10.9.11

I am afraid of being angry with God, though I often am. Afraid that my anger will require some harsh, predicated punishment that He, impersonally, will be obligated to deliver. Last night I realized that some unknown someone had taken advantage of me, had taken something that I desperately needed - something that I had worked hard to secure for myself - and would not be returning it. I, of course, went immediately to God in order to direct my fury as He is obviously the one in control of things that I desperately need - this implying that I am in control of everything else - this implying that I should only really recognize Him in the extremes, in the tails of my logical, bell-curve existence - this implying that only injustice or extra-justice should be attributed to God - this implying that God is more mysterious than science has previous proven - this implying that He is not trustworthy as to matters of certainty - this implying that there is an incomprehensible system of divine justice which, as it cannot be predicted, can only be feared - this implying that God, be He personal or impersonal, only allocates mercy to those righteous souls who would never, as a consequence of their saintly nature, be angry with Him - this implying that I should never feel anger in any circumstance due to its high consequences, namely damnation - this implying that my current anger with God would disqualify me from other things that I desperately need - this generating an intense emotional conflict in which I was furious that my Father should deny me my allowance and simultaneously terrified that my reaction would deny me further allowances (these allowances, by the way, already causing enough terror in the clearly unmerited nature of their irregularly), not to mention my worries of divine inflation and pay cuts due to past overdrafts.

Of course, none of this was able to recant the fact that I was, at that time, angry; the emotion (most illogically) being produced without written consent. It was preposterous - why would God, knowing that I would become angry and that being angry would force Him to punish me, put me in such a situation in the first place? He was testing you, you may say, to see if you would actually get angry. Well, that may be true; kinda makes me feel like a lab rat though. But maybe I am, maybe we all are; makes we wonder what kind of drug God is trying to get through the FDA - maybe He's trying to cure humanity.

And as a corollary, it can be a fascinating exercise trying to be angry with God, like a child making fretful splashes in the midst of a giant, calming sea. I was there last night - trying to grab hold of some minor injustice and fuel it with increasingly irrational outbursts, crouching stubbornly over the dying flame trying to hide it from the sweet, soothing rain. Frantic, I was frustrated by my empty attempts at genuine frustration, each passing minute solidifying the superfluous temporality of what I wanted so badly to hate. How many years have I spent so occupied - holding onto a feeling of which the source is long forgotten, or long exaggerated, or long disassociated somehow with the pain I have thought justified in carrying? How long have I sought dark corners where I thought I could escape the cleansing influence of time, only to find out that such corners only exist in my mind; in the solitary caves of self-willed, self-fueled deception? Where is my allowance?

Sometimes I wonder so intensely as to how God looks at me. Is that what this fear comes down to? Do the unknowns of my relationship with Him leave room for doubt? Of course they do.

Sometimes my prayers feel more sincere when they are illogical; honest; human.

In the movie Howl's Moving Castle, the main character is a young woman who is cursed to look like a very old woman by a witch. Sophie subsequently meets a wizard - Howl - and tries to help him deal with his own demons (pun intended, guess you'll have to see the movie to get it). Sophie falls in love with Howl, and though she doesn't realize it, each time she expresses her love for him, she turns young again; she becomes herself again. I think Hayao Miyazaki may just be a genius.

What do I fear that makes me so angry with God? The unknown, perhaps? Pain, unpleasantness, rejection? All possibilities along the horizon and ones that, ironically, our fear cannot partial out of our lives, although heaven knows we spend lifetimes trying to convince ourselves it can. I think sometimes I look at salvation like an electricity bill: I can't afford to get angry.