Let me tell you, I think dating, in our culture, is made to be difficult.

We make it difficult because we don’t understand what we’re doing before we’re doing it (both figuratively and literally [whatever that means]). I think the labels are funny, and the boundaries. John Mayer’s got a new song, which I totally disagree with, called Friends Lovers or Nothing. No way.

But that’s very likely what a lot of us believe, blindly, strongly. I also can’t stand how we view love, or, I should say, the progression into a romantic relationship. We think that love is magic, or angelic, or some hidden truth that only the lust from our bodies can decipher. I think—totally from the business perspective—that love sells, and that’s why our relationships suck. I get really upset watching a TV show, or movie, or even listening to Friends Lovers or Nothing, and in every circumstance the same idea emerges: it’s that foundationless romance kindled by a coincidentally positive outcome of culturally infused emotions.

Now there’s several problems with this, if that’s what you’d agree to call it. First, it’s foundationless, second, it’s coincidental, and third, it’s cultural, and for all of these reasons it is doomed to be confusing and haphazard. The only way around this is to relate to weirdos (like me) or foreigners—just anyone who doesn’t subscribe to our cultural norms. But, movies like this, shows like this, stories like this, people like this—they all succeed in this culture. It’s a chicken or the egg thing. Culture continues because media enforce it, and media enforce it because culture continues. There’s really probably no solution, because no one would agree to the ecocide of chickens.

I’ve given the scenarios of (1) end of poverty and (2) an entire Christian world some thought: neither can happen. People always push for more than they can handle. If there were no poor people in Nova Scotia: we’d see an increase in the population (due to birth and immigration), and then we’d have the poor again, because we won’t be able to sustain the people. If it was worldwide elimination of poverty, same thing would happen (except instead of immigration by aliens we’d have an extreme amount of centralization in the top [best] locations in the world, and economical/geographical hierarchies will be reinstated). The Christianity thing: if it caught on, it would be televised and merchandised and eventually we’d totally lose touch of the point of Christianity (remember Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ?).

Have you heard of the sleeping giant? It’s apparently the greater, stupider, public. Perhaps that’s our biggest problem—the greater, stupider, public. The people in the world that no one can really ever connect with. Think of the telephone game. There are just too many people in the world: eventually your message will get lost. DID YOU KNOW, for example, that the people who lived in North America—before the whites killed everyone—were called Indians accidentally? I didn’t know that. All my life, I thought they were Indians, and just ashamed of being called Indians. We called them Indians because we actually thought this was India (Christopher Columbus thought that his whole life [four trips here and back]).

I remember being pissed in third grade, when my teacher said that they are called Native Americans. I shook my head and said “bull shit.” I had already been duped by my math teacher, who said that we weren’t going to have horizontal lines for our fractions, but we were now going to use diagonal ones, because that was the new standard. Ha. Yeah right. You can’t go back now. That’s what I thought, about those fractions, and those Indians. I’ve totally lost track of what I was writing about.

Anyway, you see how the concept of love can be confusing. I try not to believe any of it….  Love isn’t romantic. Romance isn’t love. It’s just like the Indians. We’ve been calling romance Love, because we thought we were in India. *You see, I knew I was making sense back in that other paragraph.* Well you’re not in India, and you never will be, unless you want to go and can afford it. You know what, this  is sounding a lot like the last paragraph.

Do you want someone to live with you, or someone to have kids with, or someone to play games with or go to movies with; do you think you’re going to be alone someday, and you want to fight that? I don’t know. I’m not sure if someone can end up truly alone, unless they really try. And some people really don’t mind, I guess. I think I want somebody to agree with my crazy ideas; I want somebody to challenge me, to be what I’m not, and to represent a side I’m not familiar with and cannot make up on my own. C.S. Lewis seemed to like that about his wife; how the real her was so unlike the her he imagined after she died, and how God is so unlike what we imagine; he’s so something other; he is ultimately in the ‘Other’ category; and that is something very very powerful, beyond words. My dead soul mate said that we have to like/enjoy how life changes, because life changes, life is change, nothing remains, and we have to like that. I’m not going to be in the situation I’m in forever; neither are you.  Every day, and every one, is something Other.

I’ve thought a lot about the ideal group: to be ultimately inclusive, of course.  But perhaps that’s the problem.  Groups are by nature of the word group exclusive.  A group is only distinguishable by traits unshared by others.  The solution?  Extreme individualism. Uniqueness.  A universal view of others as images of God’s Otherness.  Well wishes on that!

Is it love that I feel with a girl I find attractive?  I don’t think so.  I think it’s a revelation of myself, and something I can learn from; I don’t think just because I’m attracted to her, that I should leave anyone to go after her, no.  I’m sure my gut would lead me to someone else soon enough, and the whole thing will have been more detrimental than beneficial.  I think I just get emotional to see some girls.  If I can like her, can’t I like her a lot?  Can’t my blood boil to be with her?  I don’t think it’s Friends Lovers or Nothing: I think it’s just people getting along and dealing with our biological and social selves.  I’m attracted to women.  That happens.  But my biology can’t veto my decisions.   My emotions (my feelings) should not be my gods.

I learned a little while ago why Wikipedia is not an academic source.

Not because it is administrated by an array of out-of-touch, liberal nerds.  But because the information isn’t claimed by its numerous contributors.  In other words, I learned the extreme importance of acknowledging one’s bias.  Wikipedia does not acknowledge its contributors in any way—there’s no one to quote, no related experiences, no identity whatsoever.

