Morality (an excerpt)

from October 2012 

I have been trying to figure out just what it is that bothers Christians about the idea that there may be no God telling us exactly what is good and evil. This seems to be a big deal! I have friends in a panic over the mere suggestion. There may be some side issues, but it appears to boil down to a Christian's desire for accountability; not even so much for themselves as for everyone else. Christianity teaches there are eternal consequences: rewards for those who do good, punishment for those who do not. I know that on the surface they believe this just because the Bible teaches it, so to them my reasoning doesn't matter, but the people I talk to are genuinely concerned about a world without guidelines. From what I can tell, they need a Big Daddy in the sky to turn to for justice because, frankly, they are immature. They are like a little child on a playground getting bullied, demanding the intervention of the teacher, demanding that the teacher make the bully play by the rules or suffer the consequences. A mature person does not need this intervention. A mature person does not need a set of moral rules. A mature person does not need to see someone else punished and does not seek reward. A mature person makes their way through life by reasoning. Christianity keeps people dependent like a child. Deism is for grown-ups.

Exploring Deism (an excerpt)

December 5, 2012

I think Deism is the natural first response of someone who has reasoned that the Bible is not the revelation of God.  It’s incredibly freeing, not having to muck about Bible verses trying to make sense of it all.  Deists reason that there is a God, a first cause, some intelligence behind life in the universe–because there is life.  Because it is, there must be something that caused it to be.  So simple, so easy.

My reason is at it again. It’s easy to say that, "everything exists so there must be a creator," but there are plenty of people saying otherwise.  My reason demands explanations, scientific evidence for creation and purpose. To believe without evidence is faith, something I apparently am not comfortable with. I may as well have kept my religion. Back up what you believe with reason or don’t bother.

So, now I’m swimming in the extremely vast quantity of scientific facts regarding life, the universe and everything, involving enough branches of science to keep me busy for twenty-eight and a half lifetimes. And I thought religion was complex!

What I’m trying to convince my overwhelmed brain is that it’s okay to not have all the answers today.  Or in this lifetime.  What is important is to live the fullest life I’m able, for the betterment of myself and for those around me.  I know I absolutely cannot do that if I am stressed about answers.  Can I strike the balance of living and searching for meaning and truth without becoming stressed?

A month ago I would have said I would never become an atheist or even an agnostic.  My view of God had changed from God as a personal, involved father figure to an impersonal, uninvolved but benevolent creator.  I was assured by someone close to me (with beliefs similar to mine) not to fear, that my relationship with God was unchanged, or maybe changed for the better, that I could still pray, still speak to God.  I did for awhile, but I soon found myself disinclined to do so.  I was as likely to speak my meditative thoughts to my favorite stars, the trees, my dog, my dead grandfather (never expecting responses, of course).  My gratitude toward my creator hadn’t changed when I laid the Bible aside, but in the last few weeks I’ve found it becoming a general thankfulness, not directed anywhere, just a state of being.

Being Me

April 12, 2013

I was rather exhausted after a somewhat emotional day.  I knew I needed to recharge.  My idea:  do something wholly and uniquely  Kaleesha.

Step 1:  Figure out what that looks like.

Step 2:  Figure out how to do it with an injured foot.  (Rusty nail incident two days 
prior.)

It didn’t take long for me to realize that none of the things that came to mind weren’t exactly unique to me, but now, all of them together… ah ha.  I am merely the sum of all my parts.  And I would have to choose the fun things for this Me Day, not the melancholy things.  Had enough of that the day before.
I thought I’d share how shaped up, a little day-in-the-life break from the norm.

• Write.  These days, when I write, I think of singer/songwriter Van Morrison and his latest album, “Born To Sing; No Plan B.”  Born to write.  It’s in my blood.
• Share.  Sharing is a good 7/8ths the fun of writing.  And everything else in life for that matter.  I started by posting some older journal entries here on the blog.  I shared bits of my day on Facebook.
• Dress fun.  I rarely dress up and when I do I like to dress fun, express myself.  Comfy, fun, blue jeans.  I usually wear skirts, but jeans just seemed to suit the day.  Red t-shirt.  Red is my bold, fun color; I don’t wear it often.  When you see me in red, you know I’m having an extroverted sort of day.  Hair down, brushed 100 strokes, with a string braid clipped in; my old pal Teddy made it for me years ago.  Jewelry—I also rarely wear jewelry anymore—sliver daisy bracelet, daisy necklace made from a quarter that a friend’s cousin gave me as a birthday present when we were teens—one of the coolest birthday gifts ever.  Hat.  A good hat can make your day.  My favorite fragrance; Tahitian Vanilla, an oil I picked up years ago in a “new age” shop and have used sparingly.  It’s sensual, delicious, heavenly.

