I haven't been able to sleep lately. It's kind of awful. Instead of sleeping, I have been taking pictures of myself in the mirror looking vaguely ghost-like (it should be noted that a lot of things can seem vaguely ghost-like at two in the morning): 

Then I spend some time contemplating a push-up regime, decide that it will probably only make my arms look bigger, and continue ferrying something delicious into the hole in my face. Then I write some stuff. I'd say the one plus of not being able to get to sleep, or stay asleep, is that I have been writing more. Which also means I've been thinking more, and the kind of thinking that happens when one ought to be sleeping is either the best or worst kind of thinking, I haven't decided yet. Anyway I've also been reading some Thomas Merton lately, which may be part of the reason why one of the things I've been thinking about is my relationship with Catholicism. (This is probably too long for blog standards and too ramble-y and half-baked for consumption but uh. Too bad?)

Once when I was around four, our priest called all the young children up to the altar and told some story about seagulls or pelicans or something. Then we were supposed to fly back to our families like the seagulls; probably it was about our flock, or something, I really don't know. In any case when all the other kids flapped their arms back to their parents, I just stayed there. My legs were crossed, my hands were folded in my lap, and I remember looking at the priest like "You're here, I'm here, we're having a party - go ahead, I'm all ears." He thought it was hilarious, because I am and always have been that, and I think I ended up seeing my grandparents and went to perch in their pew. (Do seagulls even perch? There's too much bird stuff going on in this paragraph, I know. But you're here, I'm here, we're having a party - it's  fine.)

Sometimes I miss Catholicism. Maybe it's the "god gene," maybe it's that my birth made a long line of Roman Catholics even longer, or maybe it's just that I really like incense and candles and chanting in darkened rooms. God only knows. (See what I did there.)

For every Mass I've ever attended, which in the last decade has been almost none, there are about seventeen million decidedly un-Catholic things I have done. "Venial sins," for the sake of our theme. The idea of the Papacy doesn't sit right with me and I disagree with a lot of Church doctrine - I don't think being gay or using birth control is a sin and I think it's silly that women can't be ordained, etc etc yadda yadda yadda. And obviously there are Catholics who don't agree with the church on  everything, so why don't I just shut up and be one of them, right? (Also a ton of Catholics do NOT shut up about the things they disagree with - priests secretly ordaining women, underground churches - it really is a party.) I don't know. I don't know why I can align myself with a company I don't entirely agree with (THIS BLOG IS IN NO WAY A REFLECTION OF CITY YEAR blah bleh) because I believe in its bones but not with a religion. Like, if I enjoy my work but think my company is kind of the worst sometimes,
why is that more okay to me than enjoying a faith but thinking the institution of that faith is kind of sketch sometimes? Why is it more okay for me to disagree with my company's policies than it would be for me to disagree with the doctrines of my church? Either way, I'm part of something that impacts my life. And either way, I'm going to do what I think is right anyway. Plus also, if I tell my boss to F off I'll probably get fired. If I tell my priest to do the same I get forgiven! By God, anyway. I imagine the priest might be more likely to hold a grudge against that one ornery lamb in the congregation bleating curse words at him.

Because, and here's my other thing: the priest is only human. And so are the bishops and the cardinals and the pope. Jesus and the saints were all human beings. Kings and queens and presidents and dictators and sultans and generals and pharoahs and doctors and lunatics and you and me and everybody we know are. all. human. I have a really, really hard time with any kind of thinking that includes God as a separate being. God, to me, is inside of us. For me, that means a lot of things. It means that we're all fallible and wonderful in equal parts. I think the journey to be closer to God is an inward one, not a climb up some holy ladder. (The space for contemplation in Catholicism, not unlike Zen, is one of its more attractive parts for me.) Solitude, searching inward, reflection - all extremely significant parts of my life. (Re:  Hermit-y.) I love and believe in people. I don't want to be around them all the time, because honestly they're exhausting, but I want to serve them. Like a lot of my fellow asocials, I live the seeming contradiction of having chosen and continuing to choose occupations based on a desire to make life better for people. I've experienced the community, the opportunity to connect born out of tragedy. There have also been simple conversations over cups of coffee or seemingly random exchanges with strangers or thoughts that occur to me during periods of fallowness ('fallowness' is a word, spell-check, take it up with the dictionary) that have drastically altered my worldview.  Those moments, those feelings, those times - momentous or seemingly trivial - I don't mind saying that I feel God then. Maybe not a biblical God, but definitely Something. So why, then, if I can feel God when someone kind helps me with my bag on the train or in the space between the palm of a child's hand and my own... why do I need religious doctrine? What use do I have for rituals? What is the point of the church hierarchy, of the whole institution, when leaves on the ground feel every bit as holy to me as the altar?

The thing is - the altar does feel holy to me. Despite the fact that my brain is like, "Uh, why? Because some dude said some words over it? You think there's some magic beans in that chalice? 'Body and blood of Christ?' Ew, and creepy, and ew." And despite my objections to the Papacy, I automatically regard people like priests and nuns with a certain amount of reverence. Perhaps this is a byproduct of catechism classes during my formative years or something, but I tend to think it's more their faith I admire, their willingness to believe in and dedicate their lives to something so fully. Maybe the ritual, the idea of being a 'practicing' Catholic (or a practicing anything) is appealing because I want to know how to feel God at times when I normally feel isolated or scared or desolate or devastated or rejected. Maybe I have felt it, in the form of a kind word from someone when I'm sad or an unexplainable peace settling down around my histrionics, and maybe I just can't always recognize it.

I can't find a way to end this, which is fitting, given the topic. So I'm not going to agonize over it. You are not my English teacher. (Unless you are, in which case hello, and can this count as extra credit?)