Faith, Hope and Love

We had to put our cat down on Thanksgiving. We noticed her limping on her front leg around mid morning which was odd because only days before we had brought her to the vet because she was limping on her back leg. We were unsure as to what to do but after it became clear that she was not herself we took her in only to find out that what she was experiencing was a blood clot. The vet withheld her diagnosis until she was able to conduct a few tests and x-rays. When she brought us back into the room to discuss the results, we knew it was bad but it came as a shock that the vet had found two tumors in Chyna's lungs. The prognosis was bleak; to continue her life would only mean more pain. It was a heart wrenching decision but Chyna was already gone. She was in agony and the only humane thing to do was to look her in the eyes and stroke her as she was put to sleep.

I could barely hold it together. I was sobbing uncontrollably, my chest heaving up and down as a folded myself into the corner of the small "dying room" they placed us in for the procedure. Jess was upset but reassured Chyna that we loved her as she stroked her gently. When I could stand, I hovered around her, reaching out every now and again to run my thumb along the top of her head as I had done countless times before yet she did not respond by purring rather she stared, wide-eyed back at us from within the blanket that was wrapped around her.

Among Jessica's many reassurances of love and longing, she told Chyna that she would see her in Heaven several times. My initial reaction was not one of cynicism or disbelief but one of hope and with that response, I began to reflect on the difference between hope and faith. I concluded that faith is having the belief that such and such is true without the ability to definitively prove it while hope is the desire for such and such to be true without the ability to believe it.

I hope there is a Heaven where all sorrow and suffering will be replaced with joy but I stop short of believing it exists. I want nothing more than to be reassured that my mother and even my cat are consciously frolicking in paradise; it is hard to think of them in any other way because they still exist in my mind; therefore part of me rationalizes that they must exist somewhere. But it is a unassailable placebo, selfishly constructed for my own continued delusion rather than for their ultimate destiny. At least, that is my cynical assessment but perhaps hope is a step towards faith rather than a crutch for you before you can put your faith in something, you must be able to imagine it.

Too Much Time on My Hands

I was contacted by the professor in charge of my doctoral program at Drexel that I passed my qualifying exam. My dubious efforts on the offending essay I spoke about in the last post actually garnered me a 'pass with honors,' the highest grade one can receive for an answer. Despite the spotlight that the instance cast on me and my questionable pursuits, now that they are over I will calmly return to the path I was on and slip back into the stupor--that is, until the next detour.

With the passing of the test, I have a little more time on my hands. Really I don't, I should be working on my proposal, what I mean to say is that I have more freedom to choose what I do with my time. Some of that freedom will undoubtedly be used to 'fritter away the hours in a offhand way,' but that goes without saying. The better question to ponder is what will I do with my time when I am energized and motivated.

People normally think of motivation as specific but for me, motivation often takes the form of a general mandate, an increase in the DEFCON level if you will, to improve myself, to move myself further down the road but that motivation never includes an definite destination. Its like the old phrase, 'you don't have to go home, but you can't say here.' Motivation is synonymous with irritation for me. Sometimes that irritation leads to healing and sometimes to more pointless suffering.

That is why I writing this morning and why I went to the Evangelical Lutheran church last weekend (it was disappointing, an uncomfortable mixture of high church and contemporary elements, neither of which the congregation seemed to be much into), I want to be intentionally. But there are so many choices. Should I through myself into academia, business or back into Merton. At some level I believe and desire to be in all three, but such a course usually prevents me from doing any with much success. Good think I have a lot of time on my hands to contemplate it some more.

A Subtle Torture

I feel one of my turns coming on. Not a tumult but rather a distraction. I feel myself being pulled away. I know where this leads and yet I will inevitably follow it to its completion. Whereas before I could claim a genuine interest in the novelty of it now I am a regular player in this farce. I know it is pointless and yet I continue to play the fool.

I see greatness and know the power and passion associated with a life of meaning and hope but I feel nothing and choose instead banal distraction. I am a corpse without a burial, a sweaty tourist at the sacred altar. I have tossed my pearls to the swine then followed in after them only to become one of the herd, blinded by the filth that relentlessly clings to my eyes. It is my undoing; it is the culmination of my self-destructive will; it is my bed and I have no other momentary desire but to lie in it.

And yet I see the light piercing through the muck for I know what I am doing. Unlike the swine, I am not ignorant which perhaps relegates me an even greater depth than they for I, knowing that the present is fleeting, insist on living in it exclusively. Yes, and all this is true but for the slightest of irritations, what amounts to a persistent itch that never allows me to fall completely asleep. It is a subtle torture that is no doubt meant to revive me from my lethargy.