Thoughts on Heaven and Hell

I’ve been thinking about Heaven and Hell today.  Kelsi told me this joke: All the Christians are up in Heaven partying it up until you get to the some who are sitting around silent.  God says, “Shhh, it’s the Baptists, they think they’re the only ones up here!”  I laughed at that, because lucky for the Baptists, God takes ANYONE who believes in Jesus.

Kelsi also asked, “Now that you’re Christian, you’re not going to try to turn me, are you?  Cuz that’s not cool.”  No, I don’t want to turn her.  She doesn’t want God in her life, so when she dies, she won’t have God in death.  She gets what she wants because God respects her choice.  But, what if she sort of still believes it with a tiny bit of her heart? From what I’ve read so far – and I’m not holding a book in front of me, so there won’t be any references at the moment (and feel free to correct me if I have this wrong!) – there are levels of heaven and hell, correct?  Somewhere in “I Don’t Have Enough Faith to be an Atheist,” it says that everyone will experience the afterlife differently, that our lives on earth prepare us for how we experience eternity.  I wonder how she would experience it.  Is it like the “Celestine Prophecy” suggests: constantly living out the control dramas of our lives for all eternity?  If that’s Hell, I’ll take Heaven…

In Joey’s article from almost a year ago, Riding the Wave? he talked about the sensation of surrendering to the Higher Power, whatever it may be.

I’ve chosen God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit.

He’s chosen…something I don’t quite understand completely, but it works for him.  If he feels that for all eternity, I’m sure he’d be plenty pleased with it.  All I know is that surrendering to the Higher Power is an incredibly freeing and secure feeling.  Funny that this song just came on:

Closer to Fine

Recently, I’ve been going through some turbulent times involving religion, spirituality, history, and reconciling it all in my head.  Everything I’ve written about magic I believe.  But I’ve also believed in the Christian God and Jesus almost all of my life.  I still pray, “In Jesus’ Name I Pray, Amen.”  It’s automatic, like breathing.  Almost every time—scratch that, EVERY time I get on the highway since the one time I didn’t do this and totaled my car—I say, “Dear God, please protect me, in Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.”  If I’m getting onto 128, I say it three times or more.  Is that praying?  Is that magic?

Can’t it be both?

Think about it: there have been so many different cultures, religions, gods, goddesses, heroes, saints, morals, practices, how can we possibly say that one is correct over the other?  It also seems impossible to say, “Well, they’re all correct.”

What I think I’ve come to believe (but wait a week and it will change) is that somewhere in the midst of all of those beliefs is a connection to something.  I don’t know if it is God, Allah, The Universe, or Energy, but there is something we can connect to if we want to.  Some people tap into it for evil things some for good, some for selfish reasons, some to help others.  Some completely ignore it, or turn to it only in their hour of need.  Some struggle their entire lives trying to tap back into what was so easy as children.

The Key, and the main point in our books, is that you have to possess a strong imagination to connect.  When I was a kid I had no problem whatsoever believing in God.  I could imagine His arms around me and I could feel His light shine through me.  Then I went to college and took World Civ and realized that Christianity is only a small slice of pie on this earth and it killed my ability to believe in the words of men who sought to control the masses.  What about all those other cultures who believe their beliefs so fervently?

From what I’ve experienced, both Christianity and Magic tell you to visualize the outcome you want firmly in your mind and release it into God’s Hands or The Universe.  Both practitioners of magic and prayer have obtained impressive, sometimes miraculous results: because they can Imagine.

In high school, I had no idea where I was going to college, but I could visualize myself sitting in college classrooms.  I managed to get there with pretty much a free ride.  In college, I had no idea how I was going to get to England, but I could very easily imagine myself in Oxford classrooms and drinking in pubs (actually, the pubs were a huge stretch for my imagination!).  I got all of the paperwork and loans taken care of with surprisingly little hassle.  I have no idea how Joey and I are going to get these books published, but I can picture the two of us holding the finished product in our hands and grinning at the camera.  I know it’s going to happen.

