The Other Closet

39. It's Seasons Greetings Giggle Time!

2011-12-24T21:44:00.000-08:00

(To the tune of Peanut Butter Jelly... ah, never mind.)

"And even dragons have their ending..."

2011-12-16T11:43:00.000-08:00

You could see it in his eyes at one point in nearly every debate. That glance, over the glasses or through the omnipresent cigarette smoke, that simply and openly said "you're a fucking twit." His well-stocked mouth would often state very much the same, but through such eloquently-spoken prose that his opponent could easily have mistaken his slander for a compliment or, at the very worst, a mild suggestion that their lacking knowledge of subjects A, B, C, and D was something of an unfortunate oversight that, perhaps, if they wished to spare themselves further embarrassment, they'd do well to keep to themselves. It is with no small amount of jealousy that I say words came unfailingly easy to Christopher Hitchens. He was a rhetorician of the master class whose intimidating presence had become an expected, if not necessary, component to honest discourse about... well, anything. People loved him, and people hated him. But everybody respected him. And when he spoke, people listened.

Today, the secular movement is far from alone in its grief. Hitchens' death, much like his life, leaves a mark on too many facets of intellectualism, philosophy, and ferocious human wit for those of us in the atheistic sphere to claim his loss as uniquely ours. He was a giant. The world will miss his voice. And, as Hitch would say, "... anyone who disagrees with this can pick a number, get in line and kiss my ass."

R.I.P. Christopher Hitchens.

38. This administration is, like, just... so evil. Sqee!

2011-12-10T22:23:00.000-08:00

Alright, so I'm just thieving and regurgitating information for this post. But this is historic stuff, right here, so you won't begrudge me a little cut-n-paste action, will you?

Highlights from Secretary of State Hillary Clinton's recent speech to the United Nations:

"Some have suggested that gay rights and human rights are separate and distinct; but, in fact, they are one and the same...

"Like being a woman, like being a racial, religious, tribal, or ethnic minority, being LGBT does not make you less human. And that is why gay rights are human rights, and human rights are gay rights...

"It is violation of human rights when people are beaten or killed because of their sexual orientation, or because they do not conform to cultural norms about how men and women should look or behave. It is a violation of human rights when governments declare it illegal to be gay, or allow those who harm gay people to go unpunished. It is a violation of human rights when lesbian or transgendered women are subjected to so-called corrective rape, or forcibly subjected to hormone treatments, or when people are murdered after public calls for violence toward gays, or when they are forced to flee their nations and seek asylum in other lands to save their lives. And it is a violation of human rights when life-saving care is withheld from people because they are gay, or equal access to justice is denied to people because they are gay, or public spaces are out of bounds to people because they are gay. No matter what we look like, where we come from, or who we are, we are all equally entitled to our human rights and dignity.

"[Possibly]... the most challenging issue arises when people cite religious or cultural values as a reason to violate or not to protect the human rights of LGBT citizens. This is not unlike the justification offered for violent practices towards women like honor killings, widow burning, or female genital mutilation. Some people still defend those practices as part of a cultural tradition. But violence toward women isn't cultural; it's criminal. Likewise with slavery, what was once justified as sanctioned by God is now properly reviled as an unconscionable violation of human rights.

"In each of these cases, we came to learn that no practice or tradition trumps the human rights that belong to all of us. And this holds true for inflicting violence on LGBT people, criminalizing their status or behavior, expelling them from their families and communities, or tacitly or explicitly accepting their killing...

"Being gay is not a Western invention; it is a human reality. And protecting the human rights of all people, gay or straight, is not something that only Western governments do...

"...To LGBT men and women worldwide, let me say this: Wherever you live and whatever the circumstances of your life, whether you are connected to a network of support or feel isolated and vulnerable, please know that you are not alone. People around the globe are working hard to support you and to bring an end to the injustices and dangers you face. That is certainly true for my country. And you have an ally in the United States of America and you have millions of friends among the American people."

37. Letter to an Anti-Gay Teen

2011-11-27T12:47:00.000-08:00

Hey you. How's things? Lemme guess, someone sent you here, right? It's okay. If you don't want to stick around for a chat, I'll understand. These interwebs are chock full of lolcats and DYAC posts just waiting to waste your time.

I'm not gonna do that.

In fact, should you stay, I'm going to do what maybe no one else in your life is bothering to do -- not at this very moment, anyway. I'm going to square with you. Without patronizing or condemning. I'll even spare you the metaphors.

I can't presume to know you as an individual. My teenage years are now further behind me than all the years that came before. (Isn't that a scary thought?) I'm a middle-aged, middle-class mom who's often too caught up in her own sincerity to bother writing anything worth reading. And you? Well, no one can answer that question just yet. Not even you, am I right? I remember that part, at least. It was the question that kept me up at night and bled through into every action. If I didn't know who I was, society was going to have a hell of a time figuring it out. What would happen to my place in the world then? Would I even have one? With the high value our culture places on individualism, it's kinda the most important first hurdle to be conquered on the road to becoming YOU.

I broke the metaphor rule, didn't I? My apologies.

Everyone has their own means of sussing out these answers for themselves. Luckily, I was never prone to the social displays of dominance that kids so often grow to regret, when they become men and women with full identities and realize that life is about owning oneself, not controlling others. At the time, I didn't recognize any proclivity for using cultural norms as a template to be mimicked, a script to be followed, though that is certainly what was taking place, however unconsciously. Sure, I could adapt and become whomever I wished to be, but only within the confines of those social boundaries, the ones that had been laid out for me by an older, wiser, more prudish and labor-obsessed generation. I also remember how, when someone dared to defy those invisible lines, it spotlighted my already-precarious position in the world. They threatened my stability simply be being themselves. How dare they?

Ready for a really lousy comparison? The same patterns of behavior can be seen in packs of wild dogs. When one pup strays from the norm, the others will attack it, viciously, until it falls back in line. Quite often, the violence never ends. Once the instinct has been triggered, and the target marked, the mutts become relentless with tooth and claw and persecution. The Omega dog is still a part of the pack, but only barely. It is an oddity. And oddities of any sort are a threat to their very survival. In order for the pack to flourish, they rely on the hierarchy, the consistency of interaction and engagement, set and stable rules -- so they whip out the savage traits and toe the company line for the very same reason that kids bully one another today: instinctual security.

I was "picked on" a great deal as a kid. We didn't call it bullying then. As the quiet, weird girl in hand-me-downs, one of the poorest members of an already poor community, I made for a pretty easy target, if I do say so myself. But none of that matters now. In fact, it's rather difficult to recall. The incident that most stands out in my memory is of a stint on the other side of that social dynamic. It was middle school and my small circle of friends were discussing some ridiculous version of ass-kickery. The conversation somehow morphed into the idea that I was to kick another girl, a longtime friend, in the ass. They were kidding, of course. But I did it anyway. I kicked her square in the ass. Hard. It was a joke taken too far, but when she called me out on it, I wasn't big enough to admit it. I was in that transition from quiet little girl to standoffish teenager, where people were still more than willing to pick on me, but only when my back was turned. I felt like an idiot. Like Mr. Magoo falling on his face and taking the nearest person down with him. So I did what social-preserving instinct told me to do: I turned it around on her. She was asking for it. She deserved it. I wasn't so much being a bully as I was... being a bitch, on accident. She certainly wasn't sent packing as a result. Truth be told, the witnesses were all on her side, they just never admitted as much. No, she retreated, of her own accord, and I was viewed as the dominant one. Bully for me. (Different kind of bully. I still haven't gotten over the fact that I'm not British.)

This is where instinct, like that of a skunk which stops in the center of the road to spray an oncoming vehicle, totally backfires. You see, animalistic tendencies don't take all those pesky human emotions into account. Not even those of the insidious, haunting sort. And there are none more insidious than regret. Here I am, decades later, still haunted, still held hostage by one fluke moment, one stupid decision, one asinine act. It's the car. I'm the skunk. Do the math.

There I go with the metaphors again...

If I were looking for a scapegoat, it would be easy enough to blame a younger version of today's media for my knee-jerk reaction. Just as the golden generation was influenced by images of maids in black-face, my television shows were riddled with women desperate to make the on-screen transition from subservient housewife to respected individual, and they did so by being... well... bitchy. The cultural template offered for me confused strength with callousness, trading a kitchen apron for a cold shoulder and a bitter word. Still, it seems a piss poor excuse. And I had it easier than you, I think. Your media is electronic, immediate, and all-encompassing. You're getting it from every side, at every hour. Worse still, online interactions are often brief and cruel, and don't offer a proper template for social reality. Media of every kind is teeming with questions regarding the morality of homosexuality, marking it as a threat to society, a thing to be despised... the Omega dog on the outskirts of the pack. If you were to listen to even a handful of these voices, it would seem a pretty concrete "bad idea" as aberrations go, wouldn't it?

Are you listening to them?

If so, I'm going to overstep my bounds both as a blogger and as a parent to let you in on a secret about the pundits, parents, and peers who decry homosexuality as a cultural evil.

They're wrong.

Point blank. Period. They're wrong... and we're not animals. We've thrived as a species because we alone have the ability to sort through our instincts and realize that many of them are quite simply awful. Terrible flaws in logic that hold us back or, worse, lead us to sabotaging not only our lives, but the lives of those around us. When we see a car on the blacktop, we get the hell out of the way. When one wanderer beaches himself, we know better than to follow. And when a pup dares to step across what we see as the social norm, we alter our views regarding the social norm. We do it because we can. We alone. It is what makes us human.

According to the Dalai Lama, "People take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness. Just because they're not on your road, doesn't mean they've gotten lost." Whether you realize it or not, you're on your own path right now -- or will be, sooner than you know. As is the kid in the hall, the one you don't understand, the one whose immoral actions threaten the very fabric of society. (Sarcasm, just to clarify. The sheer weight of data countering the idea that homosexuality is in any way harmful would crush an airliner.) But this was never about that, was it? Deep down, you probably don't have a moral objection to them, to their thoughts or feelings, to whom they love or whom they don't. It's about maintaining a social order wherein you can see yourself as relevant. And when the social dynamic swings the way of persecution, it may not occur to you that the strongest thing you can possibly do is to stop it, to change your mind -- or, stronger still, to change the minds of those around you. Nothing could make you more relevant, in a more lasting way, than that.

You want to know the biggest secret of them all?

You don't need a hierarchy to have a place in this world. It's here, and whole, and waiting for you as you are. Whatever mistakes you make, whatever wounds you sustain or dole out on your road to meet it, it will still be here, waiting, watching, hoping. There will be many things about it that you cannot change. And many things that you can. Sometimes, you may not know the difference. All I can say is that you owe it to yourself to try, because the kid following his or her own path deserves no less than you. And regret's a bitch.

36. Letter to a Gay Teen: Get a Straight Apology Here

2011-11-09T17:15:00.000-08:00

Do you know how an incandescent light bulb works? Of course you do, because you're clever. I can tell. ("You must be, or you wouldn't be here," said the cat.) You're also kind, so you'll forgive a layman's meager description anyway, won't you?

Unsuspecting electrons truck along the wiring of your house in a continuous flow, transferring from atom to atom. Small and simple as you like, minding their own business, they run into resistance in our chosen metaphor: the light bulb. There, for the briefest instant, they find themselves faced with a most inhospitable metal, tungsten. Tungsten is made of stern stuff, at least in this sense. It doesn't want to break down, it doesn't want to give in, and its sole purpose in the bulb is to hold the line and make life miserable for that poor current, which had so happily kept to itself prior to their meeting. Tungsten is the Man, keeping the current down. The bastard. Amazingly, despite the opposition, these little electrons keep right on going, and those of us in the room reap the benefits in the form of heat and - voila! - light.

In case you hadn't sussed it out for yourself (which, of course, you did, because you're clever), the tungsten opposition represents all those who stand in your way. The filaments are the assholes of your town, your country, and the world at large.

And this is where I apologize to you on behalf of all the filaments in your life.

The religious who condemn you without cause beyond archaic verse. The "straights" who cling to superiority with phrases like "unnatural" and "subversive," blaming you for their own failed relationships because it's easier than facing up to their own inadequacies. The men who decry a blurring of the gender lines for fear that it will compromise their ability to oppress, or that they themselves might become victims -- treated no better than they would treat women. The wives and mothers who haven't stood up on your behalf, believing that they can somehow gain status by begrudging you the very thing they lack: empowerment. For all the bullies you've ever met, or ever will meet... I. Am. Sorry.

I am so sorry.

You are not a sin. You are not an abomination. And you are not alone. You have done NOTHING to deserve ridicule, harassment, or condemnation. Anyone who would project their weaknesses upon you is small and fearful, their judgment skewed. You are beautiful because you are unique. The only you that has ever been, and the only you that will ever be. What a wonderment is that!

Life is conflict, as you know. Probably all too well. But so too is it change -- and often that change is for the better. When a bulb burns out, it is the filament that breaks, not the current. The current simply steps back and waits for a new path, knowing that resistance offers what the easy road can't: a chance to shine. A chance to be the light for that other teen, the one just like you, who will tomorrow wonder whether the world is as dark and lonely as it sometimes feels. They will reach out, whether at school, in confidence, or in cyberspace, and you will be there to tell them that this cause does not need martyrs, it has enough of those. It needs real people -- with breath and life, compassion and conviction -- to brighten the world by doing the most courageous thing they'll ever do.

To keep on trucking, despite the opposition.

