More than a Word

You know why I left Christianity?

The lens of my childhood taught me that homosexuals, atheists and pagans were all skipping along the road (a very wide and pleasant road) to hell for their... err... sins? This struck me as somewhat odd coming from the mouth of a God of love, but never as downright contradictory. This is because before I went to university, "homosexual", "atheist" and "pagan" were all just words -- and it seems a bit odd but not downright contradictory that a God of love would send words to hell. Before I went to university, I'd never met an honest to goodness, real life atheist before. When I read in Revelations, "Anyone whose name was not found in the Book of Life was thrown into the lake of fire," it rankled, but it didn't disrupt my faith. Because at that point in my life, the names not found in this particular book of life according to this particular lens were all just words. 

When I started university at seventeen, "atheist" became more than a word.  It became a person's way of understanding the world. And homosexual became more than a word. It became a person's expression of love.

As soon as "person" displaced and replaced "word" in my immature lens, I thought, Whoa... WHOA. Even if God is real, he's an asshole. Would I want anything to do with a god who would condemn a person to eternal damnation (and isn't that a bit excessive, anyway? WTF? Never-ending suffering in a lake of fire? WHO DOES THAT?) for the way he or she understands the world or the way he or she expresses love?

The answer was no. A big, fat resounding no.

And if God is real, my thoughts spun wildly, would he even want a follower who adamantly disagrees with his principles but follows purely out of fear of the consequences? A relationship built on fear? Tyranny of the spirit? 

You know why I left Christianity?

I felt that a legalistic interpretation of religion obstructed open, loving relationships. With oneself and with others.

I left Christianity because of the fear that seemed to permeate, penetrate everything.

The fear of asking an honest, unbiased question.

The fear of receiving an honest, unbiased answer.

The Black

and

fucking

White.

The very idea that as a Christian, you could know, unequivocally, how I need to live my life.

The incessant stream of "I love you, but you've strayed from the Path."

The Path.

If you love me, then let me find my own fucking path. 

It wasn't easy to leave my life in Mexico. Girl had it all. Independence, freedom, fulfillment of my life's passions, adventure, adventure, adventure. It wasn't easy to let it go and return to a state of dependence.

I can't think of a time I've been more vulnerable. Stripped of my dearest identity, every time I walk downtown and see someone I used to know, I want to hide. Because the words always come. Inevitably, they come.

"Aimee! What a surprise to see you here! Aren't you supposed to be in South America by now?"

"Well, I was supposed to be in Mexico. But I came back for a boy."

"Oh no! Well, that happens. Guess he must be pretty special."

More pleasantries are exchanged. I promise to call soon and set up a date for coffee. Even though I know I'll probably have to ask Boy for coffee money. And a ride. And a phone with which to make the call.

I walk away.

Before university, I was the horse-girl. During university, I was the good student. Then I was the traveling, writing yoga teacher. 

Now? 

I haven't taught yoga in two months, I wrote a pathetic three blogs last month and it seems like my life as a single vagabond has just about run its course. 

Now? 

I'm just here. 

In this fucking town again. 

Every time I walk away from these conversations, I feel like I've failed someone.

I'm never quite sure who.

You wanted to become naked, Bourget. You wanted to feel the world without an identity getting in the way. So here you go. Here you are. Naked. 

Leaving behind this identity has been one of the most painful experiences of my adult life. I cast it aside for the sake of relationship because attachment to identity, like attachment to religion (I'm actually not sure those words aren't synonymous), is something I never want to stand in the way of relationship.

Never again.

I was able to give up my identity for this relationship because for the first time in my adult life, I found myself with a person I trusted enough to let go of my stranglehold on the words I'd used to define myself. This doesn't mean letting go of the identity was easy. I found myself crying in the shower of Cathy's spare bedroom the other day, as the melancholy of a dying dream found its way into my gut and tear ducts. I sat on the tile floor with the curtain drawn and the water off (I try not to waste... even when I'm melancholy) and stared at the grating of the metal drain.

I'm not giving up. I'm not letting go of a part of ME that I love. I'm opening up my life to make space for another person. 

But I'm feeling a little lost in all the space.