It’s amazing how little things like the above make you feel better about yourself.

• Get a decent photo of myself.  Nice to have one of those on hand, a little proof that I exist…

Stylin’, right?  (Don’t ask me how long it took me to get this shot, or how many photos I deleted!)  This reminds me of me at 17.   Oh, wait, check this out.  My friend Trish sketched this picture of me at age 17.  We were hanging out at a friend’s apartment:

• Playing guitar and singing.  I’m not, nor have I ever been, very good at either, but I continue to play and sing.  Very rarely do I play for anyone else anymore, just the children, if they will listen.  Sometimes a friend begs and I give in, trembling with nervousness but delighted they are interested.  It’s mostly just a treat for me.  Today I’m practicing some Lumineers, Passenger, and Fun.
• Tend my critters.  I hobbled to the barn and milked the goats, fed the chickens, watched the kid goats play.  I was filled with gratitude that I am able to have this in my life, that these animals provide food for my family, sometimes giving their lives but mostly not, mostly just trusting me to take care of them and sharing what they have with me.  Ornery as they can all be at times, frustrating as it is to troubleshoot various ailments, they bring me no small amount of pleasure.
• Trip to town.  Overcast and breezy, but warm and springy.  Fields blush green, trees bud, daffodils pop, cows mate (get a room!  Have some decency!)… I love the 10 minute drive.  I love popping into the feed store and chatting with Debi.  I love driving Bobby’s car; it’s so smooth, easy to handle, so quiet… and the stereo system is decent.  I scan the stations and of the three available I am lucky one is a rock station.  I jam to Dire Straits’ “Money For Nothing” and Aerosmith’s “Ragdoll” while waiting for Bobby to get plumbing parts at the hardware store, watching the traffic and people in our rural little town.  This isn’t my favorite music, but I like it and it suits the day.  I am feelin’ groovy.
• Photography.  Snapping shots of my children, my home, my critters, my creek.  Capturing moments, because as much as I think I will never forget the unbelievable sweetness of Little Brook’s face turned to mine, her curls piled wildly on her head, framing her big brown eyes, that moment when she smiles and her dimples deepen impossibly just for me… I will.  She will grow.  She will lose the innocence and unhindered admiration for and trust in her mama.  I must remember that it was there, once upon a time.  That for a time I was her most favorite person in the world, a cherished mama.   (This goes for all my children and the specialness of all their stages—it’s just an easy example.)   And I want to remember the way the sky looks when it’s about to rain, and the view of my house as I return from the barn, and the way the creek swells and rushes after a rain.
• Life absorption. Then I put the camera away.  I don’t want to live my life only in future photographs, I want to live it now.  I want to absorb every bit of life I can, moment to moment, merely for what it is but also trusting that it will nurture me, change me, enrich me now for always.  And that by living my life I can enrich the lives of others; that when they meet me, talk with me, watch me, they will soak up some of me… hopefully to the enrichment of their lives.  So I focus on the moment, allowing myself to be moved by my environment.  This is really what a Me Day is about.
• Mothering.  I sit and watch my children.  They sing silly songs, play games and interact with each other at the dining table over a simple lunch.  Who are these seven incredible people and why are they calling me Mom? How could the universe see fit to bestow these gifts on me?  Justin with his expressive face; he loves to make people laugh, loves to do things.  Seth with his shy smile, crazy hair down in his eyes, thinking amazing things and sharing so little of it, but surprising you when he does.  Blue with her out-of-the-Blue uncanny reflections upon everyday things.
  
  I brush their hair, help them find their shoes, comfort them when they are hurt, guide them in their academics, instruct them in kindness and patience (though I need the lessons as much myself), encourage them to be who they are, challenge them to be all they can be, enjoy them like no one else can.

Well now, everything else just kind of pales in comparison to that.