Hold your head up. Tell your story. Either here, or in one of the many active and supportive communities of your choosing. We've got your back. In fact, we'll still be standing with you long after the last filament breaks. Can't blame me for sticking with the metaphor, can you? Of course not. Because you aren't just clever. You're brilliant.

It Gets Better.
WipeOut Homophobia on Facebook.
WHOF Suicide Helpline.
PFLAG.
The Trevor Project.

35. Fallacious Arguments, Not as Dirty as They Sound.

2011-07-29T17:32:00.000-07:00

Then again, maybe they're dirtier. It depends on your definition.

Seriously, though, it's starting to look like High School Debate and First-Year Logic courses aren't holding up their end of the deal when it comes to separating our young-uns from their logical fallacies. (See "Dude, Where's My Edukashun?" for more ranting on our educational failures.) They crop up a little too frequently where ideologies of any sort are concerned.

A few of the less-than-proud, but often used... (For a full list, click here.)

Argument From Adverse Consequences, Scare Tactics: X has to be wrong, because if it isn't, bad and terrible things will happen. And that's scary. So we're assuming the correctness of Y, which has more rainbows and fewer sharp edges.

Burden Of Proof: Demanding that a statement must be perceived as true if it cannot be proven false is fallacious. Likewise, demanding that something is unquestionably false if it cannot be proven true is also insufficient, depending on the position of the positive claim. The burden of proof lies with whomever is making the positive assertion.

Appeal To Force: Agree with me, or else.

Tautology, Circular Logic: A is true because B. B is true because C. And C is true because A. 'Round and 'round the mulberry bush. Monkey or weasel, you're still on unstable ground.

Appeal To Widespread Belief: Everyone else believes it. Join the bandwagon! Consensus gentium, and all that.

Slippery Slope: Let the camel's nose into the tent, and pretty soon you'll have the whole creature in your bed. A is wrong because it's way too close to B, which is so close to C that D will be on you before you know it, and by god, E is right around the corner! Ahhhh!

Argument By Pigheadedness: The absolute refusal to accept a proven statement, regardless of evidence or reason. This often leads to emotional adamancy. A principle taught to aspiring lawyers: If you have the facts, pound on the facts. If you have the evidence, pound on the evidence. If you have neither, pound on the table.

Argument By Selective Observation: Cherry picking isn't just for fruit. This is touting only that evidence which supports your argument, while ignoring the facts that do not. Francis Bacon referred to it as "counting the hits and forgetting the misses."

Statement Of Conversion: I once believed X, I now believe Y. Therefore, Y is a superior belief. Adamancy is often a factor in this one as well.

Non Sequitur: When "ergo" goes awry. An umbrella term for any assumption that does not logically follow from the base assertion.

Argument By Slogan: Politicians LOVE this one. Putting beliefs in advertising form and pointing to them as evidence.

Error Of Fact: Bogus statements, usually made as a result of ignorance. "No one knows how we came to be here." Biologists do. "No one knows how the pyramids were constructed." Historians do. "No one will ever know how long this tree has been here." I'm pretty sure an arborist could figure that one out.

Argument From Personal Astonishment: A form of Fact-Error, this is stating opinion in place of fact. (The speaker's thought process being "I don't see how this is possible, so it isn't.")

Outdated Information: Fairly self-explanatory, this is quoting information that is no longer viewed as viable, or even accurate. A subset of Cherry Picking.

Least-Plausible Hypothesis: The foe of Occam's Razor, where the most outrageous explanation is regarded as the right one. Hearing hoof-beats and pointing to unicorns as the culprit.

Appeal To Complexity: "I don't understand it. So, no one else does either. My opinions are tantamount to those given by any expert."

Argument By Uninformed Opinion: "I don't know anything at all about the topic, and I don't want to. But I have an opinion, and my opinion matters."

False Compromise: Commonly, when arguers (or spectators to the argument) cannot come to a resolution, they assume that the truth must lie somewhere in between the two opinions. It is more than possible for one side, even for BOTH sides, to be quite simply wrong. In either case, no compromise need be granted.

Having the ability to recognize these failures of logic, in yourself as much as your debate opponent, is important. But please don't spend hours and days typing these basic terms into forums and comments as rebuttals in and of themselves. It just makes you look like an ass.

34. Basic Decency: Stuck in the Interwebz, or Just Old-Fashioned?

2011-07-24T19:52:00.000-07:00

"You're almost as fake as your tan." My pink tee proclaims in bold white letters as I peruse the aisles at a certain home improvement store. I wear the shirt as much for its handy illustration of the difference between a contraction and a possessive pronoun as for any amusement I find in the words themselves. Admittedly, as someone with screaming Scotch-Irish blood (my skin is practically translucent) and a dogmatic devotion to 'what you see is what you get' honesty, I really do find them painfully amusing. But, somewhere between the overpriced light fixtures and the overly-expressive outlet covers, I all but bump into that girl. The one whose head-to-toe bling so exactly matches the color of her smartphone that I wonder for a moment whether she purchased two of them... and then smashed one of them with a sledge hammer so she could wear it. The one who's two sessions shy of curing into leather.

I pass her... and I cringe.

Not for fear that she'll throw down, mind you. Worst-case scenario, I can run faster in sensible shoes and pressed slacks than she can in a miniskirt and four-inch heels. No, I cringe with concern that my silly sense of humor may have offended this idle passerby, about whom I know absolutely nothing -- certainly not enough to imply that her personality is described solely by her appearance.

I'd like to think that this little jab from Jiminy Cricket's umbrella is a normal sensation, shared by everyone. But, with the proliferation of social networking and online-only interaction -- with screen-names and pixels standing in as emotionless substitutes for the responsiveness of an actual human face, capable not only of being wounded, but of showing it -- I'm not so sure.

Nothing illustrates this quite so well as the copy-n-paste status updates on sites like Facebook and Myspace (that one's still a thing, right?), where all manner of ill-advised, careless generalizations are haphazardly thrown back and forth as though members were playing Hot Potato with bigotry. Most of them fall under the category of "I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." Then there are the other kind. The non-starters. The "less interested in offering a topic for conversation, more interested in earning a belligerent HOORAH! from the fringes of the audience" kind. These are the insults boldly and defiantly stated in a forum where posters feel as safe as though they'd whispered the offense only in the privacy of their own minds... and detached enough that they don't care whom they hurt in the process.

Most commonly, these regurgitated statements are deeply religious, deeply political, or a measured combination of the two. No doubt you have, likely on more than one occasion, found yourself on the targeted end. Yeah... me too. And what an education I've received as a result. For one, I've learned that my secularist mentality is the source of society's every ill. That morality is a supernatural endowment, not a natural evolutionary mechanism of a social species. That my front door will be smashed in any minute now by outlaws with guns, because guns have been outlawed, and I'll deserve whatever outlaw-gunning I receive as payment for being a gun-outlaw-er. That lynching is suitable punishment for having the audacity to support the LGBT equality movement. I've also learned, to my astonishment, that I'd do well to avoid the homes of several dear friends, as they have an oh-so-hysterical habit of siccing their dogs on drug-selling illegal immigrants, flag-burners, and... democrats? Not that I personally identify with a political party, but I guess anyone who doesn't sit on the far right side of the aisle is in the same anti-American category, worthy of violent ousting.

Watching friends and relatives climb on a stolen soap box to play a pre-recorded speech... counting off the "likes" as approving comments roll beneath like the credits to a really shitty movie... it's like watching a mob form.

I'm not sure when it was that we as a nation went from a melting pot, rich in culture and ideals, to a group of people collectively agreeing to opt out of diversity. From the Angry Deconstructionists of the Mindless Conservatives to the Namby Pamby Party of Bleeding Heart Liberals, like flocking to like, until we're so bemired in mundane extremism that we literally have nothing left to talk about... absent that moronic out-group of atrocious individuals on the other side of the line. Aren't they terrible? Anyone not exactly like us is a Jonah, plain and simple. And by god, we'll mutiny if they're not thrown off-ship soon.

Social media hardly shoulders the blame for the divisiveness of our generation. The reasons behind that are complex and historied. But will it be the straw that broke the camel's ability to cringe at displays of in-group morality, callousness, and contempt?

It's rare that I offer myself up to the mob in these situations. My social network is small, limited to those people with whom I have an actual affiliation, here in the really real world. I care about these people, so I've little to no desire to ruffle any feathers by taking rapid offense. But it happens. And when it does, the results are invariably the same.

"It's okay," they tell me, "Because you're part of my group."

"Sure," I respond. "But I'm also a part of that other group. You know... the one you hate with every fiber of your being."

33. "Well then, what DO you believe in?"

2011-06-06T20:25:00.000-07:00

"You ended that sentence with a preposition. Bastard." ~ Colonel Jack O'Neill (With two ells!)

Ask this of someone who doesn't believe in ghosts or fire-breathing kettle monsters and they'd look at you as though you'd inquired after their lack of a third nostril. It would be a nonsensical question, and it would be treated as such. If, on the other hand, you count yourself among those who don't believe in talking snakes or the magical properties of foreskins, you can bet dollars to doughnuts that this question will be among the first to spill from anyone and everyone who discovers your absence of faith.

I don't know if, like me, you find this baffling. It dresses like something of a demand: You must believe in some form of the supernatural. While I still have yet to figure out the basis for this line of reasoning, there are a number of not-so clever responses designed to leave the inquirer in the same befuddled state, should you find yourself in a less-than-social mood... "Vampires. I believe in vampires," is my personal favorite. Said with a serious enough face, they'll be convinced that you say your rosary to Twilight and leave you in the blessed silence your condition warrants.*

Admittedly, though, there are times when displaying my lack of wit is as trying as responding to the question with any sincerity. And since the honest answer sounds rather silly when spoken aloud, better to place it online, where my cheesy side can be immortalized.

I believe in reason and the scientific method.

I believe in the pursuit of knowledge and the integrity of critical thinking.

I believe in compassion, in treating those you encounter with kindness and with dignity, even when it is difficult -- because WE are all we have.

I believe in love.

I believe perspective is one of the hardest things to obtain, and one of the easiest to lose.

I believe in a morality driven by an honest understanding of individuals, communities, and countries; one that recognizes the urgent need to reduce suffering, the hopeful desire to promote well-being.

I believe that bigotry, contempt, and jealousy are the surest ways to poison the lives of those you love, along with those you don't.

I believe that selflessness and courage are one and the same.

I believe in our ability as a whole to overcome harmful myths and tiresome ideologies. I believe our failure in this would cause more harm than can, or should, be forgiven.

I believe life is wondrous enough without mysticism, and that no institution has the right to hold itself immune from criticism.

I believe that superstition is a product of our fears.

I believe that fear is crippling.

And for all its emptiness, despair, and drudgery, I still believe the universe is a beautiful place, worthy of investigation, awe, and reverence.

Much like the follower of any faith, I don't always live up to my beliefs. I falter. I fall short of that better version of myself. But still I try. Because among those things I cannot believe, the most prominent is this: that the legacy of my generation is to be one where individuals created strife for the sake of a theology that forced us to be less than what we truly were.

*I won't go so far as to say it's the most intolerable series ever... But it's pretty much the most intolerable series. Ever.

Tonight I sat on the porch and cried.

2011-05-01T23:23:00.000-07:00

It is a beautiful night here in the Rockies. The skies are clear, for once. The stars are smiling. And only the breath between my tears can interrupt the silence.

Surrounded by a fortress of farmland and trees, I know that I can get as Mae-Westy as I must in order to lay this feeling to rest. It isn't as if the ruminants, rodents, or scattered feral cats (the only ones for miles with any ears to hear) will give me any grief for showing mine. But my tears too are quiet. Maybe the night and I are sharing in the act of listening again and again to the one phrase that has echoed over airways -- actual and electronic -- since their first utterance only moments ago.

Osama Bin Laden is dead.

The man behind one of the gravest crimes in living memory -- at least in mine -- is dead.

It is still sinking in. Whatever emotional clarity I can normally claim must still be in a refractory state, for I can't seem to nail down whatever this is. My tears... are they relief? Am I subconsciously reliving hours... DAYS of sitting rapt before the television, watching the towers crumble on infinite replay and desperately reciting the name of each casualty aloud as if to burn them into memory. As though it could somehow bring meaning to the senseless loss of life if only some no-name housewife, a world away, would dedicate herself to remembering it? Am I making myself a parody of the anguish that a madman ultimately bestowed upon himself, as well as those he sought to harm?

Do we rejoice at the death of another human being? Is it a sign of cruelty? Contempt? Misplaced priorities? Does it brand us as evil that we can take a life and call it justice?

I read a story not long ago of a monk unjustly interred in a Chinese prison. For years, he endured every torture, every harsh and dreadful thing one can imagine at the unyielding, unrepentant hands of the prison guards. Upon his release, the monk reported with shame having often felt a sense of grave danger when the guards were about. He was naturally told that was to be expected of a man who very certainly WAS in danger. Given the slightest inclination, the guards likely could have killed him, after all. "You misunderstand me," the monk corrected, gently. "I felt in danger of losing my sense of compassion. For the prison guards."

An odd story for an atheist to cling to as a source of inspiration, I know. We don't often come across as pacifists. That isn't quite the point I'm stumbling my way into making.

Compassion is everything to me. The greatest of virtues and the noblest of intentions. It is what pushes us to understand one another when we could just as easily turn away from the conflict that becomes injustice. It asks us to give of ourselves, tirelessly and without expectation of reward, when those around us suffer. To extend grace both to those with whom we choose to spend our lives, and those we meet only momentarily, knowing that, as Max Ermann stated, "They too have their story."

Love is an emotion. Compassion is a choice. It builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.

