Skip to main content

Bad Religion

I was raised generic Protestant. My Mom is Church of England my dad was raised LDS but distanced himself from it long B4 I came along. I do not know why exactly. I never knew any of his views on religion, God, etc. I grew up here in LDS Zion. Never felt the need to join (don’t believe it). I was always (from age 4 is the youngest memory) had an interest in the occult, supernatural, etc. At 20 I converted to Catholicism. I studied Demonology and also became involved with a pentecostal/evangelical break-off born again christian group(s), I essentially wanted to learn about religion. Something was still missing/not ‘clicking’ with me, there’s more out there. I started studying VouDou and Witchcraft (started w/ ‘Wicca’ and decided it was too adulterated) and reading/learning what I could about the older religions, tribal religions etc. Something seems familiar with them but I’m still searching.
As for Speaking in Tongues; soon after I began doing it, there was a debate with our church members about if it HAD to have an interpretation to be valid, the consensus was that if it was spoken out in the middle of a sermon, congregation, it needed interpretation, if one felt the need to do it while say, scared or upset or even just praying, then it was simply this; a language ‘God’ gave you to speak directly to Him (or the Angels) in prayer and the reason you cannot understand it is so your heart/mind/spirit will focus in (something like that) and no external chatter, stuff going on in your head, gets in the way and ‘interrupts’ the prayer. I guess it’s like chanting then, or saying the Rosary, it focuses you.
I still am unsure what it really is…I can still do it, it wasn’t taken away, so there must be a reason. Maybe it’s something ancient? I don’t think it’s as simple as I used to think it was.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Mess Of Writing

So, some of you know I pretend to be a writer. I was a prolific and mildly talented writer in my past. I dreamed novel sized stories, but could never get past the short ones, there were a couple I wrote out to 150 pages with the outline and general story written out, but they died there. It took me years to both realize and then accept, that I was no good at anything but some hybrid of prose and poetry that is heavily non conforming to the accepted rules of writing, grammar and english. My problem is rooted somewhere in one or more of my mental illnesses, I just can't absorb nor comprehend (translate to an understandable example) accepted structure and rules for any type of writing.  The words go down on the paper the way they come into my head. They don't want to be amended, they come into my head the way my mind perceives them to be correct and meaningful to what I am trying to express, which in my skewed brain, is the correct form, again, to ME, but maybe not to anyone else....

Just Think Blogsitive

For whatever reason, Facebook altering the "mood" of the Feed or just people picking up on the same theme of a few reposted sayings; I've been seeing so much over the last few weeks about thinking/being positive and being happy is a choice. Believe me you, I tried. I tried so hard for so long. It was like mining, every day I would go to work with my pick and with everything I had, go at that dark, stifling underground of resistant rock with my polished, shining pick, flashing brilliantly in the dust filled muted ray of light struggling down, striking in a dazzling tiny shower of sparks, tiny stars lighting the edge of the black hole lurking beside me, that feeling of what could be hidden just below the surface, something amazing just waiting for the proper angle of my next strike...that never comes. Oh, I get the thin, reedy vein of something momentarily in the right light flashing and promising...it may be a lesser find. It will momentarily fund the repair of my pick or...

Seriously?

Originally Written by the13thcynic October 6, 2009 at 5:13 PM I cannot be serious. Seriously. I can’t. I keep trying and it never works, I just can’t BE serious. I can fully appreciate serious and situations that are… I can understand it, hold it, feel it, express it in other ways, I just cannot *be…have* nor verbally reply seriously unless I really fight to accomplish such. Felt the need to see it in words. Carry on then. I am not stupid. I am not shallow. I’m not unfeeling nor simple, clueless, ridiculous, uneducated, uncultured or ignorant. I’m just me. Which is a bit more than a bit much to take for some.