I spent a goodly amount of time just tackling things that needed to be done; responsibilities don’t disappear just because you feel like having a day for yourself.  But I found that with decision to live my day, to enjoy my day, to make the most of my day, that I could find special pleasure in even the mundane things like laundry and sweeping.

Because I still needed to rest my injured foot, I was able to spend time propped up in bed, chatting online with a good friend.  Is there anything as wonderful as building friendships and truly connecting with others?  It’s most enjoyable in person, of course, when you can see your friend close their eyes, wrinkle their nose and tilt their head back in compulsive laughter at something you just said, or share a moment of meditative silence together, connecting without words.  But, as a writer especially, I find engaging online via Facebook and email and chat to hold a special joy of it’s own, not just as a supplement to “real” friendships, but something wonderful in it’s own right.  When you know the person on the “other side of the screen” so well that you don’t need a winking emoticon to tell you they are joking or being sarcastic; when you can hear their laughter when you read “LOL” and feel their frustration when they write about their bad day; when you can exchange quips with lightening speed and not have to explain yourself; when you take time out of your day just to say “hey” and know it’s a treat waiting for them when they take time out of their day to see what’s happening online; when you write a long letter to a friend and they only respond to a tiny portion of it but you know they enjoyed the whole thing…   Internet friendships can be very rich.  I have always enjoyed my online friendships, but it’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed myself this much.

Sewing was near the top of my original list, and working in the greenhouse, and baking and going for a walk…  I did manage to get some brownies baked and eaten; definitely a Me thing.  Made some bread in the evening.  Watered the baby tomatoes and peppers and lettuce, sowed some more flower seed, played with the cat and her kittens who reside in there. Never did get to the sewing room.  Couldn’t do the walking thing because of my foot and that is most unfortunate because that is one of my favorite things to do.

It was a sampler sort of day and I didn’t even get to sample everything I wanted.  A few years ago I realized that I would need a good dozen or so lives to explore and experience all the things I would like to explore and experience.  Several of them would involve intensive travel and living in places like Corfu.  Several of them would also involve having a huge disposable income.  Ha.

That said, if I had to choose one life…  with very few alterations it would be the one I am living now.  Homesteading in rural Missouri, making do and sometimes doing without, learning and growing and mothering and befriending and teaching and absorbing life.  Thanks for sharing it with me, dear readers.  May we all learn to live intentionally the lives before us.

The Gift of Hindsight (an excerpt)

February 2013

Thinking back, examining everything I can remember of my life, every rich and worthwhile thing I experienced either was or could have been had without religion. Love, peace, joy, forgiveness, friends, family, intimacy, sex, natural pregnancy and births, many children, intentional parenting, homeschooling, country living, goats, chickens, gardening, traveling, appreciation of nature, community, food, fellowship. The list is long. What about the hard parts? I did lean on my faith in God when I became pregnant out of wedlock (but notice my faith didn't help me when faced with premarital sex!). And I turned to God for comfort when my niece and nephew died in a house fire (but our family and friendships were so strong I think we comforted each other more--I could just as easily have blamed God). I have always given God credit for restoring my marriage and bringing Bobby around from a bad place, but for my part I can look back with my new eyes and vividly see myself struggling to understand and practice forgiveness because the only alternative was bitterness--that's the way it works, under God or not-- as well as considering what my future would look like as a single mom. I imagine Bobby faced similar tough decisions and that very practical things made him lay down his old life to become a family man. We made decisions based upon what we thought was best; we were not led by the Holy Spirit.

There's no denying it's nice to believe someone is taking care of you, always listening, always loving you for who you are and forgiving your mistakes. I didn't want to let that go, but the foundation came out from under my God, disturbed from the very depths of the Bible. I was born a thinker, encouraged to develop and use reason and reason is the antithesis of faith. If you don't believe, you don't believe.

Wouldn't it be even nicer if that sort of loving, listening, forgiving relationship were more tangible? When I realized I made it all up I was at once hurt, embarrassed, and empowered. I know that in just the few months since my god vanished in a poof of holy smoke I have become the sort of person Christians either despise or pity. I can hear the "tsk tsk" and the sigh of sorrow even now. I exalt myself above God. By taking back the credit I'd always given God, saying "that came from within me, not some higher power," I have insulted many people. What can I say? I know how it smacks of everything they stand against because I know what I thought then of people like the one I am now. I hear the things that come out of my mouth, hear my thoughts, and I stand amazed. The old me would have put a lot of distance between herself and the new me, so I choke sometimes thinking how fast the transformation took place! Not much distance there after all. I'm now on the other side (oops, sides! No getting around it, is there?) and feeling occasional pity and occasional disgust for the religious in their boxes.