But tonight... tonight I count my tears for the families torn apart by the murderous actions of one afflicted by the demons of his own choosing. I cry in the hope that they, along with the families of soldiers -- American or otherwise -- who've been ripped into war-ravaged worlds and political ploys alike will find peace. I weep for the notion of closure and the belief that maybe the nightmare inflicted on us all so many years ago can at last, in some small part, be laid to rest.

Tonight I cry because I am grateful for this end.

Tomorrow... I will grieve for my compassion.

32. There's a first time for everything.

2011-04-14T08:33:00.000-07:00

Throughout this blog, I've made it a point to only provide links as informational supplements or visual entertainment. You likely don't pop into the closet to listen to the regurgitated views of other non-religious commentators, after all. But if I may be so obnoxious as to point you elsewhere, this editorial by Paula Kirby goes a long way toward expressing the bitter taste left by the emotional, political and societal war of faith versus feminism -- enough to warrant special mention.

It's no secret that the majority of those at the forefront of the secular movement are men. And while I admire and applaud their efforts in this area, there's something to be said for hearing the tale of the slaughter from the mouth of the lamb.

31. Gasp!

2011-02-28T12:34:00.000-08:00

How's this for a barely-worth-your time post?

"Stats: Pageviews: 666"

Expect me on your doorstep for obligatory beast-marking sometime between noon and three next Thursday.

30. An Atheist's Christmas Playlist

2010-12-18T14:15:00.000-08:00

Nearly everything I have to say with regards to my favorite holiday was already stated in last year's post. So, to avoid repeating myself (and because I'm too busy to offer more just now), I'll instead use this space to torment you with some awesome yuletide tunes.

You'll notice they all press upon the same shared human desires; the universal need for closeness, comfort, remembrance, and love. Here's to you, dear reader, in the hope that your holiday season brings these each in abundance.

29. Put that in yer pipe.

2010-10-19T06:00:00.000-07:00

Here's an amusing little tidbit...

In ASL (Sign Language), the word "belief" is conveyed by signing "thought" and following immediately into the sign for "marriage". Literally, "the thought to which you're married".

Divorce attorneys, look sharp.

28. Insert Hokey "Method to Madness" Joke Here

2010-10-14T00:28:00.000-07:00

In keeping with the educational theme...

We're all too aware that our nation is falling further and further behind on the scholastic front. As schools continue to trudge through a lack of funding -- cutting programs, lowering wages, and reducing report cards and permission slips to advertising space for local businesses in an attempt to keep their heads above water -- it's distressing to think the problem isn't likely to improve anytime soon.

However, there is at least one area in which we can still claim to be competitive.

ScienceDaily (Feb. 1, 2009) — “A study of college freshmen in the United States and in China found that Chinese students know more science facts than their American counterparts (averages: 90% versus 50%) -- but both groups are nearly identical when it comes to their ability to do scientific reasoning.”

The silver lining sounds nice, right? Until you realize that both groups did relatively poorly on the reasoning end of things. And this is nothing new. Time and time again, studies have shown that students often pick and choose which set of facts to accept and which to ignore when it comes to dissecting a large body of information.

I often refer to the scientific method, but in researching our nation's educational standing it occurs to me that a too-large majority of students genuinely may be learning science purely as stand-alone facts, rather than learning the underlying procedure for reaching conclusions, which is the heart and soul of scientific thought.

So here it is, in a nutshell; the scientific method:

The above can be reduced to four basic steps.

Step 1: Characterization (Question)

This is where you define the subject. Measurements and observations, to the front. On the double.

Step 2: Hypothesis (Question)

This would be your wild-ass attempt to explain said definitions, measurements, and observations.

Step 3: Prediction (Question)

No, you're not going all wiggy on this one. If your hypothesis is correct, something should logically and predictably follow. Put away the Magic Eight Ball and break out the Holmesy deduction skills.

Step 4: Experiment (Question)

I believe this one speaks for itself: test, test, test.

Wash, rinse, repeat, and keep repeating. It's a continuing cycle, not a one-time recipe. And, as the parenthesized after-bits would suggest, question everything.

27. Dude, Where's My Edukashun?

2010-10-11T12:08:00.000-07:00

I used to write poetry.

Don't laugh; this is a serious moment for me.

… I mean it. *Insert finger-wag and angry mother eye-squint.*

Most of it was… just terrible. Unjustifiably criminal, if we're being generous. Don’t worry, I’m in talks with an up-and-coming midlife crisis who assures me that this schmaltzy segment of my life is well behind me. Suffice it to say that some creative outlets are better left to random scenes in "Hotel Chelsea" and women with a questionable taste in hats.

But if you'll be so kind as to bear with me for a bit of disaffected spewing, I do have a point to make. Honestly.

In sorting the filing cabinet yesterday morning, I rediscovered this nugget of literary pyrite. It's dated nearly a decade ago, in the early years following my deconversion:

~ Doctrine of Deceit ~

Whispers dripping from the mouth in

Ghastly, honeyed clots.

Seduce the empty spaces in your head,

Between your thoughts.

Canonized and righteous.

Worshiped and renowned.

A desecrating piety

Enthralled within its crown.

What falsities are deified

By empty sight, ambition!

What sloughing off of hope and truth,

Turns Reason to contrition!

Consciously, your mind objects.

You cast its questions down.

Quietly, your soul reflects.

But peace will not be found.

Your searching hands are empty.

You know it will amount

To only bitter absence in the end.

In fealty to inconstancy,

You sacrifice your own.

The beauty of all life and truth

Debased before the thrones

Of impostors, thieves, and gluttons

Whose lies describe your cell.

They told you to believe.

And so…

You sacrificed your Self.

It's easy enough now to look back on the "poor me" sentiment with embarrassment. At the same time, I'd nearly forgotten ever having felt the emotions behind the rhyme: the anger, the disgust with yourself for your oh-so-human capacity to be sorely and solidly duped. Taken in by the Gestalt law of the whole, the dramatic imagery, you have difficulty avoiding resentment in learning that the big shebang is NOT greater than the sum of its parts. Many of you who've come down from the religious high will understand these feelings well, but for any who may be visiting from the other side of the river, I should maybe clarify that this wasn't anger toward a deity for any failing, real or imaginary. (To quote a good friend, "That's akin to being angry with Santa for not leaving a shiny new car beneath the Christmas tree.") Nor was my resentment directed at the well-meaning family, friends, and faithful tutors who'd raised me in the confines of a collective delusion. Rather, it was the recognition of what I'd lost to the religious method of reasoning. Namely... reason itself.

See, in my small-town school, topics like evolution, physics, and the role of government in civilized society were glossed over in favor of pseudo-religious mottos and a rather one-sided view of the most-touted constitutional amendments. The home ec. teacher read daily from a certain moral-filled compilation of short stories, sticking exclusively to the tales with a Latter Day Saint (Mormon) bent. The science teacher openly proclaimed that biological complexity was proof of a creator. The government teacher was (luckily) shot down in his desire to show graphic footage of a late-term abortion in class to support his argument that a god-based Republican viewpoint was the only justifiable position for any true American. Amusingly, the one teacher who succeeded in keeping religion wholly separate from the classroom is now a Mormon bishop. Abstinence-only programs were a given – so naturally, the district had an astounding per capita measure of teen pregnancies. And, apart from an ongoing argument over the sidelined inclusion of the words “natural selection” in our biology books, no one objected. We’re often alarmed when we hear of the legal battles over what can and cannot be taught in schools. But what’s more alarming is the awareness that there are many places in America where these battles should take place, but probably never will. Because the truth of the matter is that small-town life (at least in this section of the country) is driven by religious precepts. In a town of 400 farmers, ranchers, and missionaries, there was no such thing as a secular family. No left-of-the-aisle arguments, no open discourse, no counterweight.

I didn't attend college largely because I wasn't expected to. In this atmosphere, on a blunt day, college is for people with penises. And what little schooling I did obtain was marred in its scientific honesty by a faith that valued subjugation over intellectualism.

In short, I feel -- profoundly, and with the utmost sense of regret -- that I am less educated, and quite possibly less intelligent, than I should be.

26. Works Alone.

2010-08-29T06:59:00.001-07:00

Not as self-aggrandizing as prayer, but certainly more effective.

25. Mystery vs. Science... (En Theatre)

2010-08-05T01:56:00.000-07:00

We as atheists are regularly accused of having no sense of wonder in our approach to the universe at large -- something I've always found puzzling. To me, the idea that the heavy elements in and around us (the uranium in our soil, the iron our blood) were likely concocted by the nucleosynthesis of an exploding star is beautiful to the point of unification. The awareness that we are (as Carl Sagan said) "star stuff", needs no expansion, no god element, to provoke a sense of awe, humility, or peace. Saying instead that the earth's resources exist because god put them there, or that our blood is red because god makes it so... That's hijacking our natural sense of wonder and reducing it to something gaudy and pointless. I found, and still find, no mystery or awe in the pages of religion; only the call for followers to feel "baffled and inferior."

24. For he that sheds his blood with me... better be straight.

2010-04-12T01:25:00.000-07:00

It’s the stuff of movies.

A band of brothers rising up to liberate an enslaved nation from political tyranny. Military prowess wrapped in old-world glory, painted with a special forces brush, and shipped out on a heading that would forever change the face of warfare. The setting is ancient Thebes. A city-state regarded as the most powerful martial force in the world. Trumping even the Spartans in bravery, in vigor, and in skill, the single regiment responsible for their success is recognized today by civilians as it will one day be by historians and poets. Their battles will lead to a revolution in military tactics. Their devotion will become the measuring stick for the armies of the future. And when they die, their enemies will salute them with respect, erect monuments to their valor, and issue this warning to any who would scorn their methods, “Perish miserably, they who think that these men did or suffered aught disgraceful.”

They are the Sacred Band of Thebes, a core group of fighters comprised entirely of homosexual couples.

I’m sure you can guess where this is going.

More than 2300 years later, with America's healthcare debate (possibly) in its death throes, our focus as a nation shifts to yet another polarizing topic: the potential repeal of our military’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy prohibiting openly gay servicemen and women from serving in the armed forces. A grudging compromise between then-president Bill Clinton, the Department of Defense, and an oppositional Congress, the bill was a response to the brutal murder of gay U.S. Navy petty officer Allen R. Schindler, Jr; an effort to prevent the harassment and cruel treatment of soldiers based on sexual orientation while still recognizing that homosexuality innately creates "an unacceptable risk to the high standards of morale, good order and discipline, and unit cohesion that are the essence of military capability."

Though the magnanimous nature of this bill still escapes me (and probably you as well), no doubt many Americans see it as a good thing that our nation stands alone among the western and the wealthy as one that openly discriminates against military personnel. A divide in psychology, perhaps. But any honest debate on the exclusion of homosexuals for the betterment of cohesion has long been settled in the psychological field, as empirical evidence fails to show that "sexual orientation is germane to any aspect of military effectiveness; including unit cohesion, morale, recruitment and retention" (Belkin, 2003; Belkin & Bateman, 2003; Herek, Jobe, & Carney, 1996; MacCoun, 1996; National Defense Research Institute, 1993). Comparative data from foreign militaries and domestic police and fire departments show likewise that when lesbians, gay men and bisexuals are allowed to serve openly there is "no evidence of disruption or loss of mission effectiveness" (Belkin & McNichol, 2000–2001; Gade, Segal, & Johnson, 1996; Koegel, 1996).

So if it bears no impact on our armed forces... If to quote Consul David Saranga (on the issue of Israel’s policy allowing gays and lesbians to serve openly in the military) it is a “non-issue”... If you can be "a very good officer, a creative one, a brave one, and be gay at the same time”... what it is that really drives the dispute? What has allowed a glaring oversight in civil rights – and a sinkhole of wasted military funds – to continue for so many years unchecked?

Luckily, we’ve a plethora of religious leaders and conservative pundits to answer that question.

Homosexuality is immoral, they tell us. Allowing it to take place among our soldiers, the targets of hyper-masculinized ideals and textbook “alpha-dog” reverence, is simply unthinkable.

Let’s think about it, regardless.

Since its inception in 1993, DADT has been cited in the discharge of more than 13,000 troops. 619 of these discharges took place in 2008. The same year, more than 3000 military women were raped by their fellow servicemen. And those are just the ones we know about. The Pentagon estimates that 80% to 90% of sexual assaults go unreported – understandable, when you consider that only 8% of military cases end in prosecution (compared to 40% in civilian cases). 80% of those convicted are honorably discharged, despite their crimes. What this means is that, in 2008, 619 soldiers were dismissed from dedicated service to their country for non-criminal acts, while more than 2760 identified rapists (and a potential thousands more unidentified) were allowed to remain in that service. Give a moment for the math to set in.

What does it say about our moral view in terms of military operation when a soldier is more likely to be discharged for loving a fellow serviceman than for assaulting one?

Maybe ancient Thebes had it right all along.

A prominent Greek military figure, Epaminondas, considered the greatest warrior-statesmen of his time, and a member of the Sacred Band of Thebes, is noted by historians as having two male lovers: Asopichus and Caphisodorus. Caphisodorus died with him in a battle at Mantineia. They were buried together, something usually reserved for a husband and wife in Greek society.

Historian Plutarch later wrote that the formation of the Sacred Band may have been inspired by the words of Plato in his work Symposium:

“And if there were only some way of contriving that a state or an army should be made up of lovers and their loves, they would be the very best governors of their own city, abstaining from all dishonour, and emulating one another in honour; and when fighting at each other's side, although a mere handful, they would overcome the world. For what lover would not choose rather to be seen by all mankind than by his beloved, either when abandoning his post or throwing away his arms? He would be ready to die a thousand deaths rather than endure this. Or who would desert his beloved or fail him in the hour of danger?”

