All posts tagged faith


Published December 13, 2013 by April Fox

I’ve held in my hands
a thousand pretty deities
and all the ugly ones
Turned them over, inspected them
for authenticity
crushed their life out,
saved my breath
for my own resuscitation

Buried them
under mounds of ash
from old deposit slips
and torn-off clothing
(the buttons, when they burn
are worn out tires)
and letters written late at night
to no one in particular
ribbons from cassette tapes melt
and scar their holy corpses

There is nothing in their flesh
that makes them real

There is no kind of belief
can make them whole.

Thinking Before Breakfast

Published April 11, 2012 by April Fox

I dislike the fact that loving one particular person, out of the millions you encounter, can change the way you look at almost everything else in the world. Not that I want to change that, not that I want to undo any of the things that have been done so far, not that I would alter one single bit of our existence, but I feel as if I’m rearranging all the particles of myself to make sense of something that, two years ago, couldn’t make sense because it didn’t exist. How do I explain to myself the believing and un-believing of these things? If science and faith can coexist, I need to find out how. You have your god, and I have this, and acceptance thereof is somehow bittersweet.

This is like particle physics taking over my brain, and going terribly wrong.

I remember when we used to sit up all night talking about things like that-now it’s work schedules and what’s for dinner and I think that means we passed the science test.

I’d Depend on the Universe if I Was a Planet-Maybe

Published February 19, 2012 by April Fox

This is one of those nights when I think, I don’t deserve this.

The kids were on their best behavior all week, not that we usually have any major problems out of them. Work is coming in, not enough, not yet, but it’s finding its way from unexpected places. I survived my first reading, made the audience cry-and not because I sucked, and outsold every other author in the store that day. Beloved and his band got the green light to go forward with their new album, and it should be out in a couple of months. The dog hasn’t eaten anyone’s face, poisoned itself with garbage or exploded all over the kitchen, and the cat hasn’t killed him yet. The house is clean, laundry is almost caught up, the kitchen is stocked with good food and nobody’s sick.  The bank account is in the black and none of the bills are in the red.

If you drive a BMW and just tested the pH in your hot tub, some of those probably seem like very minor things. If you high-five your spouse when the check engine light goes off in your Kia minivan and wish the hot water in the shower lasted long enough for you to shave your legs and wash your hair in the same trip, you get it.

Things are good. And that scares the hell out of me. I’m afraid to get used to it, afraid to depend on it. Afraid to buy the good toilet paper this week because the next, we may not be able to afford the sandpaper kind. Afraid to waste gas on going to the park because I may not have enough to get the baby to dance later on. Afraid to breathe, because the next breath may be toxic.

I know those people who say “Let god handle it.”

1. I’m an atheist.

2. Even if I wasn’t, I tried that “Let someone else handle it” shit once. There’s always a handling fee, and fuck that.

I know those people who say “The universe will provide.”

1. The universe is gas and matter and anti-matter.

2. All it’s going to provide is meteorites and stuff like that.

I live in Asheville, center of the laid-back, let-it-be, Everything Zen universe. I should be steeped in the ways of “It will be OK,” but I missed that class or something. I can fill parking meters, chat up homeless guys, share my drinks with buskers I’ve never seen before; my ten-year-old reminded me the other day that we need hemp oil, I’ve seen Artimus at the brewery, and I wear skirts over my pants. I’ve been to hoop jams and drum circles, volunteered at festivals, camped in the van by some river whose name I can’t remember. I’ve got the culture down, except for the theory that things will all work out.

The fact is life is scary, especially at 3:30 in the morning when I’m tipsy and the kids aren’t home and a snowstorm’s moving in.

And tonight, when things are good, all I can think is how do I deserve this?

And then I remember that I didn’t deserve all the shit I got before either, and that karma is a laugh and god is a joke and we are where we are because of the steps that we’ve taken and the things that we’ve tripped over, and then I can finally breathe and say that things will be ok.

Sugar Melted Love Rave

Published February 15, 2012 by April Fox

Loving someone completely and being loved back the same way is the most awesome and terrifying thing in the world-not awesome in the colloquial sense, but in the literal sense.
No hyperbole in my use of terrifying, either. (This is rare, my lack of hyperbole.)
Do you ever get used to this? Is getting used to it something to which I should even aspire? I don’t think so.  [Rambling this morning… no more sugar right before bed. It sends my brain into some kind of neurotic frenzy.]

How does someone who doesn’t believe in anything reconcile with the fact that she believes in something? How do I not hate myself for being gullible and small when everything about this tells me that believing makes me neither of those things?

Beloved is no help in these conversations. He simply says, You just know. I just know. It’s the way it is, the way we’re supposed to be; it’s who we are.

That does not satisfy the logical part of my brain, thank you very much, subtle genius.

He is usually even more bound by logic than I am-it makes our occasional arguments that much more frustrating-but in this case, he claims faith like we’re religion. Are we?

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