Let me be clear; I have few regrets. I believe that I did the best I could with what I had to work with and there's always peace with that reflection. With few exceptions I've lived a sincere and honest life, being true to myself. Thomas Paine says, "Infidelity does not consist in believing, or in disbelieving; it consists in professing to believe what he does not believe." I have always been true to what I believed, no matter what anyone thought.

Feeding The Wolves; A Ramble About Being Human (an excerpt)

From April 2013

I’m learning amazing things about myself these days. For one, I've discovered that writing is a form of meditation for me. Well, I guess I knew that, but on a deeper level I've figured out what blogging does for me compared with journaling.

My natural disposition seems to be a rather melancholy, dramatic one. A lot of “woe is me” and “ isn't this terribly sad” and “it’s so tragically romantic,” that sort of thing. Yeah, seriously. It’s a little more subtle than that—I’m very clever, you know--but it’s there. That’s my native bent. When you see me bubbly and overflowing with joy, wildly wielding a positive outlook on life, well, it’s not fake, it’s just… determination. I have given some thought to who I want to be and I try to make decisions on a regular basis that will get me where I want to be.

To be fair to myself (something I am not often), I should probably say these are two sides to myself. Like that story that floats endlessly around on the internet, there are two wolves inside of me and which ever one I feed is the one that will grow stronger. So no, I’m not being fake when I am upbeat, even in the face of ugly circumstances, rather I have made a decision, sometimes a hard one. You may never know how much I want to cry when instead I suck it up and smile. 

A few years ago I got to thinking about how elderly people seem to be a reflection of their whole life’s decisions. Those who continually chose to be angry and upset, to bitch and moan about what life dealt them, in their old age they seem to lose the strength to choose anything but this bitterness. But those who learned to let it go, to forgive, to love, to be content… Practice may not make perfect, but it makes it easier to practice again. Love becomes your first response even when you’re too tired to choose if you’ve chosen it over and over during your lifetime. I’ve thought about what kind of grandma I want to be. A crunchy, bitter old hag (I would make such a good one!) that makes you silently vow to never grow old yourself, or a kind, understanding old gal with laughing eyes that speak to you the richness of the a life well lived and well loved. I will be a cookie-baking granny either way, but I want those around me to eat my sweets with relish, trusting that I haven’t snuck in some arsenic.

When I journal for myself I tend to write eloquent lamentations. When I write for an audience I am more likely to choose the high road, feed the Love wolf, embrace the positive nature. I explore with my words and I see the struggle inside myself and I make a decision. Putting it in writing cements it. I walk away from the computer understanding what I face and who I am, able to hold my head up, able to choose life and love. Excellent and inexpensive therapy.

I do this for me, but I also do it for you, dear reader. I want you to see my struggles; yes, partly because I want you to know me, because I desire to connect to others on this level (and I have a nasty martyr streak), but also so that you will understand that you have the same struggles and the same choices. You have the same opportunity to contemplate and make decisions about who you want to be.

Respectfully Yours

(originally shared on another blog on 3/30/13)

A few days ago I created a new blog space because I thought I needed to be able to speak more freely my thoughts about religion.  I invited a few friends there, friends I knew wouldn’t freak out if I used a colorful word or expressed frustration over an interaction with an unreasonable conservative Christian.  I posted a rambling, emotional post about some old hurts, new hurts, friendships…  A rather boring post that probably interested no one.  I should have been more discerning and kept that sort of thing to my journal, but I learned something about myself in the ensuing days…

I’m a flippin’ hypocrite.

Who knew?

(That was rhetorical.  Please put your hands down.)

I’ve always strived to be genuine and transparent in my writing, as well as in person (though anything goes with phone calls).  I had to stop and ask myself why I was suddenly trying to be two different people, one who rants about the evils of religion and one who just smiles and pretends like she’s okay with Christianity so she doesn’t hurt her Christian friends?  I thought about a couple things I’d said in my rambling post over there;  “Just by being you, you will piss somebody off, I promise.”