23. The Good, The Bad, and the Final Word

2010-03-22T16:57:00.000-07:00

The long-standing argument is that science does not and cannot have a place in matters of morality. To draw a line from the following video, "How have we convinced ourselves that in the moral sphere, there is no such thing as moral expertise?"

22. "Calm yourself, Iago."

2010-02-13T06:40:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point in my adult life, I realized that intelligence is less a product of education, and more the learned and/or inherent ability to separate the bad information from the good. What is reasonable; what can be corroborated; and what takes one gander at the prospect of honest scrutiny and shrivels up like a salted slug.

Ew.

Throughout the ages, many have touted claims to knowledge about how things will unfold -- claims that any reasonable individual would recognize as improbable, if not outright impossible. A prime example of "bad information". The End of Days is a common theme for these predictions, and an ever-growing population of the religious and non-religious alike are tying this theme to a particular date. I like to think that anyone who may hop into this little closet-o-mine is far too intelligent to be lured in by this sort of (largely) internet-hysteria. But in the unlikelihood that you (or someone you know) may believe that 2012 will bring about the end of pot-smokers, monks, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Farscape reference, booya!), and Earth-ridden life as we know it, I give you NASA's official response to these heinous allegations.

"Nothing bad will happen to the Earth in 2012... [This] story started with claims that Nibiru, a supposed planet discovered by the Sumerians, is headed toward Earth. This catastrophe was initially predicted for May 2003, but when nothing happened the doomsday date was moved forward to December 2012. Then these two fables were linked to the end of one of the cycles in the ancient Mayan calendar at the winter solstice in 2012 -- hence the predicted doomsday date of December 21, 2012... Just as the calendar you have on your kitchen wall does not cease to exist after December 31, the Mayan calendar does not cease to exist on December 21, 2012. This date is the end of the Mayan long-count period but then -- just as your calendar begins again on January 1 -- another long-count period begins for the Mayan calendar."

21. Losing sucks.

2010-02-09T03:44:00.000-08:00

"Haven't you ever lost anything, Dr. Bronx? Your purse? Your car keys? Well, it's rather like that: now you have it, now you don't." ~ Campbell [Medicine Man, 1992]

Some years back, a friend of mine made what would be his ultimate -- and ultimately final -- decision when he walked into a bathroom with a blade and never returned. As is often the case with male suicide, there was no warning. No history of depression; no traumatic event; and no slow, downward spiral to tip us off. Just the seemingly knee-jerk reaction of a man whose life had led him to believe he'd become a burden on his family. It is one of the reasons that men are typically more successful in suicide attempts than their female counterparts. No one can avert a calamity who cannot see it coming. Anyone who has survived such a tragedy knows all too well the psychology behind it.

That doesn't stop you from seeing culpability in your own non-action prior to the event.

It is perhaps lucky for me that I was working at the time. Surrounded by patrons and co-workers, no allowance was made for a full expression of shock and grief upon hearing the news. In the wake of a brief bathroom sob, I reapplied my makeup, hoisted the professional front, and shoved the unpleasant emotions into a deep, dark hole to be reassessed at a more convenient (and preferably solitary) hour.

Days passed before I addressed the issue at all. Then days turned into weeks.

On some level, I knew I was avoiding the unavoidable. It wasn't that I'd no prior dealings with death. Granted, this was the first suicide. But it was also the first time I'd suffered such loss... as an atheist. And to be perfectly honest, I had no idea how to deal with it. In the past, religious tradition had offered easy placations, but in this, the safety net was gone. For the first time, I was forced to face the issue head-on and alone, with no tools, no recourse.

No surprise then, that when it finally hit... it hit hard.

I won't go into details. Suffice it to say that somewhere between the screaming guilt, the rum, and the aimless-frustrations turned shouted-demands of my poor, bewildered husband, I realized that I was likely not alone in my poorly-channeled expressions of grief. While many sectors of the world have fulfilling and healthy customs regarding bereavement, the growth of the typical American child doesn't include a reconciliation with death outside the application of scripture. Our vulnerable senses hijacked by promises of reunion, we are taught to see death as a separation, a temporary and necessary parting in our journey unto paradise. Sadness and agony are postponed indefinitely. Thus, no one teaches the indoctrinated how to mourn -- truly mourn -- for outright loss. We are taught to wait. But never are we taught to cope.

A (somewhat-embittered, I'll admit) part of me can't help but see this glaring oversight in our emotional education as something of a crime. A pink-flowered band-aid schlumped noncommittally over a gaping wound.

What to do when it bleeds?

Paul Ekman, one of the world's leading experts on emotion and emotional expression stated in his (highly recommended) book Emotions Revealed, "I am much less certain that it benefits a person not to feel sadness or agony about the normal losses we all experience in life... Sadness and agony may help heal the loss, and without those feelings the suffering from the loss could endure longer."

I knew that this was no separation. No merry walkabout from which my friend would eventually return. This was the end. This was death. And I too had a choice to make -- one not so final as his, but a choice, nonetheless. I could spend my days wondering at his state in death, pining for a reunion that seemed untenable even by the most supernatural of standards; or I could honor both his life and his passing by treating it as a genuine loss.

Then an amazing thing happened. Life moved on. And I with it.

When my husband's grandmother died the following year, the tools I'd once thought lost were readily available. For my husband as well. We cried, like everyone else. Then found ourselves smiling at her memory, far sooner than everyone else. The same occurred more recently, with the loss of my own aunt, and then my grandmother.

Loss is painful. There is no way around that. And while it seems a comfort to say that those we've lost are waiting for us beyond the veil -- I can't help but feel that sentiment deprives us of an honest emotional experience, and the transition through it. I imagine that many a widow and widower alike have spent a great deal of their lives waiting to reunite with those they once loved, an event that they believe will take place only after they die. How tragic does it seem to live with one hopeful eye toward the grave? I cannot say that the non-religious alternative is easier. I can say, however, as one who has experienced both sides of bereavement, that it feels... healthier, and far more sincere.

Someone once asked me how it is that an atheist can deal with loss. I suppose as a trite reference to the quotation above (because I'm just that kind of gal), I can only say that a person who has lost their keys will waste countless hours, even days, in the hopes of recovering them. A person who knows that they are gone, will cast them anew.

20. Say it with me.

2009-12-30T05:25:00.000-08:00

It's a little thing, really. A personal pet peeve. One that shouldn't bother me nearly no much as the oft-misstated "Elementary, my dear Watson"s, "Beam me up, Scotty"s, and "Play it again, Sam"s of the world. (Note to future screenwriters everywhere: none of those lines were ever spoken by their ascribed iconic characters, and therefore cannot be quoted. So, for the sake of my sanity. Stop doing it.) Still, I can count almost daily -- sometimes by the dozens -- the number of times someone refers to a book in the bible that.... does not exist. You hear it on TV. On street corners. Even on movies, where you know that hundreds to thousands of separate individuals must have passed over this little inaccuracy either without noticing, or without knowing the difference.

Call it a public service. More accurately, call it a trivial, OCD-induced rant from a former librarian who will likely conclude this post with a childish snort and a grab for the last piece of Christmas fudge. Still, I feel compelled to at least put it out there.

The last book in the Bible is not Revelations. It's Revelation. Just one. Not plural. No "s".

As I said, it's a little thing. But it drives my poor, compulsive senses absolutely bat-shit. Seriously, it's worse than nails on a chalk board, or biting into tin foil. I view it the way a dog views a vacuum. It's that bad. So if you really feel the need to quote from this particular codex, at least quote it correctly. Please?

Thank you.

I'ma go see about that fudge, now.

19. An Atheist's Christmas Prayer

2009-12-24T00:03:00.000-08:00

For weeks now, we’ve all shared a similar American experience. Crowded stores and rushed traffic pacified only by lamppost holiday lights and random greeting cards from those relatives we’d all but forgotten we had. Spirits lifted by music and familial warmth, we avoid caloric overload as best we can. Spirits dampened by thoughts of those who are no longer here to share in our oddly-enjoyable hysteria, we make a hog-like mess of the divinity and peanut brittle on our collective countertops. Some of us -- (me) -- even spend the entire season pointedly wearing Santa hats and adorning our shoes with jingly bells.

Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.

That’s right. Odd as it may seem for Little-Miss-Atheist, the Christmas season is my favorite time of year. Bar none. It’s a holiday that transforms my house into a very interesting place, to put it mildly. My sweet husband tolerates my compulsive need for round-the-clock Christmas carols – largely by vacating the house as much as possible. My son alternates between relieved and terrified that his mother has suddenly become the cheeriest woman on the block. I smile more. I bake more. And, believe it or not, I sing the religious hymns as loudly and as gleefully as every reindeer and Santa mash-up that dashes its way across the radio.

That said, I’ve been sitting on this post for weeks. Partly because I wasn’t sure how to address the topic without sounding dry or self-indulgent. Mostly because I didn’t know whether I had anything to contribute to what has apparently become a controversial subject; and even if I did… whether or not I could adequately express my feelings is another matter entirely.

We all know by now (or at least, we damn well SHOULD) that winter festivals have occurred throughout recorded history; longer, unless I miss my guess. Today we call it Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa. Yesterday we called it Yule, Epiphany, or Saturnalia. Whether it’s a preparation for Wild Hunt, a hopeful salute to the season’s Solstice, a visit from the magi, or even an old Norse feast marked by the sacrificial bloodletting of horses and cattle – the lore and legends are meant to inspire hope for the future, a bit of warmth to pull us through the long nights and harsh weather. Gathering together to consolidate our status as a family, or a community, or a society is a profoundly human need. A deeply-rooted desire that, when fulfilled, leaves us renewed and emotionally capable of moving forward.

In our fledgling years as a civilization, it is events like these that quite literally kept us alive – simply by keeping us together. What happened, then, to turn it into a month-long effort to pull us apart?

Every year, opinion pages, blogs, and announcements across America light up with people desperate to take sides; erecting walls between “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Holidays”, decorated trees and interpretations of tradition. People yell. People push and defend. Turning it into a private war rather than a public celebration.

Again, I have to ask…. What happened?

There is an easy answer, of course. But it is… too easy. I gain nothing from it and neither do you.

So instead, to bridge the gap, to take my small step toward the world peace being wistfully sung for on iPods the nation over, I – an outspoken atheist, rationalist, and skeptic – want to send this small Christmas prayer into the electronic void, not expecting any response. Not really expecting anyone to understand. But hoping I’m wrong on both counts.

This Christmas, I pray that the struggle over the “true meaning” of the holiday is wiped away, replaced by the desire to honor what Christmas means to you and not to your neighbors.
I pray that we as a nation can learn to put aside the party lines and shields of segregation to leave the world better than we found it.
I pray that we as a race can learn to prosper without greed, without indifference.
I pray that the good times outweigh the bad, and that we enter the lives of those we are lucky enough to encounter with the grace and respect that everyone deserves, regardless of their status, regardless of our creed.
I pray we wake up one day with the recognition that – black or white, rich or poor, religious or not – we all want the same things, even if we disagree on how best to achieve them.
I pray that those who need shelter will find it.
I pray that those in pain will find an end to suffering.
I pray for peace.
I pray for hope.
Most of all, I pray that tomorrow will be better than it was today.
For all of us.

18. "I Got F#@&in' No Dukes."

2009-10-13T07:28:00.000-07:00

There can be no doubt that a schism exists in America between backers of evidence and supporters of a certain religious philosophy – almost to the point that either of them can be caricaturized, labeled with stickers reading “science” and “god,” and released like monstrous mutts into the populace, squelching all opportunities for advancement with needless conversation and easily-raised ire. After a time, the resulting splash damage leads otherwise rational people to build a wall between themselves and what they are willing to believe.

Here I am on the tail end of several evolutionary theory-themed posts, knowing they won’t be the last, and wondering whether evidence for its own sake is enough to turn the tide on this conversation. Because even though I, like Kathy Griffin, find it increasingly bizarre that fact is somehow subject to philosophy in our corner of the world; I recognize, having been raised in an acutely religious environment, the threat that is posed by alternate, more plausible, explanations of origin. It isn’t so much that science labels these explanatory models as “theories” opening the argument to semantics, nor is it that the scientific method forces an honesty that leaves us shying away from treating them as absolutes. The problem is posed by the evidence itself. The mere existence of fact and information undermines the bible’s efficacy – something that doesn’t sit well with a large percentage of American citizens. So we have edited text books, teachers who enter into lawsuits rather than support a non-religious version of history, and teachers as targets of parental disgust for doing the opposite. We have moderate proponents arguing that both sides are viable in the classroom, while others see that with a tad less... shall we say, optimism:

By now, both sides have reason to bury their heads in the sand and stay there until the storm dies down – something that doesn’t look likely to happen any time soon.

I can’t help but wonder whether this scene is playing out in other nations as well. Likely, it isn’t occurring to this degree.

The real question I suppose is: can all of this be avoided? Possibly. Like most individuals, rationalists have no beef with the personal opinions and philosophies of others. What others chose to teach their children in the privacy of their own home may be a subject of some irritation, but for the most part, it has little bearing on the global field of understanding. It is when an archaic belief system is allowed to dictate public policy and the course of education that ignoring the storm ceases to be an option.

