I have to state this first, because everything written after will make sense, but I do believe and respect one’s opinion and philosophy to religion. I do not subscribe to that camp that sneers or turns a lip (in secret) when someone, family or friend, shares a religious experience of moment of devotion with me. I don’t. Perhaps my mere “I don’t” incriminates me as an ally into the aforementioned camp (or to its practices), who knows? I grew up in a religious house-hold; having friends who have meandered wildly in way or another on Earth only to find themselves (now) happy, in a relationship or under the direct beam of their faith and it’s many names and incarnations. This said, in their new sphere of living, I cast no stone toward them. I do not regard their lives as any better or my own a clandestine pox of woe. I’m not devoted as my friends are; I have a sort of first-cousin relationship with my faith, and in this incarnation I am “ok” with.

Admittedly in the past I’ve resented some human illustration or display of faith, not because I envy their coupling, but because to a degree I hinted a smarmy sort of prestige from their “after-glow”. I’ve since re-examined my viewfinder and referenced what I thought was a smeared impression on the human spirit to be nothing more than me projecting a clear beam of self-insecurity. I held the tendency in the past, with glimmers recently, to criticism or make jovial notion of a serious event (by which I will not get into for fear of further, deepening embarrassment on my part). Altruistic as it is, I can sometimes share my opinion where no request or invitation was given. This is my failing–a short-lived one. I once regarded a former college-mate as false, an arrogant miscreant, who wrapped himself in the Robe of Nazareth only to proclaim himself special, deemed enlightened, and then commit carnal error by judging the value and happenstance of others.

Yeah, seriously…I thought this!

I’ve learned that if someone chooses a path that they love, and receives this love from the faces and words of others, it can’t be bad—I can’t falsely adjudicate them. Sure, relationships–friendships–fade, but if I know a friend is happy with what they are doing, in their life; if their choices bring them up over any personally melancholy or abysmal sadness that had previously embraced their walking day, then I am unyieldingly happy.

I sometimes rush out of my bedroom without making my bed. I need to be mindful of my return.


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