Gail (gailmarie) wrote,

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The funny thing about religion and spirituality is the feeling you have when you lose faith.

I think it would surprise a lot of people I know that for the first 13 years of my life, I attended church almost every Sunday. My mom likes to tell the story that when I was 6 weeks old, I had already been to church 3 times. There was one summer, when Sunday School was not in session, that I opted to go to church with my mother almost every week, even though some of my siblings were going to be doing fun things, like going to the Renaissance Faire. I was probably 9 or 10 years old at that time.

As a child, you don't really know what religion is, or why it matters, but for some reason, we take children anyway. There are studies, I've heard, that claim the importance of giving children some sort of basis in faith and the belief in something greater. I don't know how true this is, but it seems right, to a certain degree. Having the feeling that something bigger than yourself is there to protect you is comforting. And when I think of the loss I felt when I realized religion wasn't for me, I think that had I not hand anything in the first place, something would have felt empty.

Perhaps something still feels empty. But there are a lot of things missing from my life, and I don't think belief in a divine being is going to change that. I'm so critical and analytic when it comes to things like scripture, that I sit in church now and quietly scoff. But at the same time, I see how wonderful it would be to believe in something like that. Perhaps it's a little naive, innocent wide eyes of a child taking in everything told as the (*ahem*) gospel truth, but never questioning your faith would feel empowering, I think.

I console myself with the thought that I am like Eve, I took a bite of the fruit and I see the flaws in everything, including religion, church, the Bible, what-have-you. And I take solace in the fact that if there is a divine being, if there is a "god," he would love me despite my doubts and criticism. I just don't think I could ever go back to that sort of blind faith. It doesn't make sense.

These days, I think we set ourselves up for failure when it comes to faith. We tell children about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, the Boogie Man. And one-by-one, these ideas are crushed. It's only logical that a child would assume God to be another myth, something your parents made up so you would behave well; a scare tactic. So when you have no proof otherwise, why discern that Santa and the Tooth Fairy aren't real, but God is?


Enough about religion, let's talk dreams.

Last night I had a dream that I was Stage Managing. It's not the first time, though this case was a bit unique. It started, actually, as me sneaking into a dance performance with the lovelies Carly and Becca. But it evolved into me calling a show that took place in my old house. Chazz was the sound guy, and was bitching about not having an assistant to whom he could pass off all his work, and Goldy was the lighting guy who was in charge of keeping me from freaking out, as I fell into the job 10 minutes after the show started. It was crazy and mad, but I remember in the dream thinking, "Yeah, this is really fun. I love this."

I miss my old house...a lot. Perhaps more than I should, but I was emotionally invested to that house. It was my anchor. I still feel untethered, and I think I might always be a little unbalanced.

But that was only half of it. The stage management thing is still plaguing me. I keep telling myself that I had to leave Indiana, there was no possible way I could have stayed. And even if I wasn't that happy there, I had friends. A lot of them, actually. I had success in the theatre program, and I was well on my way to doing everything I loved. I was taking theatre, film, art history, and French classes. Because I could and because I wanted to. At UCF, I can't take classes outside my major, unless they are basic, entry-level courses. So I can't take French classes, and I can't take theatre classes. Two of my loves and my passions will never be part of my academic life again. And that's a little hard to cope with, especially when I know that I could have done very well in both.

This dream spoke of all the things I have loved and lost because my mother decided to move. I don't know if I will ever fully cope.

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