Neil deGrasse Tyson said, "I, like Ptolemy, am humbled in the presence of our clockwork universe. When I am on the cosmic frontier, and I touch the laws of physics with my pen, or when I look upon the endless sky from an observatory on a mountaintop, I well up with an admiration for its splendor. But I do so knowing and accepting that if I propose a God beyond that horizon, one who graces our valley of collective ignorance, the day will come when our sphere of knowledge will have grown so large that I will have no need of that hypothesis."

Such an articulate and beautiful sentiment. Would that it could be shared by everyone.

17. Who needs monkeys?

2009-07-03T10:59:00.000-07:00

Some things are simply too brilliant for words. Case in point:

16. This just in...

2009-07-01T21:25:00.000-07:00

The Other Closet has been added to The Atheist Blogroll. You can see the blogroll in my sidebar. The Atheist blogroll is a community building service provided free of charge to Atheist bloggers from around the world. If you would like to join, visit Mojoey at Deep Thoughts for more information.

15. A Million Monkeys and Youtube Contributions

2009-06-30T21:24:00.000-07:00

Every so often, tumbling through the "series of tubes" that (everyone knows) comprises the internet, I come across a site or a video that very accurately portrays the typical arguments posed by theists with regards to atheism. This one, for example:

Then comes the age-old question, the pivotal choice between responding to the daisy chain of logical fallacies, or simply bemoaning our educational system for allowing these tragedies to occur. Since I don't possess the tolerance for trolls and link-spams (not to mention creepy-dim lighting, or a spastic webcam), I'll likely never join the Youtube bandwagon. But I'm fairly certain that's why Al Gore invented blogs.

The Anti-Atheist Argument, Deconstructed:

[0:00 -- 0:50] Mentions the "creation" of the universe in conjunction with the "creation" of Earth/planets/humans, ignoring correlation or the passage of time. In cosmological terms, Earth is only a recent addition to the universe -- and the development of Homo Sapiens might as well have happened this morning. Darwin's "fairy tale" bears no connection whatsoever to the origin of planets.

[0:58] This quote of evolutionary theory having “done nothing to help the progress of science” is not only a ludicrous thing to say – its source could not be located. I did scrounge up a quote stating that no single theory can be credited with the progression of science, rather that science is furthered by the accumulation of theories that continue to hold water. Possibly misconstrued quote-mining. Either way, an argument via slogan isn't a valid one.

[1:06] Darwin “wasn’t a scientist?” Curious as to the definition here. In terms of practice, he was the scientific method personified. If you’re speaking in terms of education, Darwin began his college studies in the field of medicine – and only left to study theology because he couldn’t stomach the era’s surgical procedures. It should also bears mentioning: he was indeed a minister, once. He didn't die as one. Wonder why that is....? Hmm. *Cheeky Eye Roll*

[1:22] “I’m gonna create my own theory.” The theory was a product of observation, recording, and study across many years – and a shared pursuit of several scientists at the time. (Wallace, for one – who published similar papers immediately following Darwin's.) It was not a willful attempt at rebellion, and struggling to paint it as such does nothing to further your argument. Whether or not his theory coincided with the notion of god was a very personal battle for him, one that lasted for a great many years. In the end, he realized that beliefs should be molded to the facts, not the other way around.

[1:38] “Threw out some queries.” Oh dear. A scientist being humble. For shame. 150 years of hardcore testing and evidence-investigation, and the ideas, along with their explanatory and predictive capabilities, still hold true. Very few “ideas and queries” can be said to have remained as congruent.

[1:53] Making a religion of Darwin’s dangerous idea. This one rears its ugly head a lot with regards to evolution. A puzzling method of attack, and one that may well be unique to America. Religious crowds do not ever accuse backers of gravitational theory, germ theory, or the theory of plate-tectonics (i.e. – nearly… everyone) as being followers of a “religion”. Odd, that.

[1:59] “Hope?” … Again, I find myself puzzled. Following the evidence. Has nothing to do with personal desire. This may underpin an important distinction between brain types as well. The ability to separate your own impressions and beliefs from your scientific observations is crucial to the integrity of knowledge.

[2:12] “There should be evidence.” YES! Exactly, there definitely should! And there definitely is. Libraries-worth of documented, verified evidence.

[2:40] “No transitional forms?” You’re…. you’re kidding on this one, right? Because EVERY bone and fossil found has fit in perfectly with evolutionary theory. Every one. http://www.talkorigins.org/faqs/faq-transitional.html Some have even been predicted by evolutionary theory PRIOR to being discovered. http://chem.tufts.edu/AnswersInScience/evo_science.html So, please tell me you’re kidding, ‘cause… ‘Cause I’ve no hope for my son’s education if you’re not.

[3:14] “Leave MY theory alone!” Hey, now. You started it. Besides, you’re kinda forcing us to be cruel on this one. You’re willfully choosing to remain in the dark with regards to the facts, and you're using scientific vernacular as though it holds the same meaning in lay-speak. It doesn’t. In scientific terms, the “fact” label is not an easy thing to come by. The transition from “idea” to “hypothesis” to “theory” can take decades, even centuries to achieve. Larger explanatory models have always been – and may always be – dubbed as “theories”. Theories are comprised of facts, proven-viable, tested, peer-reviewed, and re-tested. They have to stand up in the face of everything we know concerning the workings of the world. The evidence gathered in the wake of proposed theories MUST support the theory, else it does not SURVIVE as a theory. Evolution as an ongoing process is a fact. It is observable. It is verifiable. It is in yer face. Evolution as origin will likely always be called a theory, because science has a higher standard than the world at large. God, however, cannot maintain his efficacy beyond the “hypothesis” stage. I cannot leave your theory alone. Because you do not have one.

[3:44] “Lucy fraud” – The knee-joint claim is an empty accusation. Zero controversy exists here. “Nebraska man” was more likely to have been a mistake than a fraud, classification was given in 1922 and was corrected in 1925 – not by god, but by scientists who continued researching the claim even after making it. Highlighting again the superior methods of science vs. religion, where evidence is valued over belief. None of the examples here cast any doubt whatsoever on evolution -- dealing solely with human ancestry, which branch fits where, and whatnot. You will see shown in the image below a current listing for these known branches, each of which are filled to the frothing brim with fossils and full skeletons (many numbering well into the hundreds) proving their efficacy.

[3:48] Far from being an example of “terrible science” – is a shining example of how the scientific method reveals the truth.

[4:02] “Make the choice to let go of evidence.” Ah, the heart of theism, summed in a sentence. Brought a tear to my eye.

[5:05] “Are you willing to let go of it, if it isn’t true?” Absolutely. In a second. And every atheist, skeptic, and scientist alike will say the same. Our only interest is in understanding the world for what it is, not what we wish it to be. Give us the evidence, the theories will duke it out on a national, public stage, winner-take-all while the loser is stricken from the text books. Intelligent Design, which I’m guessing you may well support, tried its hand at this. But again, ID isn’t a theory. It’s a failed hypothesis.

[5:17] Nobel. Pronounced no-bell. Not… noble.

[5:55] Design from complexity, and the notion of randomness. Ugh. By this point, I just want to pat the poor video on its exploiting-failures-of-perception-as-justification-for-ludicrous-notions head. We evolved to see patterns where none exist, and to ascribe human characteristics, or purpose-driven descriptions to inanimate things. It happens to the best of us. Read the following, and we’ll talk again, mkay?

[6:27] The "cell is absolutely useless if the information varies?" WHAT? Oh my. *Vigorously Refers Speaker to Afore-Mentioned Books*

[6:48] Pointing to the “impossibility” (think she means to say “improbability”) of chance. Three issues here – well, actually FAR more than two, but I’m trying to be concise. One) natural selection is the furthest thing from accidental occurrences. Two) backwards calculations of statistical probabilities nearly always yield borderline-impossible results – even when there AREN’T a vast number of glaringly obvious inaccuracies to fuel them, as with your Kinko’s/NYC comparison. Three) if the whole of the debate hinges on likelihoods, Occam's Razor clearly favors science here. The odds that all the rules of nature have unknowingly been suspended in order to allow for a supernatural deity of ANY sort, let alone your particular version of a praise-worthy deity, are... improbable.

[7:30 – 8:58] This one has become a slogan in its own right. Yay for irreducible complexity! Yay for debunked, bogus notions! But no, seriously, yay for the science that blows this shit out of the water. The flagellum described here? Not irreducibly complex. Nothing is.

[8:58 – 10:32] Ayup, I know. You don’t like us, and you don’t like our silly reliance on evidence and reason. We get that.

I do have to say, it's partly nice to see the religious masses at least making an attempt at scientific discussions and evidence-based arguments. I've a hope that the "science" and "evidence" parts will eventually show themselves, but I'm not exactly holding my breath.

But here's the overall issue with this video -- apart from the many flaws listed above, of course -- it seems to argue that atheism is somehow contingent on the truth of evolution as a theory. If that were even remotely the case, my blog would state little enough to nothing, because I'd be leaving the issue to geneticists, paleontologists, and... people like Kirk Cameron. (Oh dear. We'd best not venture there, even on a sarcastic basis.) My atheism came from reason, and from an understanding of religious history. My husband's arose from the realization that 99% of the world's religions have been banished as myths, though once were followed as vigorously as today's theists follow Christianity, Islam, or Judaic beliefs. Many atheists have come to the conclusion philosophically, still others, for emotional and moral reasons. In terms of deconstructing atheism, every argument offered can only be... woefully inadequate.

Proving evolution does indeed discredit the accounts in the bible as accurate portrayals of origin. And much of the world, the one that exists beyond American borders, has already recognized and accepted those inaccuracies. But disproving evolution doesn't point to the existence, or even the rational justification, of a god.

14. Silly social movements -- labels are for kids.

2009-06-10T13:48:00.000-07:00

Recently, I watched a video of the presentations given at the 2007 AAI Convention, and was pleasantly surprised (though I probably shouldn’t have been) by the ever-contrary nature of Sam Harris’ speech. In it, he very honestly asked us – as atheists – to question the wisdom of outwardly calling ourselves “atheists”. For the large-and-growing movement of reason and science to advance in the rapid way that it should, he proposed, we needed to circumvent the prepared arguments, the prejudices, and the blatantly-oppositional propaganda that seems to crop up whenever the world at large hears that particular term.

Wha---huh?!? Not call ourselves “atheists”? After all this time, all of these efforts in trying to draw our neighbors-in-arms (or at least, in-philosophy) from the shadows? I was confounded. I was chagrined.

And, from a societal standpoint, I agreed with him.

More than once, I’ve listed here the ways in which that one little word can hamper a conversation – or, indeed – a relationship. To say nothing of an entire social movement. He was justified in pointing out the sticky truth, which is: to an adamant believer, the term is more than a stumbling block… it’s code for “DANGER, WILL ROBINSON, DANGER! Executing terminal shutdown of all input capabilities!” (… A little much? Yeah, you’re probably right.) Besides, we don’t deign to give ourselves labels with regards to our belief in fairies or unicorns, Thor or Apollo – and doing so when it comes to today’s brand of mysticism seems to lend it an odd sort of credence. Einstein never referred to himself as an atheist, though for all intents and purposes he was one, because (he once stated) he didn’t quite share their “fervor” when it came to open conversation or religious debunking. And, it should be said, Mr. Harris himself has managed to bend many an ear to our cause without ever having called himself an "atheist" either.

But then again…

I have only my own experiences to draw from. As you know by now, I am little more than a housewife in a back-water section of the world, surrounded by people whose religious tolerances (or lack thereof) would just as soon see me tarred as glance my way; and that may well have tarnished my perspective of the issue – giving me a belief that wouldn’t survive a transition to the national stage. But when it came to a mirror-facing throw-down with myself as to whether or not I stood with Mr. Harris… I was forced to realize that I didn’t.

For many years, I shied away from calling myself an atheist. And for those many years, I didn’t have the conversations I should have been having. My religious friends and family approached my non-religious nature the same way a Lakers fan might address someone who’s just not that into sports: “no biggie, pick another topic of conversation, she’s not really… NOT religious – she just ain’t settled in to the right church yet.” Even putting forth my meager arguments as I did, absent the “OMG, NOOOO” label (as I’m pretty certain some would call it), my views seemed to lack the weight of… I’ll call it sincerity, for I can’t seem to dredge up a better word at the moment. Absent atheism, the person-to-person world didn’t seem to think I was all that invested. But by sporting the title, I somehow opened the floodgates and thereby the lines of communication. Those same friends and family began defending their views in earnest. Books were exchanged, debates were held, and (very occasionally) I’d earn the satisfaction of knowing someone’s perspective of atheism had been altered for the better.

Strangely, and happily, I like atheism. I like calling myself an atheist. I like knowing that the world, and maybe even our religious nation, are on the verge of accepting the novel notion that maybe we aren’t what we’ve seemed, from the other side of historical-biases. And, even after an honest and careful consideration of this argument, I can stand by my self-affirmation – and my call to you, and to those who share your views, to declare yourselves as I have – with something approaching… confidence.

The advancement of reason, of evidence, of fact-based intelligence, needs our support. And, if I may venture to say as much Mr. Einstein, I think the world needs our fervor, too.

13. Something Familiar; Something Peculiar; Something for Everyone!

2009-03-30T16:37:00.001-07:00

One of my favorite quotes is something plucked from a Time Magazine interview with Richard Dawkins, wherein he stated:

“What I am skeptical about is the idea that whatever wonderful revelation does come in the science of the future, it will turn out to be one of the particular historical religions that people happen to have dreamed up… it does seem to me to be a worthy idea. Refutable – but nevertheless grand and big enough to be worthy of respect. I don’t see the Olympian gods or Jesus coming down and dying on the cross as worthy of that grandeur. They strike me as parochial. If there is a god, it’s going to be a whole lot bigger and a whole lot more incomprehensible than anything that any theologian of any religion has ever proposed.”

