yoga, books, movies, tv & too many crime procedurals – not necesarily in that order
People are often surprised that we celebrate Christmas or that I make a holiday music mix each year. After all, what do two atheists have to do with Christmas? For me growing up, Christmas wasn’t about church or Jesus. Christmas was a time when all of our family (even the extended family) got together to celebrate. It wasn’t until much later (junior high) where church became part of the holiday season. As a result, I still think of the holidays as a time for family celebration rather than religious. As to the music- just because I don’t believe in god doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy songs that express joyfulness and hope. Even if it’s inspired by something I don’t share, it’s JOY. And HOPE. If I could find a great holiday song that used the word “namaste” I totally would, because THAT’S what I think the holiday season is about.
“Namaste” is a traditional South Asian greeting which is translated as everything from ‘hello’, ‘goodbye’, and ‘thank you’ to its more literal root: The Divine Light that resides in me recognizes and appreciates that same Divine Light residing within you. The last is how I use namaste. Divine Light can mean anything from spirit to God to enlightened consciousness. I choose to believe that that thing – the divine light – is that electrical spark which animates us and the shared human experience. Not the collective unconscious of Jung, but close. We are born, we live, we struggle, we experience joy, we die. Those things are what make us uniquely human and something that all humans – regardless of color or creed- share. And THAT seems like a divine light – we are each alone but simultaneously not alone because millions of others have shared these experiences, even if not in the same time or space. THAT is what I believe in.
That’s what I think the holidays are about. Sharing the good things (and sometimes even the bad things) about our human experience.
Because of that, I also believe in dharma and karma. Not the serious Buddhist reincarnation kind of karma, where your life’s actions determine your path to enlightenment via punishment-by-life-as-an-ant, or the idea of dharma as your life’s path being determined for you.
I believe that we all have a path but I also believe that we choose that path every day. The decisions we make create the life we lead and therefore CHOOSE to lead- dharma is simply the acknowledgement that none of our actions happen in a vacuum. My take on karma is similar- it shares the bones but not the elaborate theory. I think that all of our actions are energy in the world. Putting out positive energy can only lead to good things. That’s not to say that you never do/say/think bad things (because we do) but I also don’t believe that having one shitty day makes a house fall on your head. Sometimes bad things happen to people and they are in no way to blame – the number one reason that Law of Attraction stuff is bullshit. You can’t control the actions of others – only the reactions that YOU have to them. I fail to see how trying to put the positive spin on things, or being kind just to be kind, can ever lead to bad things.
So have happy holidays. I hope for health and wellness for you and yours, an ease to suffering for all, and joy to offset your sorrow.
Someone asked in the dooce community how ex-religious people came out to their families. I “came out” to my folks as an atheist during my first year of college. Seeing the number of responses there made me think that this story might be helpful. I journaled about it shortly after it happened but never imagined I’d make it public. The wonders of the internet. I don’t tell this story because everyone has a lot of awful moments in their lives. Things that they wish they could change somehow, things they wouldn’t re-live for anything on earth. Everyone has moments where they think “this is the worst thing ever.” This story is mine.
———————————————————-
My husband asked me, “Can you fake it? Just for a little while?” He didn’t look like he thought I could. I didn’t blame him.
It’s the morning after Thanksgiving 2004, I’m 30, and last night my dad told me his last dying wish. I crinkle my nose, because it’s not like I haven’t thought about it, not like it hasn’t been on my mind all night. “No.” I sigh. “No, I really don’t think I can.”
The thing about my father dying is that I keep thinking ‘This part is the worst; it can’t get worse than this.’ It turns out every time I think this, I’m wrong. Again.
We were sitting in the stairwell at the Holiday Inn, just the two of us. He was smoking Winston Selects (in a non-smoking area) and sipping a Pepsi; I was keeping him company and, as is the case when we’re alone together these days, the conversation turned inevitably to the liver cancer which is killing him.
“I’ve had a great life,” he says. “I couldn’t ask for a better life. All the things I asked for I got. A pretty wife. Good kids. A good job. And now,” he winks at me. “A painless death.”
It was bad when a couple of weeks ago I was the one who told him how he’d die- a little discomfort and then he’d just sort of go to sleep. I had a really bad drive home that day and I couldn’t believe someone else hadn’t told him first, so worried is he about pain management. I thought that was as bad as it could get- having to break that news. Sarah’s Law, though, says that if something can go wrong it’ll go wrong for me. We’re sitting there, wearing half-smiles, and he asks another question.
“So did he give you a timeline for how long I’ve got?”
I try to stifle my reaction the question- it’s as physical as if someone punched me the the solar plexus- it takes my breath away and for a moment I have to stare fixedly at my right shoulder, away from him. In that instant I’m trying to remember- we talked about this didn’t we? When I make the comment about painlessness, I swear we had this conversation and for the sake of anything holy the doctor sure as hell should have. I pull it together, though, because I’m really good at that.
“After the surgery he said maybe a year, maybe less.” I take a sip of air. “But everything I’ve read, Dad, measures the time in months.” So yeah. This is worse. This is as bad as it gets, right? Heh.