As for my relationship with God?  I believe he must exist, considering the vast numbers who worship Him.  Who wouldn’t want a loving, caring God to get your back?  I know I’ve felt the connection to Him, or whatever energy/being it is out there.  When I release my prayer into the wind, I talk to Him, the universe, my personal dragon, Phylquestrial, and I feel slightly closer to fine.

Title inspiration (and relevant topic): Closer to Fine – Indigo Girls

Magic or Magick?

I’ve been debating on whether or not I want to include this subject in R. J. Spindle’s library, and I’ve come to find it is unavoidable.  I’m going to have to talk about magic.  Now, when I say magic, I don’t necessarily mean slight of hand or any sort of illusion – although that can be part of it.  Some of you might think it should be spelled magick.  Those of you who are Wiccans or any form of Neo-Pagan would be very comfortable with this term…magick and it’s magickal ‘K!’  The ‘K’ was added to the word by Aleister Crowley in an attempt to differentiate “real” magick and trickery.  I don’t find the need for such an addition.  I think magic, whether real or in the mind alone can have a profound effect on a person, and it doesn’t matter how it is spelled.

So what do I think magic is?  Easy – and I bet you’ll be a bit disappointed – imagination.  This isn’t the downer it appears to be.  Yeah, I can hear you in the back groaning, “Is that all?”  If that’s the way you feel, hit that back button and read something else.  It’s useless to read on if you are not immediately taken in by the subject of magic as imagination.  You should be excited.  If it’s true, magic is imagination, then that means you can do it!  I think that’s exciting.

As much as I disagree with some of the things mister Aleister Crowley said, he did have a fair few brilliant ideas.  This is what he had to say about magic:

Magick is the Science and Art of causing Change to occur in conformity with the Will.  (Illustration: It is my Will to inform the World of certain facts within my knowledge.  Therefore I take “magical weapons,” pen, ink, and paper; I write “incantations” – these sentences – in the “magical language” i.e. that which is understood by people who instruct.  I call forth the “spirits” such as printers, publishers, booksellers, and so forth, and constrain them to convey my message to those people.  The composition and distribution are thus acts of Magick by which I cause Changes to take place in conformity to my Will.)

–“Magick Without Tears” Chapter One

What he is saying here is EVERY act of Will is a magical act.  What is Will?  What do you want?  Anything you want to happen in your life is part of your Will.  You want to have the perfect mate; that is part of your Will.  You want your mother to stop arguing with you; that is part of your Will.  You want to write a bestseller; that is part of your Will.

Another way of saying Will is will-power.  We hear that one a lot in the modern age.  One either has or has not the will-power to do something.  Usually this is in reference to a personal task, such as quitting smoking or not over eating.  Does any of this sound fishily familiar to anyone else? Hah!  Yes, acts of self restraint also fall under the Will, and will-power is an appropriate phrase for my point.  Will is the desire you have AND the driving force (will-power) behind it.

Magic is the use of that desire in order to bring happiness into your life.  Notice how I didn’t say “whatever you want.”  I don’t think most people (myself included) know exactly what they want.  I mean, sure, everyone wants their bills paid and to live the posh life, right?  Maybe not.  Do you know what you want?  I’m still working on it, and I think I have a pretty good idea.  That’s why I’m chasing this dream with Rhiannon.

When you’re practicing real magic you’re not (necessarily) casting spells, summoning old gods, and talking to the spirits of the dead on Halloween.  Most magic is rather mundane.  Brushing your teeth should be a magical experience.  You’re not simply buffing pearly bone – you’re fighting deathly plaque monsters!  Just like gardeners who talk to their plants, you need to talk to every part of your life in order to inject it full of the necessary magic to FIND OUT what it is you want.

I’ll give you something to try (I’ve been doing this lately…inspired by my dear Rhiannon).  Take the most mundane, routine activity you do in your day.  I chose brushing my teeth in the previous example.  It can be anything.  Now figure out (I like to think of it more as discovering than figuring) how to make it more creative.  Make up a story about why you have to do this task.  Create a mythos about it.  Where did those plaque monsters come from?  What can you use to defeat them?  How often to they reproduce?  You could go on forever.  Eventually, you’ll find this practice leaking all over your life.  It’s especially fun when you tell other people about it.  They look at you with perplexed expressions, and there is nothing better than being thought of as odd.  Odd is good indeed.