Now, here’s the thing: I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I would rather do so than be a hypocrite.  I have too often hidden what I really think for the sake of making or keeping peace.  I’m not talking about just spilling every little thought that comes to mind, rather not being afraid to say things that need to be said, when they need to be said.  I want to be genuine.  If I feel I have to express something that is really offensive, I don’t want to just shut my mouth and hold it in, I want to examine myself to see if my thinking is right and true, and to adjust it if need be.  I have people in my life who I know think rotten things about me but are syrupy sweet to my face (except for the occasional outburst) and I bloody hate that.  I wish they’d either get over it and change the way they think about me or accept it and stop pretending to like me.  Not everyone in the world likes each other or has to be the same!  But we should show each other respect. And we can’t genuinely respect someone if we’re not genuine about our differences and feelings.

Perhaps a definition of respect is in order:

1.  esteem: a feeling or attitude of admiration and deference toward somebody or something
2.  state of being admired: the state of being admired deferentially
3.  thoughtfulness: consideration or thoughtfulness 

With that definition, I can see how it would be hard to respect someone who holds views so different than your own; tolerance would perhaps be a better word here, but I wholeheartedly believe you should respect that another person has the right to those beliefs and convictions, just as you do.  We should behave politely and speak considerately. 

Definition of tolerance: 

1.  permit something: to be willing to allow something to happen or exist  2.  endure something: to withstand the unpleasant effects of something  
3.  accept existence of different views: to recognize other people's right to have different beliefs or practices without attempting to suppress them 

I suppose if we cannot muster up respect, at least we can be politely tolerant of each other.

Where was I?

Ah, yes…

On the other blog I also shared about how a Christian friend recently expressed her discomfort over our friendship, how her faith is so important to her and she feels almost like she’s compromising it, etc.   And I got to thinking, why am I not expressing how important my freedom from faith is? Because I don’t want to hurt her.  I love her and will always try not to hurt her, but… yeah, it’s sort of uncomfortable for me too, I guess maybe I cannot be myself with her anymore.  Her faith doesn’t bother me; I no longer have the religious boundaries that tell me who I can and can’t befriend and part of this wonderful new journey is learning how to accept all manner of people and beliefs, but the fact that she would be offended by what I think of Christianity or by some of my rapidly growing skeptical thoughts… You just can’t be as close when you feel there are things you can’t talk about, when you have to measure words so carefully.  (Maybe we crossed from respect to tolerance.)  In my effort to keep peace I’m not so sure I was completely genuine in my conversation with her.  Then again, I don’t think I need to be brutally honest; some thought before opening my mouth is not a bad idea.

So, here we are.  As Vizzini the Sicilian says, “It is down to you and it is down to me.”  I will be deleting the other blog.  I will write here.  I will be myself.  If I have something I feel I need to say, I will write it.   If you are a Christian and you have kept up with me this far…  wow.  I’d be surprised.  But if you are, I want you to know I “love the Christian but hate the Christianity,” (to steal the Christian’s mantra of, “love the sinner but hate the sin.”) As I occasionally share about my escape from religion there will be many things for a Christian to choke on, to ruffle your feathers, but I will try not to bash anybody.  That is the kind of thing I don’t want to do to anyone, ever, the kind of thing I want to get to the heart of… my heart.  If I am tempted to go there, I need to deal with that and get my heart right, not just blog about it elsewhere.  Okay?  That’s what is going on inside me.  (Some of my struggle is bound to spill over here, but understand that it’s something I’m working on.)  I would much rather share honest, kind reflections on why religion is so devastatingly destructive and how Christianity in particular believes some seriously twisted stuff--either to help someone understand why I bailed or to help them see why they should--than let my overdeveloped sarcastic side romp and play, fun as it is.

My blog is not required reading for anyone.  Maybe you’d prefer not to come back at all, or maybe you’d like to visit only the categories you are interested in, those about life on the farm or pictures of the children.  By all means, feel free to pick and choose!  (I have to question the sanity of someone who would care to take in everything I produce, though I admit to enjoying the thought that someone would.  Oh, to be known and loved!)   If you are here looking for some reason to hate me, you will find it.  Just don’t smile and hug me when you see me next.  Be good enough to show me some polite tolerance, just don’t pretend you’re glad to see me.  And if you see me and smile in spite of yourself, why not take some time to think about why you feel you shouldn't?