When journalists gather information for a story, they look for bias.  Some might think they don’t, but they do. For each story (hopefully) there is a subject matter expert—I call them persons with necessary bias.  Everyone’s biased in some way: you look for someone with relevant, necessary bias; you can’t look for someone without bias to write your stories; in fact, if you could, the stories would suck. If you wanted to attempt to write an unbiased story on Canadian farming, for example, you would need to get an interview with a seven-year old, Japanese ballerina.  But journalists don’t do that; they get interviews with people who are experts in their field of study/work, who relate somehow, if not significantly, to the topic.  Every story, everyone, has a bias, has a voice, has a story.

And now, the topic at hand.  I’ve talked before about our thoughts not being our own.  Well, that’s my point: we can’t trust Wikipedia because it’s a cluster of unknown bias, and the same is true, for the most part, about our minds.  Some thoughts of ours we know quite well from where they come.  But we act on thoughts unintentionally derived from experiences and people of our past—to which, and to whom never are we asked if we wish to subscribe; and I think we ought to start thinking intentionally and with due recognition of our sources.  Find out why you believe what you believe: who are you trusting, where are your thoughts coming from, and should you continue thinking them?

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” - Henry Thoreau’s Walden

Immediate eye roller: listen closely…

It’s funny, actually.  At church, every now and then, someone will tell the congregation that God is at work, clearly, because they just read something on the same topic as the sermon, or the songs, or the scripture verses, or what someone else said or read.  Someone will say, “This is really something that God wants me to hear, because I just read that this morning.” They’ll say, “I can’t believe we just sang that song, because I was just reading about this.” Or perhaps the minister’s sermon will align with the praise teams songs, and they’ll say, “You know what, we didn’t even plan that.” And people will clap, or ooh, or aah—all while I am shaking my head with a grim look on my face, wondering, “Are you serious.”

It bothers me for three reasons: (1) Many Christians don’t believe in coincidence, (2) it is coincidence, and (3) God is not a god of coincidence.

Firstly, the odds are incredible!  In fact, let’s just look at some of the numbers:

Let’s say the congregation is 100 people.

10 of them read those daily bread devotional books which only touch on familiar topics and verses, and are usually read every single day (just these 10 will always connect the same ideas at church because they are READING THE SAME THING EVERY DAY)

30 of them read about a chapter of their bible every day, most likely a different book; the rest of them read occasionally.

Let’s say they are reading 20 books at a time. (20 out of 66 = %30 of the bible covered every week)

They might have five chapters a week which they could recall each Sunday (>150 chapters collectively each Sunday)

They’ll sing four songs, roughly, which at least touch on five recognizable Bible verses and eight biblical themes

Finally, the killer: The minister will preach on a rehashed, blatantly typical, overly generalized, topic.

It would be more surprising if a Sunday went by without someone drawing a connection between two of these factors.

Anyway, let me tell you why coincidence exists, and why God is not a god of it.

^{1 Samuel 26:7} So David and Abishai went to the army by night. And there lay Saul sleeping within the encampment, with his spear stuck in the ground at his head, and Abner and the army lay around him.

Twice (or more), David, by coincidence, was in the perfect position to kill Saul:

^{1 Samuel 24:3} And he came to the sheepfolds by the way, where there was a cave, and Saul went in to relieve himself. Now David and his men were sitting in the innermost parts of the cave.

Both times, David is goaded by his men, “Today God has delivered your enemy into your hands,” or “This is the day the LORD spoke of…”—Both times David’s men say that this is the work of the Lord, and David, both times, says “No.” No he will not kill Saul.  No he doesn’t think God wants him to kill Saul.  No he doesn’t think God put him in that perfect position to kill so that he could kill.

Leading by David’s example—The King After God’s Own Heart—I refuse to take coincidence as an indisputable sign of God.

In line with my last entry, on rejection, I haven’t written much of anything; in fact, I’ve written nothing.  Said nothing.  Even muffled my bodily noises.  I think this post might be very relevant.

So I went to Bayside Camp’s Cash Grab Dinner on Friday.  Saw many distinguished, dilapidated, religious gents.  I was in pain a lot of the evening, at the gross misuse of funding and their supreme lack of passion, along with their usual display of false spirituality (which they’re actually getting quite good at!).

After this, I thought for much of the weekend about religious institutions that I’ve been a part of and can’t stand: furthermore labelling their weaknesses.  I was in a daze about what to do. Who would I ultimately side with; which sins will I willingly promote, were my questions.

It wasn’t until Sunday morning, on the way to church for the first time in four weeks, that I realized the deception I had fallen under.  I was living with the lie that people—anybody—can have the same beliefs.  This, now, I dispute.

Snowflakes have robbed the world of a general truth: no two anything are exactly the same.  So what does this mean?  It means that I don’t have to fear rejection: it was misnamed, called upon in error.  Even if people are rejecting me because I don’t fit, I know now to expect that I won’t fit. Instead of thinking (1) that I am inferior to others, or (2) that I am superior to others, I now feel at an equal level.  I’m not prideful in saying that no two people will believe the same thing; I’m getting over my own anxieties.  I’ve been upset with everyone on some level because they weren’t me, essentially; I’ve been scared of church, because I felt anxiety in not believing what they’ve been preaching.

I used to believe that the ultimate relationship was a shared belief system.  You’re into leather pants?—Hey, me too. You wash the floor with your cat’s back?—that’s perfect.

Inaccuracy stirs inability.
My initiative fades with familiarity.
No books, no conversation, no smiling will lift my spirit, because I fear rejection.