Riding the Wave?

Today began like most other days.  I woke up around 9:30am (a bit early for me on a day off), but not too unusual.  I don’t regularly wake up at any hour.  So I hop onto the computer.  Check my email and tweets.  I notice Rosie and Sandra (my little sisters) have tweeted some enigmatic notices for those interested.  I knew something was up and intended to call Rosie later.

I chat with Branden for a while, and we make tentative plans for that evening.

I wrote the next batch of Chapter Five of the book Rhi and I are so feverishly trying to finish draft one of by the 21st of September…a day that means many things.  It’s Rhiannon, Phil (my brother), and Emily’s (my niece; Sandra’s daughter) birthday.  It is also the symbolic first day of autumn, my favorite season, and it just so happens to be the day the next Mika album comes out.  Anyway, I digress.

I was ready for a break in writing.  I took the short walk over to Shaw’s Supermarket looking for inspiration for dinner.  I picked up a few pieces of fruit I like.  Got two desserts for myself and my mother at the bakery, then wandered over to the meat department.  It was sitting there – gleaming in it’s cellophane wrapping – begging to be taken home with me.  How could I refuse such a perfectly beautiful roast?  But the size of it, nearly five pounds.  Was is possible to slow cook this in time for dinner?  It was eleven thirty.  I asked the meat guy and he said 6-8 hours.  We’re late eaters, my mother and I, it would work.

When I get home, the first thing I do is put the roast in the crock pot.  Inspiration comes to me.  I don’t want to just fill the pot with water.  I want to give this roast some flavor.  I open all the cabinets – smelling and tasting spices and sauces and broths – OH me, oh my, such choices.  I go with my first instinct and add equal amounts of organic canned apple juice and water, rosemary, two bay leaves, and I season the roast with salt and pepper.  The fragrence, by the way, is amazing right now…I can’t wait to devour this roast.  Around 3:30 I’ll add the potatoes and carrots.  This should be a nice meal.

Back in my room I crack open the one and only Pepsi I’ve allowed myself to purchase today and sit back down at the computer.  I talk to Branden again and it seems he won’t be able to get together with me until later that night, and I had a sudden strong urge for Mommy-time.  I’d been neglecting her lately, and I knew it.  Whenever people come over we’re usually holed-up in my room.  Rhiannon and I are usually hard at work, and I usually keep my door shut nightly as a courtesy (I listen to music a bit too loud to leave my door open).  It has been about a month since Mom and I have had some “us” time.  We like our “us” time.  SO I cancel with Branden and we decide another time is best.

Then, before I get started writing again, I decide to call Rosie to see what was up.  I found out what she was stressed about, a private matter I don’t think appropriate to bring up here.  Although I will say that it ended with her telling me that Mom wanted her to come over tonight with Landon (my godson, Rosie’s son).  How lucky for her that I got such a large roast!  How lucky I just so happened to clear off my schedule to hang out with Mom tonight and be free to be there for her!  It was almost as if divine providence was guiding me through such a great day as it has been for me.  Giving me the urge to cook real food, then finding the perfect match to what will be a nice end of the day.

After I got off the phone with Rosie I called Mom at work.  I got some more of the specifics of Rosie’s problem then told her about how neat it was that my day had inadvertently made it so tonight would be as pleasant as could be for the four of us.  She laughed and agreed, because she intended to do a little grocery shopping this morning, but got called into work early!  What another nice coincidence.

Now, I sit here wondering…is this what they mean by riding the wave of life?  Is this what they mean when they say go with the flow?  Have I handed my life over to a higher power?  Sure, the events of today were mundane, but it is still nice to see how connected everything seems when you’re not stressed and just letting life play with you…instead of playing with life.  I am full of so much inspiration today; I will be surprised if I get any sleep tonight.  I may write until I can’t move anymore.  It is such a grand feeling.