Love that.

He’s right, of course. If there were anything awe-inspiring about an old white guy in bronze-age jammies, I suspect we’d see more of them in big-budget films. Imagine: Jesus reprising the greatest roles of Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, and Chuck Norris – a fish in one hand, an animal-skin scroll in the other, making Vin Diesel cry… More from shame than from fear, I'd guess. Still… I smell money, there. Cartoon Network, I hope you’re paying attention.

As I write this, I realize that many who’ve rejected the current brand of mythology aren’t ready to make that open leap, and may benefit from a transitional form of fable. Now, we have Bertrand Russell’s flying teapot, and the Invisible Pink Unicorn – but those are for illustrative purposes concerning that which cannot be seen/disproven, and in practice, run counter to entire notion of skepticism. But not to worry. To those lovely individuals, I suggest having a go at some on-the-fly religious invention.

I’ll go first.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you… The Visible Pink Dolphin.

The first thing you’ll note in the grand list of “Reasons My God is Superior to Abraham’s” is this: I’ve documented proof of his existence. You can see him, touch him – even hop in the water and give him a tickle, if you’re so inclined (you weirdo). Second, hearing his voice isn’t indicative of failing medication or anointed wisdom; and can be recorded for future reference, so there’s no potential break-down in communication when his orders (pertaining to the all-important salvation of every living thing) are conveyed through a single, very-fallible, very-corruptible individual. Third, he’ll never frown on you. It’s anatomically impossible for him to do anything but smile in your general direction. Fourth, he’s no intention of ever directing your life. Whether or not you snarf down a bit of bacon on a Friday or accidentally brush up against a bed that’s housed a menstruating female (gasp) has very little to do with him. Fifth, he’ll never ask of you any unseemly thing; like sacrificing your first-born son, or ramming a plane into a building. (To say nothing of the whole “Job” incident.) Best of all, no tithing! Apparently, cash and sea water aren't a brilliant mix. As such, the most he’ll ever expect is that you toss the beach ball back into the water from time to time, when you’ve the occasion. And lastly, no cumbersome, inapplicable manifesto to memorize, even in select chunks. His entire philosophy can be summed up in Sam Cooke’s “Twistin’ the Night Away”.

From here, you can invent rituals as you see fit (they're important, I'm told), so long as you change them on a daily basis. It's good to keep things fresh, and will seem a nice change when compared to practices that have stagnated since their conception, eons past, when individuals (whose mental-prowess was doubtless inferior to yours) developed them. Just make sure they’re suitably absurd – the more brow-raising a religion is, the more credibility it seems to garner. Touching your nose to the floor or ensuring your meat is taken from a cud-chewing creature hasn’t much on using your lunch break to submerge your head in the sink for a bit of mid-day fin-worship or, better yet, standing from your desk at random intervals to shout “Sea World is the highest form of blasphemy”.

And remember, when they call you out on your chosen brand of insanity, don’t be discourteous… Return the favor.

12. Come On, Come Out.

2009-03-25T18:54:00.000-07:00

I suppose it all comes down to this atypical mindset we atheists seem to share. No driving ideology means no driving desire to go forth and convert the world; and convincing us to congregate has been likened to herding cats. (Some say this is because we’ve no need to converge and reassure ourselves of our correctness. But I think it’s just as likely that we prefer to avoid anything and everything that might seem to emulate dogmatic structure.) Either way, we keep to ourselves. The result being the perpetuation of this myth that we are few and deviant; a handful of miscreants to be tolerated, or not, by whatever church happens to dominate the region we inhabit. The second adjective can be chalked up to malignant indoctrination. But the first? Well, that one’s on us.

Rough polls show that 8-14% of American citizens are atheists/agnostics/non-believers/skeptics – taking up a larger chunk of our nation’s demographical charts than Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, and every other outlying/oddball religion combined. Yet, only a very marginal percentage of those actually consider themselves “atheists”. Those who do not will often cite the negative stigmas associated with the word (not its lack of appropriateness) as the reason for their refusal to use it. “Yes, you could call me something along those lines – but you simply don’t say those kinds of things directly. Not here.” For many years, I was of the same opinion. Why use the word? Why give myself a name? I’d no interest in socially hobbling myself, after all – and that seemed to be all the term was designed to do. So I kept my head down, thinking it was for the good of all of us rutting godless types. Even now, unless I’m in the mood for chewing up and spitting out a lusty bit of ideological hors d'oeuvres, I can be slow to admit my skeptical nature – something I know I’ve mentioned before. It is often the Conversational Admission of No Return *queue ominous bass-notes*. But isn’t that the point? I’ll lay odds that none of us would be too terribly skippy about making a U-turn from what and who we are; so why aren’t we saying as much?

It’s only recently that I’ve taken to wearing Dawkins’ “Scarlet Letter of Atheism” pin, declaring myself as an active part of the Out Campaign (click on the lovely little “A” on the bottom, left corner for more information on this movement); always with the hope that I’ll spy another on one of the many lapels floating about town. It hasn’t happened. Not yet. Though I find myself growing more optimistic, of late. Today, for the first time, a stranger took interest in my modest red badge and asked its meaning. To be honest, I was briefly caught off-guard. When I responded, the gas station clerk said simply, “Ah” and made a play of counting the change in his hand. Naturally, I braced myself. Something in his expression made it clear he’d more to say on the matter. For all I knew, he was contemplating the odds of keeping his job if he were to throw the change in my face. But, when I looked closely, what was present around his eyes was very far from contempt. Finally, with a wary glance at his co-worker, the man leaned in and quietly confessed, “I’m a non-believer, myself, so...” Then he flashed a smile, and a discreet thumbs-up.

There are more of us than even WE realize. Imagine how the nation’s view of us could be altered if only the growing lot of us were willing to declare ourselves. Yes, there are complications. Yes, there will be downfalls. But, like every social movement before us, the outcome will be driven by the actions we are willing to take; the volume of our collective voice. And the first step is to hop from behind the closet door.

Be active. Join the Center for Inquiry or give the Out Campaign a look-see. Snag a pretty pin (or a sticker, whatever floats yer boat). And when someone asks your religious affiliation, say it loud, say it proud, and know that you’re not all by your lonesome in opposing the real monsters under the bed: Federally-endorsed religious conviction and the absence of reason.

11. I’m (passively) mad as hell and I’m (kindly, if you please) not gonna take it anymore!

2009-03-15T01:32:00.001-07:00

Being that I’m a one-time librarian, I’m sure you’ve guessed that I’m fond of books. More than, actually. You can lay odds that any bookstore visit, planned or no, will find me purchasing a goodly-sized stack of pulchri libri (if the weight doesn’t threaten the health of my skeletal system, I've failed on a colossal scale) on any silly number of subjects. Quite often, they’re of the sort that either support my non-religious thesis or argue against it. (*Insert Wilford Brimley voice-over* “You test your opinions, and you test ‘em often.”) What results is – far too frequently – the sudden and powerful desire to render myself invisible, to fetch a non-fictional version of a sonic blaster for use on that unwatched section of wall behind the bargain books ("Just slipping out quietly, don't mind me!" *ZAP!*), or, at the very least, the wish that I'd a very large backpack and no moral qualms with a bit of larceny. All of this to avoid the necessary encounter with the cashier, which invariably goes the same way…

One: Cashier smiles and voices personal tag line. Something along the lines of, “Did you find everything you were looking for today?”

Two: I smile in return, yapping the appropriate reply, and place items on the counter.

Three: Cashier takes note of the material being purchased.

Four: Cashier stops smiling.

Occasionally, the process plays out with a touch more flourish than this. (i.e.) The instance where the cashier actually caught sight of the titles before I approached the counter. (Ahh, if only I’d more vid capacity on my cell…. Would've made for a lovely YouTube contribution. Boy-who-smacks-testicles-with-skateboard, eat your heart out. ) Smiling, laughing and conversing with the customers both in front and behind me, the young man fell dead-silent when the line came to me. He turned away, didn’t look me in the eye, didn’t voice a word – not even to relay the total. Patiently inspecting his cuticles, he waited while I leaned around the counter to read the sum for myself. Mirroring his wordless attitude, I doled out the cash for my purchase and took my crabby leave, realizing (though it simply sucks to confess as much) that I’d allowed myself to exit that store feeling demeaned.

Only much later did it occur to me that the young man’s behavior might not have been entirely of his own volition, but guided by certain religious restrictions imposed on a far too large and impressionable number of missionaries in training.

He did have that look about him…

Regardless, this unpleasant dance was one to which I’d become accustomed. I’d shut my mouth and head to my car, socially slimed and mentally whining: “Wanny-boo-boo, no one likes me." Then, one bright and shiny day, something changed; a notion was implanted; a switch was flipped; or maybe an over-indulgence of Obamania tickled my can-do’s into a tizzy – I can't say for sure. But, recently, when the stage was set for the thousandth time, and I approached the counter with the twice-purchased “God Delusion” gripped in my puny fingers, there was a smile on my face. And when the cashier took note of the title and stopped speaking… I didn’t. By the end of the transaction, she was smiling once again – even laughing at my meager, conversational jests.

Success!

It was a pathetic victory, but a victory all the same. My years of silence had taught those I’d encountered (and me as well) next to nothing; only that ill-treatment and subversive stereotypes of those whose beliefs depart from the norm will be tolerated. I couldn’t be bothered to alter their interpretation of me, however incorrect, however corrupt. In that way, I was adding to one of the greatest downfalls of our otherwise-peachy nation: the idea that Christianity is who and what we are; and all else be damned.

Well I’ll not be (damned, that is), if it’s quite alright by America. And if it isn’t…. naturally, I’ll be forced to point out that she’s gone barking mad, but still… I suppose it’s to those like me to change her mind.

10. Sam's the weird uncle. The one no one talks about.

2009-02-20T17:44:00.000-08:00

As human nature would have it, this isn’t the easiest of ideas to relay. Were I to swear the benefits of godlessness were guiltless self-indulgence and candy corn, well that could be poo-poohed away. But honesty? Reason? Pshaw. Absurdity in its finest clothes.

So unless I’m willing to delve into the nitty-gritty of a large-scale debate (which I.... generally am) – it comes as no surprise that caring individuals amass by the dozens to harry my unsaved patootie; firm in the impression that my wayward decision had a sadly-confused goal. Part of me can’t help but feel touched by the sentiment. Friends and family are meant to have your best interests at heart, after all. And religious immersion has somehow become an ever-extending limb of “things that are good for you”.

The problem comes when these concerned efforts are not only offered up on an individual basis, but as a decree from our nation as a whole. Much as Jefferson would be astonished, ashamed, and downright pissed to read the phrase “In God We Trust” on the paper lining Congressional pockets; it’s there all the same, as if to lend Federal credence to the idea that those who don’t believe in god are under some civil or monetary obligation to behave as though they did. “No, this isn’t what you believe, but shush and let the slogans sink in. Your country says so.” Fake it ‘til you make it, I suppose.

Ick, says I. And, should I dare to do so aloud, the response invariably comes in the form of annoyance. “Silly atheists, whining over harmless daily customs...” But imagine for a moment, being religious and having no choice – by virtue of your nationality – but to send your child to a school where every morning he was expected to recite a decree stating that god was a most-certain farce; or being asked in a courtroom to swear your oath upon the Koran or the Iliad; or (Apollo forbid) knowing your tax dollars were tallied to fund Mithras-for-addicts. The merging of faith and politics doesn’t seem so wonderfully benign when the faith you’re forced to suffer isn’t your own.

But still, the implication that we ought to “suck it up” is much easier to follow than the alternative of… well, not sucking it up.

Take for instance Jeremy Hall, a U.S. Army Specialist stationed in Iraq, who has received countless threats of death and violence from Americans (shedding a whole new, sarcastic light on their “Support the Troops” car magnets) and from members of his own Unit for attempting to organize an atheist social meeting under the approval of their chaplain. Or Nicole Smalkowski, an openly-atheistic high school student who was ridiculed not only by students but by teachers with phrases like, “This is a Christian country. And if you don’t like it, get out.” First booted from the girl’s basketball team under the grounds that she was “bad for morale”, the girl was later expelled when she refused to join in on the Lord’s Prayer. Examples are unfortunately easy to come by. And somehow, as a nation, we’re okay with this. At least, our lack of a response would seem to say as much.

The heavy hand, the reality, the wooden paddle (the big one, with the holes in it) with which many are punished for daring to open their mouths is a definite deterrent to the whole idea of stepping through the closet door. One that seems strangely difficult to see from the other side of the river.

Somehow, its notice is viewed as promoting a culture of victimization. When, really, that’s akin to throwing accusations of self-pity at anyone who points out that horse dookie has an ucky odor.

The fact that we should even feel required to observe the tenets of a religion we have no stake in ought to be unacceptable. Why? Because, much as others may argue that it’s to our benefit, the truth of the matter is that it stinks. And I, for one, am tired of the smell.

So… what to do…?

Oh, don’t give me that look – I’m not talking about a revolution here. But surely there’s some effort that can be exerted to alter public policy or, at the very least, public opinion.

9. Note to self: stick out your chin. And grin.

2009-02-09T18:39:00.000-08:00

So, yeah… The typical transition from closeted to open atheist is something like being the subject of Kafka’s “Metamorphosis” – where I wake up, transformed into some hideous creepy-crawly thing that no one can bear to look at. People behaving as though they are “…in the presence of a serious invalid or a total stranger…”; mother in tears over my chosen state; dad throwing apples at me from beyond the grave; and I, in response, snapping my jaws at the coffee on the table and wishing those around me could understand my words.

