passion for life, God, and the body in Saint Theresa’s experience. I have faith that that actually happened to her. This whole thing is so ironic. I chose her as my patron saint when I received my Sacrament of Confirmation in the Roman Catholic Church five years ago. Call me crazy, but I truly felt St. Theresa’s presence within me today. Her experience speaks to the core of who I am: a young, passionate, Catholic girl who spiritually, intellectually, and physically yearns for connection with God. I am an English major because I feel most alive when I study the stories and experiences of others, because they mirror, shape, and enhance my own. No other major would do.

Once in awhile, I meet someone at my job who makes my heart pound everytime they check in. This guy happens to look a lot like Johnny Depp. He knows that I have a bit of a crush on him, so each time that he comes into the Center, I say something slightly flirtatious to him.

Me: Hey, you came! I was wondering if you were going to show up.

Him: Of course I came. How has your week been?

Me: Good, and even better now that you’re here.

Him: You’re gonna make me blush, girl.

HahAhahAha! Oh, he’s stunning. I have to wonder, though, if I would get “talked to” at work if I were a boy tutor saying this to a female student. Double standards don’t just apply to women.

Six years ago today, you took me to see Spiderman 1 and we kissed for the first time. I left my black purse at the theater because I was so twitterpated. I never did get it back, but I didn’t care. I left with you. My life would never be the same.

I spent five years with you and enjoyed it all. You taught me the basics of journalism and the Socratic method - the virtue of questioning both people and everything that I believe in. I take those lessons with me, today and forever. We did everything together. We watched dumb cartoons. We hiked to the top of mountains. We went to Disneyland, the Renaissance Faire, beaches, the Mojave Desert. We talked about anything and everything. We took lots of pictures. We had a journal just for us. You never uttered a mean word to me or disregarded a thing I said. You were my best friend, and today, I want to thank you for being a part of my life.

Although we are very different people and therefore needed to go our separate ways, I believe that we learned an immense amount from each other as high school sweethearts. I believe that we were placed in each other’s lives for a good reason. I think of you often and genuinely hope that you are happy.

I feel like I will hit a glass wall no matter which direction I move in. This describes my:

• Family life
• Spiritual life
• Work life

There is no right answer. Every time I try to solve a problem, a new one surfaces. I feel trapped. I can only take so much claustrophobia…