Boy has been loving me, helping me through. My family has been loving me, helping me through (thanks for the walks, talks and massages, mom. I've needed them).

But every time Boy receives a message or a comment about how this new Girl is leading him astray, taking him off the fucking Path and away from Jesus, I want to do the following:

a) scream, "he's been on his OWN path for ages -- how have you not noticed?"
b) melt into a pool of vulnerable, frustrated tears. Is this not enough? How can this love not be enough? How can I express my commitment, my care, my adoration for a person in a more meaningful way than leaving my old, consuming identity and creating this space? 
c) think, this. This is why I left Christianity. This is why I'm not a Christian.

Part of the concern voiced in letters and phone calls stems from the fact that I'm not on the Jesus boat. I'm not really on any boat at all, as a matter of fact. I'm splashing in the water and playing with the fishies. Occasionally, I joke around with Boy about being a "nudist Buddhist" (because I strive for naked vulnerability in all facets of my life and I generally jive with Buddhist beliefs).

The other part has to do with the fact that I don't believe marriage has a place in my life.

Marriage. I've just addressed the Jesus boat, so let's talk about marriage now.

I have some happily married friends and I have some not-so-happily-married friends. I have some friends in loving relationships who are unmarried and I have some friends in unloving relationships who are unmarried. "Marriage", in and of itself, doesn't seem to be the key to happiness or unhappiness. It can be an astonishingly beautiful expression of love and trust and it can be just another role or title.

I'm a traveler.

I'm a writer.

I'm a wife.

A traveler does such and such.

A writer does so and so.

A wife?

What does a wife "do"? 

Perhaps my reaction to this word is so visceral because I've spent much of my life living in environments wherein roles are clearly delineated. In Turkey, in Morocco, in a lot of Southern Italy and some of the more conservative Christian communities within the states. Man works outside of the home, woman stays inside the home and makes the babies, washes the clothes and cooks the many delicious things for man and babies.

By no means is this meant to disparage stay-at-home moms or working dads. I have appreciation verging on reverence for both (including my own mom and dad. LOVE you guys). These are exhausting, full-time jobs -- which I could never happily accomplish myself -- and I'm in absolute awe of anyone who can shoulder these responsibilities. However, what I do find discordant with my worldview is the title and the roles that tag along with it. If you want to be a working dad, by all means, be a working dad. Work and dad it up. Same goes for stay-at-home moms. But if you feel pressured by a title to live in a way that's unharmonious with who you are, then I think you're robbing yourself and the world of the greatest gift you have. To live a life that is fully yours. While I know many couples who have transcended roles and have created marriages that encourage and invite them to live life according to their deepest loves, I simply don't want to have to transcend another role. Why bother? People could argue the practical end, such as, marriage is good for saving money on taxes and it's easier on kids, BUT --

I don't make enough money to have to pay taxes (I've made above poverty line once in my life) and even a dog is too much responsibility for me. Hell, I'm pushing my luck with wanting a cat named Montezuma.

So why would I allow a title to enter into relationship? I do everything possible to keep roles and identities out of the rest of my life -- why would I willingly welcome a title into such a sacred, intimate space as love?

"Because marriage is a promise. And a promise is deep," a well-meaning friend advised me over tea.

"I don't want a promise. Why should I need a promise? Why isn't simple trust enough? I want trust without a promise. A relationship so strong and loving and communicative that trust is all I need."

In my mind, titles have the uncanny habit of transforming commitments into obligations. Things I want to do from a place of love into things I have to do from a place of habit, entitlement and external pressure (although I will always be entitled to kisses at red lights and wearing Boy's sweatpants to bed). This is certainly not the same for everyone, but it's how I function. I'm immature. I'm insecure. I cling to identities and titles for security and a sense of purpose. But I know I'm insecure and I understand what titles do to me, so I'm trying to get myself to a place wherein I'm whole and secure in myself. This is why, at this particular stage of my journey, I don't think titles are healthy for me. And it's why I'm so enamored with the idea (and the act) of trust. To me, simple trust is stark naked. One person trusting another based entirely on the relationship between the two. Nothing superimposed on stark naked trust.

