The Ismic Divide - Feeling Fragile

Please no religeous debates or evangilism. I am sorting my strictly personal yaddahs and I am confused enough already. I am tempted to lock this entry to guard against further confusions, but. . . Risking exposure. . . Please be gentle.

The next caveat in the lonely wait for the contractor fiasco to permit the long awaited trip to the Texas family center is Friday.More waiting. The lonely craving for family touch continues like sandpaper across my skin.

Today is Ash Wednesday. There is quite allot going on at the church I have been going to in observance of this first day of Lent. I have benefitted greatly from the Lenten rituals I have participated in, but it has been a few years. I am tempted to go to break my isolation, but I find myself sliding on the slippery slopes of the Ismic Divides once more. The "Schism of the Isms" that was my religious formation in the kiddie whorehouses is slithering through my thoughts once more, continually nourished by the many True Believers of the kaleidescope of religions and anti-religions which surround me. The therapy guided decision to "pick one and make it work" isnae going well. It has been 9 years --to the day-- since I became an official member of the one I picked. My loyalty to the one I picked was quite gratifying until 2006 when I started the mission work in the New Orleans Katrina cleanup. I still believe I am suffering volunteer PTSD from the year of disaster cleanup, but officially there is no such thing. The wounds remain untreated. I was able to make it work a few more years until I returned from my studies in South America in 2008 and started going to church with my youngest son who had since chosen a church which is politically opposed to the church I had chosen. At the congregation level, that political opposition equals some genuinely mean prejudices. The pressure to see the error of my ways and join their club in repentance sent me into a dogmatic tailspin I have yet to recover from. At present I am back to feeling my childhood conditioning that nomads cannot expect full membership in ANY townie club and churches are just another townie club. Nomads not welcome. I keep reaching back to the therapy work which carried me far enough through my fear of townie clubs to let me approach ANY church and. . . Ouch. . .

Prior to introducing religion to the mix, YS and I shared THE richest philosophical relationship of my life. Our philosophy ramblings included the Bible, in multiple languages, but sharing the Bible is vastly different than wading through the chaos of Christian controversy. I often wonder if Jesus had multiple personalities or there was more than one Jesus. Are all these people discussing the same ??? Man? God? Spirit? Politician? After he married, YS and his wife chose another church. YS shared their decision making process with me, but I didnae retain many of the details. I have attended a few of their church social events with my grandson but remain fearful of uttering The Word which will make me a devil in their midst. Me and my mouth. . . Both YS and I have expressed deep-felt grief over having lost our rich philosophical relationship in the Ismic Divide. We both pray, both together and separately for guidance through the divide. Still waiting. . . Still praying. . .

This morning the psycho nag flags for isolation are all snapping hard. Seeking community is a therapy approved tool for those nag flags. Joining the community activities at church feels like a therapy no-brainer, but. . . Is seeking that particular community going to deepen the Ismic Divide between myself and son and grandchildren I so dearly miss?

Sorting. . . Listening for the Quiet Voice.