But also, very occasionally, a person will express curiosity rather than exasperation, and a silly little glimmer of hope perks up like Katie Couric’s hair – all sun-shiney and cute – in the base of my gut.

(I’ll give you a minute for those oh-so-congruent images to marinate. Feel free to vomit, if you must.)

Sometimes it seems to stem more from an intrigue of oddities than anything else: “Look, dear! It’s the Unflappable Clone of Gregor, in the flesh! Whooooo-doggie! C’mon, Stinky, lets have us a convo!” It still pegs me as something of a mutant. But, by non-existent god, I’ll take it. Even in the poorest of terms, it’s an excuse to speak up, speak out, and lay bare the bones of nasty-ole-Moi.

Other times, the interest comes from someone who seems to be staring through the door themselves, wondering if maybe it isn’t quite so dark as it seems – there, on the other side. The number one question on their FAQ (not the most-asked, but the one to which they most desire an answer) is this: how can you be content without the promise of forever? The answer of course, is simple. Though often unexpected by the one bearing the burden of curiosity.

It’s never quite spot-on to say that I live knowing death is the end, and that is that; get up and get on with the getting of your life, else you’ll be gotten, and such – though that is the most-anticipated response. Yes, I once had the promise of forever. I had belief in an immortal eternity, the likes of which would make Connor MacLeod green with envy. (If you got that reference, you’re a damn geek, and I love you for it.) I had faith in more tomorrows than can be counted. And silly that is me; I threw it away, didn’t I? So what do I have now?

Well, as I said, the answer is simple: I have today. An honest day of reason and responsibility. A day free from hindrance and imposed-thoughts and waking up with the blinders on, screaming over the monsters in the dark that I could not see, but feared nonetheless – as though my very soul depended on it. A day of self-evolution, where I refused to sell myself short by hanging my life on a parable. I have today; and I have myself therein. In short, I have far more now than ever before.

8. “She turned me into a NEWT!”

2009-02-01T13:40:00.000-08:00

For the record, I’ve never done any such thing.

Not that I haven’t been accused of similar atrocities here and there. You’d probably be surprised by the litany of claims people are prepared to offer against you once they’ve learned your dirty little secret.

[Immorality], as I’ve mentioned before, is often among the first: throw the Bible out the window, and your ethics are sure to follow, they say. Generally speaking, this one’s easy to shrug off. For one, the statement itself seems to say the one making it has no faith in their own morals; that absent god, they’d murder, pillage, and plunder without discrimination. (Have we really such poor opinions of ourselves, folks?) For another, I’m fairly confident an objective view of my life and the actions therein would argue that, since my rejection of the god hypothesis, my sense of morality has strengthened significantly. There are many reasons behind this, some scientific, some personal. Studies have shown that the existence of punitive institutions has a detrimental impact on our observations of right and wrong. The ability to “hand-over” the decisions and responsibilities – where serious moral issues are concerned – weakens our ability to see and deal with those issues in a concrete fashion. Along those lines, when my religion fell to its utter demise in that cataclysmic mental breakthrough (melodrama, meant to be taken humorously… so laugh, dammit), the option of praying my sins away fell right along with it. I was forced to recognize that real blunders require real action to correct, and so began to hold myself more accountable. So too with the notions that the seemingly-infinite ills of the world are all part of a plan; god’s will, or gifts under guise. There was no supernatural might in the forces of nature, no higher power to step in and make everything hunky-dorry in time. That responsibility, I realized, is ours – and has been all along. So in the end, this accusation all hangs on one thing. The book.

As one pastor famously said: Those who base their morality on the Bible have either not read it, or not understood it. A study into the religious texts and their supposed connection to morality supports this statement, enthusiastically. Religious groups were invited to read provided stories. Questionnaires were given thereafter in which they were asked to rank the moral efficacy of the tales. Half the groups were given verbatim biblical accounts. Most of which reported the tales to have a high level of moral founding. The others were furnished with the exact same accounts, with the names altered so as to eliminate the automatic correlation between the tales and god. Overwhelmingly, the accounts were determined to be morally bankrupt and, in some cases, outright atrocious. Looking at the Bible through different lenses, one quickly realizes that there lies in it no explanation for what constitutes right and wrong, nor – perhaps more importantly – does it offer a means for determining the difference. Summing up: “Morality does not originate from the Bible, rather our moral progress informs what parts of the Bible Christians accept and what they now dismiss." (Richard Dawkins)

[Ignorance of religion as a whole] is one of my personal favorites. It always leads to the most thrilling conversations. Even though, as someone put it, one hardly needs to know the ins and outs of early-era clothing in order to determine that the emperor is…um… naked – the sad truth of the matter is that I do understand religion. Raised in a devoutly religious environment, I ate, slept and shat the tenets of my family’s faith. Even now, I’ve a bookcase filled to the frothing brim with religious manifestos and theological studies. That understanding is precisely what led to my crisis of faith, as you may recall. People are often quite shocked to discover that, along with his distaste for homosexuals, god is equally put off by men whose genitalia have been harmed in any altering way. That’s right, you cancer survivors; that missing testicle is god’s Old-Testament-way of saying: you’re not worthy.

**Impromptu Quiz, taken by request. ("Prove it!") No, I didn't study, or look up any of the answers.**

You know the Bible 91%!

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[Being the antichrist]. In most cases, this one’s meant to be a hoot. Very few who throw this one my way are doing so with any real regards to its sincerity. But then, there are those times when the statement is one they actually believe. Not to be snide, but some part of me (a horrible, bad, bad part that I probably shouldn’t admit to having) desperately wants to pat people on the head when they’ve the misfortune to say this. In fact, recently, when the allegation was thrown at a friend of mine, she (kindly thinking perhaps he’d buggered his nouns) corrected the thrower by pointing out that she was an atheist, not the antichrist. To which he responded, “They’re the same in my book.” Hmm. Apparently, he hasn’t read the book. If he did, he would find first that the word “antichrist” appears only four times in the whole of the Bible, and never once in regards to the specific individual that we recognize today as its title-holder. That it’s but a handy phrase (with FLAIR!) that evolved over centuries in application to a rather… shall we say “metaphorically-described” bad boy from the ever-popular book of Revelation. To this day, religious leaders argue over the handful of scriptures on the subject (Which are viable? Which of the beings described is the antichrist? What is the correlation to satan? What is the true meaning of this statement? And of this?). The only thing agreed upon is the level of damage he’s evidently able to cause as one widdle piddly human. If the two are synonymous, well then… just imagine what eighty-million antichrists would look like. I think we’ve just blundered into the premise for an apocalyptic film to end all apocalyptic films. Bully for us. Now go call Bruckheimer.

[Hubris]. This one makes me cry. A little. On the inside. I’d always considered myself a fairly unassuming person – but strangely, your own considerations rarely, if ever, travel any distance toward the impressions of others. On the plus side, if you’ve reached the point in conversation where this (or the former) appellation is tossed your way, it means your debate opponent has passed the stage of Denial and has found his happy way on to Anger. Just three more capitalized labels to Acceptance! Hang in there.

[Lunacy]. Actually, with this one, they may be correct. One can never be sure…

And the mother of them all, the accusation at the heart of this entire outpouring of pouty exclamations:

[Being Un-American]. To which, I’ve nothing much to say. One would think, with the basis of our nation being what it supposedly is, this bracketed-rubbish should stand on its own as an utterly nonsensical proclamation, shouldn’t it? The sad fact of the matter is that it doesn’t. Not in today’s America; nor perhaps in yesterday’s. The difference being that: in this world, at this time… we should know better than to say it at all.

The list could continue on well beyond the time you’ve entirely lost interest and fallen asleep on your keyboard, having vowed never to return to this silly time-consuming blog ever again. And, failing the insertion of some of the crueler remarks of which I’ve been the gleeful recipient, that list would consist mostly of sub-statements and/or expansions of the snarkiness above. So, as with before (and because I’ve no interest in forcing you to wake up with “QWERTY” indentations on your forehead), you get the overall idea.

7. ….braAaiNS! bRaaaAAins! br-bRRRAAINS!

2009-01-24T21:58:00.000-08:00

Bear with me for a bit of meandering? Excellent, I knew you were the adventurous sort.

Nifty little fact-nugget: boundless as the brain’s capacity for information may be, the manner in which it processes and files that information is not without its hiccups. Physiology and chemical high-tailing are a mite bit restrictive and, like bouncers at a night-club, they are quick to shut the door on the metaphoric trouble-maker.

“You. Yeah, you with the velvet suit. Sorry, pal, but there’s no room for you in this club. Better luck next time.”

Velvet Suit Guy is harmless, of course. But they don’t know that, nor do they care to. Because they’ve formed a belief, you see; and once that belief has been accepted as an accurate truth, the brain handles it in a rather miserly way: by sticking it in a cement of sorts, where there is no room for debate. (By belief, it’s important to understand that I do not mean the hesitant, “yeah, I think so” sort; but rather a firmly-held impression of reality. The belief that you are alive, for example.) Thanks to its needy nature, our brain cannot hold two opposing beliefs simultaneously, with equal regards to their truthfulness. For instance, bouncers one and two cannot believe our VSG is at once harmful and harmless. He may be harmful on some occasions or in certain regards, and harmless on others, but he cannot be both at the same time. The existence of one inherently diminishes the other. The brain may accept mid-points. It may alternate between beliefs. It may even replace an existing belief with an opposing one, but only if it can make room for the possibility that a belief may potentially be incorrect. If it cannot, your mind will automatically discard the outside notions that contradict it for as long as that belief is active. This is why we see such amusing political discussions on primetime television, with pundits talking AT one another, rather than TO one another. And why I hold nothing against those who do their best to avoid me.

From here, mom’s inspiring statement should rightly take an evolutionary turn. For the question should no longer be simply whether a belief is inherited, but whether it has any foundation whatsoever. Those many years ago, I'd placed my belief on the table, given it a scrupulous thrice-over, and walked away empty-handed. Those who’ve taken that first step, at least, and given themselves the leeway to doubt are not typically threatened by my label. To everyone else, I’ve become the opposing belief. My every word is indecipherable.

But anyway, back to the matter at hand…

6. And dog-gone-it... people hate me.

2009-01-23T12:18:00.000-08:00

From an outsider’s viewpoint, horrific acts committed in the name of God are made all the more terrible by the knowledge that those committing them would have next to no reason to do so, absent theology. I say "next to", because we silly humans are in so many ways primed for exclusivity, and a sometimes ruthless sense of tribalism. Wars will occur, crime, even hate – and all at the slightest provocation. But rarely are average citizens pressed into violence as unanimously or with as much zeal as when they are backed by divine inspiration. That in mind, I knew I’d set a cast for myself. So even approaching the idea of calling myself an atheist took time, and a little more chutzpa than one might expect.

To many, the word itself is uncomfortable; surrounded in notions of immorality, of self-centeredness, and the token similitude to “a sinful sort of self-destruction”. A non-spiritual person will go unquestioned. An agnostic can be tolerated. But an atheist? It is probably the only method of self-labeling that is inherently offensive to the American masses. No surprise that my first tentative use of the word as a personal description came anonymously, in an MMO. (That’s right, I’m a geek. Live with it.) A response to what I’d assumed was a benign and casual question, it was not well received. At the same time, seeing it printed there on the screen and knowing that I was the one who’d written it, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride. I’d owned up to who I was – not openly, mind you, but it was a start. Eventually, I was able to write it again. And then again. And the more I wrote it, the more liberated I felt. It grew to the point that I was dropping the term into average (written) conversation, unprompted, for no other reason than to expand my associated comfort level by impractical way of gross overuse. Until one day, I was able to voice it aloud, and my non-religious label became a concrete, familiar possession. The problem then became one of coming to terms with the place that the label had carved for me in our world – more specifically, our nation; with our nation’s current view of religiosity.

As you now know, my first experimental blurting went poorly. The same can be said for most that followed; much to the chagrin of my social life. Reactions ranged from disdainful to detached, with looks that said (sometimes simultaneously) “Oh you poor, stupid girl”, “How sad your life must be”, and “You’ve an in with Hell, do you? You corrupt little...”

Again, I can’t really blame them. I remember the outlook. Specifically, the utter impossibility of comprehending what the person in question was trying to say. Not that they were inadequate in terms of communication; quite the contrary, atheists as a whole tend to be fairly eloquent (I’m not much of an example in this department, I know). No, the roadblock was all in my head. Literally.

5. Because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough...

2009-01-23T12:15:00.001-08:00

In the years that followed without a cure-all three-letter deity to fill the gaps in my understanding, I learned more of science and physics, of human nature and social interaction, even of theology than I ever thought could be known. I treated people with greater respect and decency, because I’d come to realize that we’re all we’ve got. I sorted through the scattered bits of myself and made use of the ones that mattered, because I knew that time for me was not infinite; and that we deserve better than to wait for the ending of ourselves to be ourselves. I realized that broken wings are mended with time; but a broken spirit is only ever healed when you are able to stand on the stone that brought you down and know that the view from there is better than any view on earth, if for no other reason than because it is yours alone, born from a unique triumph over that which many will say cannot, or should not, be conquered.

I found peace, cliché and metaphoric as it comes, wrapped and delivered to my front door on a godless platter.

