I find myself on a cusp; the Fool again, dangling over the precipice, and the one luxury I can no longer afford is faith. This realization has come as a shock. I’ve gotten to this moment of epiphany on blind faith, and now I am bereft. How else could I listen to the disincarnate voice of a monk, how else could I write what I write, love whom I love? How else could I love at all? This, it seems, is the disparity.
I hear the voice of Gratian because in the truth of the moment, he fills me, sensory and extrasensory. I write what I write because it comes to me and comes through me and I accept the words, and accept myself and my process. These are not matters of faith, and when I pretend they are they become diminished and I become diminished. And then there is love, there is only love, before and after all. I love my children beyond biology. They have taught me about true love, and the entity that it is. I have marvelous friends, inclusive of my brothers, whom I love. And then there is Marty, and I am learning I have much to learn about love. Loving Marty is like swimming. It is what you do when you find yourself submerged, and maybe you start paddling and gasping out of a primal instinct. Then, maybe joy happens and all chakras are lit and spinning and you do flips and somersaults and simply lay in sublime repose and surrender and faith has nothing to do with it. At times, I try to control and qualify and define our relationship to align with the standard, and then I get over it. My love for Marty surpasses understanding. The truth of us has nothing to do with what we choose to believe.
I can no longer subscribe to a belief system. Belief requires faith and faith requires self deception. The Fool cannot be deceived in her simplicity. A Magician’s trickery is lost on an imbecile because magic requires the audience to have both judgment and expectation.
Faith expects answers. The Fool is a fountain of questions. The journey of the Fool, is in fact, the Quest, and the question is the end and the beginning in itself. The need for faith and the answers it promises to provide puts blinders on our point of view and inhibits our participation.
Skepticism is a belief system as useless to me as any other. It requires precepts and concepts that muddy the moment, as do all religions. The conclusions drawn by skeptics and scholars are flawed by the very need to summarize and state the evident proclamation. It has been decreed that the world is flat, and then that it is round and the center of the universe. Reality is flexible and convolute. Faith is a means of false security, an unreliable fortress. The fervent are perilous. Their need to persuade is the seed of strife. Faith is born of doubt and doubt is loveless, and therefore godless.
All I know is God is Love, exceeding conceptualization. At this juncture, I’ve nothing to prove, no need to convince. I accept the moment of Love not as a concept but as an essence beyond contrivance.
The monk said; “Your prayer is your answer, your question is your solution.” The statement made no sense to me at the time, nor does it now. I no longer care. I quest, I love. I thank the sun for rising in splendor and arching across my day knowing its deception, and I love it all the more. So be it.