Death and Loss | Volume I, Issue 4

Even as my fingers dance across the keys, they want to lie to you.  With all my might I want to do this, but there is this little, gnawing inside that doesn’t want this to happen.  Then there’s that part of me that doesn’t want to tell you all I just had a cigarette.  I wanted to make a clean break, but I had two left when I went to bed last night (this morning, actually.  7A.M.).  I’m praying my insomnia will go away with the smoking.  I’m counting on it.  I have one cigarette left.  I intend for it to be my last.  Even now, as I light that last cigarette…because I don’t know what else to do…I can’t wait.  If I wait it will be worse.  This is not what I wanted to write about today though.

Death

It’s coming up on the year mark of my Grandpa Gagnon’s death.  I was exploring the idea of death this morning.  Death is one of those questions that get put in the lump of all the great questions nearly everyone wants an answer to.  Now, what I have to say today about death and loss may not help people – it may not help me when someone closer to me than Grandpa Gagnon dies – but they are my ideas.  At least, my current ideas.

I think not having the greatest relationship with my grandfather helped me come to these conclusions.  I’m going to start by giving the “facts” we understand.  Facts being in quotes, because I don’t do actual research for this blog series.  These are just my thoughts upon waking.  We know everything in the universe is made of atoms and sub-particles…we don’t have everything figured out about that, but we know our body is made of these atoms, and somehow we manage to keep those up a mass of them which comprise our bodies.  We also know that memories are kept in our organs.  We’ve seen habits and tastes change in those who have organs donated to them.  So part of who we are is definitely the body.  They’re still working on proving theories of what the mind actually is.  We know there’s things we can think that don’t like directly to the brain, but I won’t get into that here since we’re talking about “facts.”

So, putting the philosophical afterlife aside, what does happen to us when we die?  Knowing that our memories are encased in our bodies, can I assume that as we decompose our memories are attached to the atoms which made up our bodies?  Do our memories go into the animals and plants which consume our bodies after death?  It’s possible.  If death was only to bring me that far – to share my memories with the expanse of the universe – then can I be satisfied with that.  As an individual, I think so.  I like sharing, hence the blog.

I don’t want to really get into this, but: is the reverse true?  When we’re born, do the atoms that once made up my father’s sperm and my mother’s egg contain memories of my parents that are not only genetic, but containing memories of their lives in the moment of conception?  Just a thought.  It would make a lot of sense to the person I’ve become.

Loss

This second part is more important than the first, I think.  It’s not so important what happens to us when we die.  We’re all going to have to deal with that when we get there, and understanding it doesn’t help when someone you love dies.  I’ve spent my entire life curious about other realms and what happens when we die.  Sorry kids, this is another Catholic affliction.

Speaking of loss, that “demon” is already crying for another cigarette.

Growing up, I was taught the good people go to heaven, and the bad go to hell (like so many of us).  I neither believe in heaven nor hell anymore.  It took a long time to get there.  Anyways, I wondered even then, why people were so upset when people died.  If they were good, shouldn’t we be happy they are now with God in heaven?  My mother explained it to me this way.  We don’t cry for the ones we’ve lost; we cry for ourselves, because they are no longer with us.

I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not sure of the truth of this.  Sure, they won’t be part of my physical life anymore.  I can’t go to Florida and see my grandfather anymore, but he has by no means left my life.  He left my physical life WAY before he died, and that may help with grieving, but I don’t believe for a second he is gone.  I can feel him in my memories.  I can hear his words.  I think, when someone enters your life you can never lose them.

I’m going to be honest.  Now that I’m writing this entry, I don’t really understand this enough to put it in words.  Everything I’ve ever done, everyone I’ve ever met and interacted with for a period, and all of my memories will be with me for as long as I live.  I have not lost my grandfather.  He’s still in my life.  Granted, he’s in that part of my life that is my past, but from what I’ve seen we understand very little about how our mind works.  I travel to those times in my life (past, present and future) that help me feel how I want to feel.  When I’m feeling loss, I simply go to the place in myself where that thing I am missing still exists.   Maybe it doesn’t make me feel 100% better, but I know that I haven’t lost anything.  The effect – the memories – will never leave me.  Neither has his memories, really.  If you think about it, they’re just more spread out.  That’s funny.  It gives weight to a cliche.  “I will always be with you.”  The memories that once made up my grandfather could be anywhere in the universe.  I guess he really is all around.