We talk about what’ll happen, what the living will says, when we’ll sell the house. Twice in the conversation I have to turn my head and stare at my shoulder again, let the tears run down my cheeks and just manage to keep them out of my voice. And this is when it gets worse. He tells me the only thing he wants before he dies- something I should be able to deliver and I can’t. The only thing which would make him happier would be if I found the salvation of his Lord Jesus Christ so he could see me in heaven.
I’m your neighbor, the co-worker in the cubicle next to yours, your boss, your secretary, your sister, your cousin, your daughter, and I don’t believe in God.
I didn’t set out to become an atheist; I don’t think anyone really does. It’s something I rarely talk about because it doesn’t come up in conversation and I don’t volunteer that sort of information unless asked. Most atheists I know are like myself, quiet about their beliefs. I’m not shy about discussing atheism but what I’ve discovered is, when I tell people I’m an atheist, 98% of the time I get one of two responses: A quiet “Oh” followed by a rapid change in subject or the ‘you’ve got two heads and are wrong, wrong, wrong for worshipping Satan’ look. On the few occasions I meet with another atheist, we share as rueful smile. It’s a relief.
As a toddler I attended a Jewish pre-school. From second through fifth grades I attended a Catholic elementary school. When we moved, grade six, my family began to attend a Pentecostal Assemblies of God church. God isn’t news to me. In fact, I really wanted to believe- tried with all my might. I’ve read the Bible cover to cover, done Bible study, attended services three times a week and wanted, at one time, more than anything to have this personal relationship with God I was hearing all about. Despite my best efforts, it just didn’t click. For years, I thought there was something wrong with me, something missing that I couldn’t have this relationship, that I couldn’t make myself believe. It’s not there for me; I don’t get it.
I’m not anti-God or anti-Christian or anti-religious belief. I’m not trying to convert you or convince you to my way of thinking. Your religious beliefs don’t mean I think less of you, just because I don’t agree. I don’t think you’re stupid. In all our conversations about my beliefs, my dad and I ultimately came to stalemate on faith. Either you have it or you don’t. I don’t. And you can’t have it just by wishing. I don’t think prayer is bad, I just don’t want to be required to do it.
I think lying is wrong. I agree with most of the Ten Commandments – I have a little problem with trying to regulate someone’s coveting, but other than that, okay. I’m not saying your God doesn’t exist, I’m just saying I don’t believe in it. I believe that energy cannot be created or destroyed. I believe in sequential events and the ability of experience to change one’s path. I believe in the roll of the dice and genetic crapshoot. I believe in the Golden Rule, in being the best person possible, in doing more good than harm. I believe in process and progress. I believe in living for this life and not the next.
More importantly, I believe everyone has a right to believe in whatever they choose- without persecution or risk of people trying to convert them. I don’t proselytize.
Dad says that if his demise (his word, not mine) makes me think a little more on these things, it’s worthwhile. What, really, do you say to that?
The thought crosses my mind, of course, before my husband brings it up. Could I fake it, just to make Dad happy? I know the routine- I observed it and mimicked for years trying so hard to fit in and make it work. We’ve never shied away from hard conversations in my family. When I realized I’d given up on believing in god, I told my parents. For me it was a relief, to let them know I was at peace with it- wasn’t searching for something and feeling guilty for my inability to find it. They were less thrilled, of course, and did their best (early on) to convince me of the error of my ways. They’re still proud of me, still think I’m a good person. They’re disappointed that my soul will not be saved, that I’ll go to hell. We can joke about this, actually. After all, I don’t believe in hell so that’s not such a bad thing. Eventually we got past this and decided to leave religion, or lack thereof, out of our relationship (for all of our sakes).
It seems like such a small thing, something I should be able to do to. Perhaps if I had less respect for him, or myself. Maybe if it had happened years ago when my beliefs, *my* faith, was still soft to the touch and lacked hard edges. Months later, shortly before he died, my dad asked my sister and I to lay hands on him and pray. When I silently wished that his death would be painless and quick, I wasn’t praying. I was just hoping for the best possible outcome.
————————————————————
Looking back on it now, I know there’s not any way I could have obfuscated (let alone lied) about something so important to him, so important to me. But if you think it’s easy, that these things are capricious and easily said or decided, it makes me think you don’t consider your own faith enough.
I don’t believe in god. I don’t think you have to believe in god. If you want to believe in god, that’s okay. I don’t need a god to tell me how to be a good person or that I SHOULD be a good person. Atheists can have morals, too. If you’re lucky, you get a family that wants to you have your own opinions and stand up for yourself – even when they don’t agree with you. I was that lucky, but plenty of people aren’t and their beliefs aren’t any less hard-won or close-held. Keep it in mind, before you assume you know someone else is a Christian/Muslim/Jew/fill in the blank, that it’s possible they’ve endured plenty of castigation and persecution from people they LOVE – not just strangers.
Just because I don’t believe in your god (and, chances are, not everyone believes in YOUR god) doesn’t mean I’m a bad person, or that I shouldn’t believe the way I do, or that I shouldn’t be able to talk about it without you trying to convince me I’m wrong.