I'm not a Christian or a creationist, so I don't believe marriage was divinely ordained by the Creator as the loving union between woman and man. I'm a curious vagabonding evolutionist (and nudist Buddhist) and it's my personal belief that marriage originated as a method to raise children, tighten family bonds, arrange alliances and pass accumulated wealth down the bloodline.

Again.

Babies are stupid hard and I don't want or need them.

Marrying cousins (or siblings) to "strengthen families" results in enormous jaws and hemophilia.

Did you know that there used to be "ghost marriages" in China wherein children could be married off to the deceased purely for the purpose of alliance?

And what wealth would I have to pass down? A camera, a ripped up rucksack and a broken harmonica? Perhaps a feather or two?

It's only within the last fifty-odd years that the construct of marriage evolved into an expression of love and lost its primary status as a BMO (baby making operation).  As a delightful side-note to this erratic article, marriage for love is primarily what paved the way for same-sex marriage. Since the ancient, but dynamic union stopped being primarily about making babies and started being more about love and mutual sexual satisfaction, homosexual lovers were like, "well... we have lots of love and sexual satisfaction... now the construct of marriage applies to us! We want in on this business."

But even though the modern idea of marriage (in Western countries, at least) is more about love and less about babies (and the making thereof), I still feel like I don't need it. I don't need marriage to justify the love I feel (since when does love need to be justified, anyway?). I don't need marriage to make me feel more secure in the love I feel (I'd rather just have that simple trust). I don't need marriage to make me feel more committed, more intimate or to save money on taxes. An afternoon in the park practicing acro yoga would make me feel more connected, a plate of cheese would make me feel more loved, and the fact that Boy tells me he loves me just about seven million times on the daily is more security than the title "husband and wife," would give me.

I'm not waxing on in order to devalue the marriages of others -- simply to communicate why marriage doesn't resonate with me. A lot of the discord I feel is related to my personal struggle with titles and roles, and I'd like to emphasize that my personal struggle has absolutely nothing to do with the value and beauty of the marriages of others. It seems as if many of the comments Boy receives are directed towards this issue, so I merely want to explain why I stand the way I do.

And since I'm on a roll, I might as well jot down a few other things that will (most likely) not make their way into my life:

a) a cellphone that works as a cellphone.

b) a bank account.

c) an automobile.

d) a puppy.

e) a small human child that refers to me as "Mom," "Mother," "Mummy," or any other appellation indicating that the small human child originated within my abdomen.

f) white potatoes. They make me gassy. In all their forms. I will tolerate Belgian chips once in a blue moon, because they are cultural, drowned in mayonnaise and mind-bogglingly delicious, but there is a great deal of suffering for everyone involved.

In conclusion, I make no apologies for what I can't give the person you love. I won't apologize for not diving headlong into his love affair with Jesus (although I think he ought to apologize for not diving headlong into my love affair with peanut butter).  He is his own person, I am my own person and we are on our own paths. He respects how mine is different from his, I respect how his is different from mine, and together, we frolic about the sections where our paths intertwine. There is no corruption or "leading astray," because --

a) I wouldn't be with someone if I wanted to change him.
b) I wouldn't be with someone who would want to change what's important to him for me.

If I did either of these things, I wouldn't be truly loving someone else -- I'd be loving an image of myself. And even though I'm a writer, an artist and spend far too much time contemplating my navel, I'm not that narcissistic. I'd much prefer to love someone else.  I see and accept and respect Boy for who he is and the path he walks and I would leave him before trying to change him.

I recognize and appreciate that the concern voiced in all the letters and calls comes from a place of love, but how this love manifests itself in my life does not feel like love. It feels like the black and white judgment from which I fled so long ago.

But now I'm experiencing the other side. I'm experiencing what it's like to be the "word."

But I'm more than a word. More than "Buddhist," "Vagabond," "Yoga Teacher," "Traveler" and certainly more than "Troy's New Hippie Girlfriend Who Hasn't Shaved Her Body Hair Since Spring of 2014."  I am a person, and as such, need the space and grace to be more than a string of black words strung together by white concern.

I am a person in love with loving a person you love.