For the past year or so, I've been attending classes at a local college to finally finish my Bachelors. I'm currently taking "Introduction to Western Religions", and I have to admit, it's not quite what I had planned. The professor has a whole different idea of what this class should cover; while I, foolishly, thought that it would cover the history and philosophy of "The Big Three Religions", namely Judaism, Christianity and Islam, my professor has, instead, slightly warped the focus to encompass something a bit darker.
My professor, I have found, is terrified of the Apocalypse. TERRIFIED. The classroom has become his private soapbox, thick with politics and pleas for sanity. Sometimes he stands at the head of the room, face red, eyes that would make a puppy look mean, and almost beg for us to alter how we view others of different faiths. The problem is, I don't find that any of us have any issues with other faiths. I think we're all there because we're open and want to learn more. But we're not learning as much as we could, because everything seems to be focused on the current politics and on how we seem to be sliding into World War III.
It's interesting to me to notice how trauma can alter our focus. The stories we tell are told from a fearful perspective. What we see around us looks demonic. We almost seem to enjoy working at talking ourselves into feelings of helplessness and desolation. Our imaginations run wild, giving us invisible enemies (or greatly exaggerating those we have) and things to fight. We give our power away willingly, and then wrestle it back through destructive or violent tendencies. What is wrong with us?
I used to have a dear friend who went back to seminary to get her Masters. Somewhere in her courses she was introduced to the ideas of "Demons", Satan's little helpers. They were everywhere, taunting us with their evilness. She became darker as she talked about them, became obsessed with fighting off demons everywhere she went. It eventually destroyed our friendship, because to hang with her in that kind of fearful space made me feel sick. I had to get away from her just to breathe.
The Great Mystery decided to teach me a lesson about how focus creates reality. Years ago I was reading in bed, and my little runt kitty, Chili, was curled up beside me. She was a tiny thing, and used to get beat up by the other two cats on a regular basis. Shaman, my big male cat, walked into the bedroom and began to sniff around; he was just being curious. Chili sat up, and before I knew it she had left my side to go to the edge of the bed to perch, eyes sharply focused on Sha, waiting for an attack. The threat had entered the room, and she was on it.
Shaman, who wouldn't have seen her otherwise, now was aware that Chili was in the room. He was ready to play, of course, and after a few uncomfortable moments of locked eyes, he charged after her. She sprang from the bed, full scream piercing the air, and he chased her out of the room were I now had to go in order to end the chaos. Chili was panting and panicked, and Shaman had no idea what he had done wrong. He was just being a boy, after all.
The moral to the story? Chili, by being so afraid, created her own situation. She was sleeping against me, a place where she was protected and safe. Had Sha jumped onto the bed, I was there to push him down, away, or whatever was needed. He never would have touched her. But she took her eyes off of me and placed them squarely on the threat, and in that action she had made herself visible to him. Her focus determined her fate. And it turned a relaxing situation into one that needed damage control.
I remember being a young girl of about twelve. I was surrounded by well-meaning adults who told me about the Book of Revelations, and how it corresponded to the prophecies of Nostradamus. I began to fear the end-times, and I worried about the year 2000 happening in my lifetime. Prone to panic attacks, I hate to tell you how many nights I stayed awake, fearful over the eventual destruction of the world. Finally I resolved it, temporarily, at least, with the thought, "I will be thirty then, a certified adult, and I will know what to do." Well, I'm forty-two and still have no clue, but 2000 came and went with every other year and the earth still turns. What a waste of thought and energy.
You have to focus on the good. Not in a Pollyanna kind of way, but in a way that allows you to have hope. You can only control what you can. You have to live your life. I voiced this to my poor, confused professor, and he was not happy with my solution. He told me that my philosophy was "religious". I disagreed, and said it was practical...my favorite schoolmate, who sits next to me, very eloquently backed me up. It IS practical. Surviving is fine, but if you can't survive happily, then what's the point? If everything is full of fear, then let's blow this clambake and end it now. Being practical keeps you out of addictions and into the love of life. When its all fear and shadow, its all a waste of breath.
As tough as I like to talk, I am also fully aware that my focus gets dark often. My professor is a great mirror for me. My anger and frustration with him could very well be my anger and frustration with myself. I ask myself: if I focused on the light, if I trusted in higher wisdom, if I walked boldly, as a child does, within The Great Mystery, would I need to be rescued so often? Am I making the Universe work harder to protect me from my own demons, those nasty thoughts that bite and cut my soul to shreds? If I slept, like a kitten, in the arms of the knowledge that I am loved and safe, would my life radically change?
Mirror, mirror! Help me see
How I produce insanity....
No comments:
Post a Comment