Rather than perish – as more than one person swore to me it would – my happiness with life as it was, flourished. Moreover, I discovered that my sociological and political views were decidedly different than those thrust upon me by the tenets of Christianity. Some former ideas didn’t square up with my personal sense of morality. Some out rightly defied it. As a result, I often find myself wondering if the different sects of American civilization – with their even more divergent ideologies – would have come to the same conclusions on their own. If you could go back in time to strip Israelis and Palestinians of their respective faiths, would you have restored these many centuries lost to war and malevolence? If you could detract a handful of scriptures from a religious book, would you save a minority population from oppression? How far might science have already come, had it not been caught for so very long in the countering mire of institutionalized piety?

What would the world look like?

That of course, led to the more selfish and pressing question: how was the world now going to look at me?

4. Rx: Dawkins... or lots and lots of booze.

2009-01-23T00:47:00.000-08:00

Jump past a run through the Book of Mormon (complete with the Pearl of Great Price and the Doctrine and Covenants – pretty please, don’t ever waste your time there), the Koran (lots of death and mutilation, but it recognizes women’s right to vote, so that’s something), the Dhammapada (highly recommended, if a little trite), the writings of the Baha’u’llah (huh?), and several more shots at the Bible (you know where we stand on that) and it became glaringly obvious that religion was out altogether. Even so, I hung on to the god hypothesis for a long time after that. All those tidbits listed in my last post do make it a sometimes beautiful thing, after all. And as lies go, you can’t ask for more than that. Unfortunately, there comes a point when wanting to believe, for no other reason than the sake of belief itself, just isn’t enough.

So a godless life it was to be.

What do I do with that? What does anyone do?

I have to say, it was an odd thing to look around at our self-help-riddled, expert-addicted, support-group society and realize that there aren’t many resources for someone trying to detox from decades of indoctrination fed direct to the brain on a turbo-charged-evangelical iv. (Aww, you’re stuck on the slots – such a shame! And you lost your mortgage, too?... Well I lost my God, you casino troll, so move over on that couch and make some room for my sorry ass!) Since going to a psychiatrist over a deeply disturbing case of atheism seemed too far outside American culture, I found the next best thing in books by Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, Bart Ehrman, Martha Beck, and too many others to count. (Well, you probably could count them – but you’d have to go through Donald Rumsfeld for that. Be sure to thank the Patriot Act when yer good and sated.)

Though their brilliant words helped me in reaffirming that I wasn’t taking a barmy leap off the high-board of lunacy, I knew that starting over was a task all my own. A sticky proposition, to say the least. I could scarcely count myself above a fledgling in her first flight. Worse than that, the job ahead of me was one of an old bird glaring up at the sky with two broken wings, and a broken spirit to match. I was sad. I was daunted. I was, all in all, pathetic.

By the time the dust settled, however, I’d discovered an amazing thing. I was able to pick myself up from the wreckage and look around at a world that hadn’t collapsed, hadn’t cracked, and hadn’t even hiccupped, with more wonder and more appreciation than ever before.

3. "She's gonna feel that one in the morning."

2009-01-23T00:43:00.000-08:00

Doubtless, she regrets that statement; knowing now the result of having made it. But I can’t thank her enough. This had been building up since childhood, after all – though initially buried in the benign, little wonderings of a Sunday-School student. “Cain’s wife?” I’d ask, eyes wide; conditioned to accept whatever response I received as the unequivocal truth. The grown-ups knew what they were talking about, didn’t they? Of course they did. They were older. They were wiser. And I was just the girl whose harmless ignorance was tolerated, if only for her youth. (“Ain’t those questions just adorable?”)

Not that there wasn’t an upstart now and again. More than a few situations arose, each seeming bent on either putting my little mind into a tailspin, or my parent’s rueful eyes to rolling with irritation. One fine Sunday afternoon had the preacher quoting a verse, and thereafter saying something along the lines of, “When John wrote this…” Wait, what?!? When John wrote…? Confused, I tugged at the sleeves of mom and pop, “I thought God wrote the bible.” Even putting aside my impressions, one would think that an omnipotent being would be more than capable of penning a manifesto himself, right? Well he did, they told me. He just did it through other people. “But how do we know that?” The response that followed became the standard for nearly every question thereafter: “Because the bible says so, and because we have faith in the word”.

Circular logic, for the win. Though it was enough to shut me up for a time, the situation itself had highlighted a particularly startling realization – holding something to be true doesn’t necessarily make it so. Maybe my perspective wasn’t as accurate as I’d thought. Maybe the world wasn’t so transparent.

The coming years would yield the same results time and again. From the countless contradictions in the word itself, each of them brushed aside as unimportant by anyone and everyone willing to discuss them. To the bible-camp scenes of teenagers in packed pews falling over themselves and mumbling in “tongues”, imbued with the Holy Spirit’s *cough* distinctive grace. (For the sake of full disclosure, I can’t objectively say that the image described here wasn’t a big reason for my religious exodus. It was fairly traumatizing, you know. Going through that, you never really look at consonants the same way again.) When discussing the experiences later in our cots, I couldn’t find a single soul who claimed to have had a genuine encounter with the wispy critter. Not one. They’d each been faking it for the sake of their neighbors. The recognition of the similarities between the biblical and the Babylonian stories of creation, the tale of Jacob and Esau (aka, Horus and Set), the overall realization that most of the Old Testament and even much of the New had existed as fables from older and sparser religions centuries, even millennia before they were ever noted to have taken place, were the bible to be taken as a literal, historical text – the list of examples between then and now is so lengthy; I could turn this short bit of honesty into a volume. Maybe someday I’ll be so ambitious as to cover that. Maybe not. Either way, you get the idea.

All that history. All those little grains of sand, momentary crises of faith, adding up to an avalanche – one that was bound to fall that day in the car when I took that first step away from faith. And fall it did.

Segue to the intriguing part. For if a tale is founded in truth, the more one sorts through the sand, the more evidence one should find to support the account. It’s worth mentioning that you may well have a mistaken notion or two about this portion of my wayward choice.

Many have said that you find what you look for. Fill your noggin with a bias and, however false, you will see it manifested in a dozen everyday ways. The sand-sorting be damned, evidence is all too easy to ignore, given the inclination. (Prime example: scientist – term is loosely applied here – finds what he believes must, must, must be remaining bits of wood from Noah’s unlikely masterpiece. Despite his unfounded certainty, carbon dating determines the age of the planks – another loosely applied term – as being a few hundred years, at most; ruling out the possibility of them having taken part in the fabled jaunt. His response was not to continue searching for remains that might fall into the necessary time frame, but to decide that carbon dating must then be an altogether phony science. Hmm.) But here’s the rub. I didn’t want to disprove the foundation of my faith, as you might call it. I wanted to be able to log the DNA, pat the eye-witness on the back and close the case. I wanted to believe in this beautiful notion of an all-powerful being who was there, watching over me, and loving me, and preparing for me a place that was so much better in justice and in purity than this world had ever been. I wanted to ease my grief with the knowing that I would one day be able to run back into the safe, strong arms of the father I’d lost to a brutal disease. I wanted it to be true. But as my great grandmother always said: you can want in one hand and shit in th’other, and see which one gets filled first. The more I dug, the more questions I asked, the more facts I learned, and the more facts that weren’t there to know at all; the more I realized what the evidence was saying – what it had been saying all along: “It’s not true. None of this is true.”

Not even a little?

“Not even at all.”

Oh… Ouch.

2. Trains, planes, and stupid metaphors.

2009-01-23T00:27:00.000-08:00

Years ago, following the birth of my son, I penned a story just for him. The long and short (mostly short) of it, was the journey of a little train who tired of running the tracks that had been placed for him, culminating in an eventual and extreme adaptation in his route to include flight, even space travel. My sweet boy actually loved the tale, with its quaint little meter and Seuss-like aspirations. It may have been a bit on the corny side, if we’re being honest, but still… Looking back on it now, there are things about it that seem strangely applicable. (Queue tasteless “mama always said life was like a train ride” gag. Don’t worry, I won’t take it quite that far. But seriously… Life… Train… You can see it, can’t you? Shutting up now.)

In life, though, it isn’t about the train itself so much as the track it travels. Take a glance in the mirror at who you are today. I’ll lay odds that you can pin-point each life-altering event – every major crisis, uplifting seminar, or reckless discovery (it was just that one time in college) – connect them like dots in an activity book, and (good or bad) determine exactly how it was that you arrived where you are. But which one of them would you call the Oprah-form “aha” moment? The instant where the switch got flipped and the previous course couldn’t be recovered, no matter how you tried? Which single memory can you turn all the others across?

Now I couldn’t tell you why it is I like the rain as intensely as I do. I’m not entirely sure what led me to decide that cheesecake is the true meaning of happiness. But, lend me a map of my life, and I am certain I can paint a giant red spot on the exact point of no return in at least one matter...

It was an afternoon conversation with my mother. I find myself getting all silly kinds of whimsical, thinking about it now. We rarely talk these days. Something that we will both attribute to my afore-mentioned affliction of faithlessness. I was seventeen, and we (as we frequently did back then) had gone for a drive in the nearby canyon; where the dry and distant scenery did wonders for amplifying teenage angst into full-blown dissociative ideas. Something had been brewing in the backward corner of my mind. Something I’d spent ages dismissing, because it smacked at my well-nurtured sense of guilt and self-doubt. Haven’t the foggiest idea just what caused it to finally surface after having marinated for so long, but gripping the wheel and taking a long hard look at a particularly dry and distant rock, I glanced warily at my mother and asked, “So… I don’t know how to put this, but… I’ve been having… doubts.” With a bit more dodging, I eventually opened up to the fact that these doubts were of the spiritual sort. It wasn’t that I was looking for her to allay my qualms with the truthfulness of a religion that had been the centerpiece of our home from the beginning of my thereto-short existence. I didn’t need a pep-talk, and to her credit she didn’t offer one. She knew that the question was really of a different nature. I wanted to know if the doubts were okay. I wanted to know that my budding uncertainty didn’t make me a bad person.

Her response is something I would put on page one of Things My Mother Taught Me, were I ever to write a book on the subject. (Edging out other such top-runners as: Never return a dish empty; and Wear your learning as you wear your pocket watch, on the inside of your coat. Never pull it out and strike it merely to show that you have one.) She took a long look out the front window and said, “It can’t be a bad thing to question. If you never question your belief, you’ll never really know whether it’s yours – or whether it’s just one that someone else gave to you.”

It’s okay.

Her words opened a door in my mind; one that I couldn’t have closed even if I’d wanted to. At that moment, every question that I’d never asked, every mental whisper that I’d ever silenced – a lifetime of wonderings – all coalesced and snowballed and took a shuddering lurch to the forefront of my brain. That was it. Many years would pass before religious doubt would become the ultimate evolution of outright disbelief. But that was the moment where the train jumped the track.

1. Hello.

2009-01-22T23:53:00.000-08:00

Skeptic. Disbeliever. Godless.

Call me alone. It’s shorter and it’s easier to spell.

Contrary to what you’re probably thinking I’m not a person whose view of the world has been reduced to some Quasimodo-ed shadow of yours – horribly disfigured and despised by comparison – all for the absence of biblical influence. I’m a wife and a mother. A woman who pays her bills (on time, for the most part), files her taxes (truthfully, for the most part), and even (occasionally) mows her lawn. I don’t litter, I don’t eat babies, and I don’t secretly hope the world will fall into an all-consuming chaos so that disarray such as the one by which I apparently lead my life will take over your existence. I’m quiet. I’m average. I’m so normal I could even be your neighbor, scary as that thought may be. And I’m an atheist.

Of course, you already knew that. Assuming you took note of the disclaimer, that is. But it bears being said if for no other reason than... I don’t often get the chance to say it. Exposing that aspect of little-ole-me generally shuts down the conversation – a bummer to anyone, especially a former-librarian who thrives on information. (What do you think and why? Give me more! A book, an index, an outline! – It’s a desperate, sick need. One that I find can only be curbed by massive, interchanging doses of caffeine and chocolate.) Long-time friends and strangers alike have walked away mid-sentence at the drop of that one word; wiping me from their mental list of “people whose opinions have even the slightest bearing” with little more than a backward twitch of their hand.

I can’t blame them. Not really.

It’s partly a product of location. This is America. One Nation Under God. Where apple pie and baseball go hand-in-hand with Sunday-school and sin. Where fifty percent of the population believes with one hundred percent certainty that Noah ferried copulating creatures (including pairings of the planet’s three hundred and fifty thousand species of beetles) through an anger-induced culling of humanity. It features prominently in our politics – one debate question in the last election’s primaries being, "What stance would Jesus take on the matter of immigration?" Swap the name “Jesus” with “Allah” for a clearer view of that one. It’s on our money, our mail, our buildings. Everything about us says, America is faith, and faith is America.

What of the citizens without it? When George Bush Sr. was asked whether he recognized the equal citizenship and patriotism of Americans who are atheists, he said “No”.

Hmm.

To me, it seems an odd sort of irony that a nation founded on (among other things) religious freedom stands out as one of the most likely to shun me for my religious views, or lack thereof. It bothers me now to even have to make that correlation – isn’t it contrary to the point? But that’s the sad extent of it. Citizens who wouldn’t dream of discriminating against another for their beliefs are more than content to socially persecute someone for having no beliefs at all. Call it prejudice or call it fear, it’s an acceptable thing for you to hate me. I know the view from your side of the river. I lived it, after all. But I’d very much like for you to know the view from mine. And there aren’t many bridges between us under the open scrutiny of American living.

So it’s come down to this. I’m outing myself via typo. Term-paper style.