the Seeking

Like every normal human person, there was a wild manic phase in my life.
At least two, if I remember it right. The last one was 4 or 5 years ago.
And yes, that was when my son was conceived.

I felt so helpless, absurd, manipulated, abused. I could blame anybody for my wretched condition. I was that lost. I hated everyone. I hated myself most of all for being helpless. But never have I hated "God" I never blamed him. But I don't care about him, either. It's like he never existed. I know there is God, but he doesn't matter. Like fart. I didn't matter to him, I thought. So why should he matter to me? Logical.

Because life had been void of meaning to me, I did everything that lay outside of the accepted life. And yes, it included ALL fantasies I have abhorred in myself before. No thing, no man or woman escaped my eye for beauty. And everyone who consented got a taste of me, or I got a taste of, whichever way you liked it.

One nurse on her way to Canada got in my way. And I got in her way, too. We just found ourselves in each other's arms, in mindless sensual pleasure. I think it's more of boredom for her, and she found herself carried by that wild wind that swept past her, I was tempestuous. But as I said, I got in her way. As soon as she got a hold of herself and of a college diploma, she disappeared. More than a year later, I found out from mutual friends that her aunt adopted a child, and she flew to Canada to be with her family, and probably practice her profession there. One more year passed and I am sure the child adopted by her aunt had his inquisitive eyes from me and his curly locks from her mother, the nurse. The child was running around the garden with the one he called "mama" and neither of them knew me. My son, he even looked up to me, and I know those eyes are mine. And I am staring at nothingness.

And again, I remember the roots of my individuality and lost innocence. Memories flood back.

The physical and verbal phase of my rebellion has ended. It has gone on to a moral and intellectual plane. I graduated from denial to resolution. There is no one to blame. Not myself, and not my mother or father; not the first lad who abused me or the first woman who sought my help to get over her heat; not any human person. And of course, not God, he allowed this to happen but did not want me to suffer, I think what he wanted are the fruits of our suffering. He gave us free will to make sense of our own lives. I think it is our most precious gift that life has no pre-ordained meaning. We choose the meaning we want to live. This was when I first read the Bible again after my perdition. I used to read the Bible before, but those were better times. We can afford to believe in a mighty generous God when everything's alright. To know Him beyond the Santa Claus figure we send our wishes to, I learned, is tough. But it's one way of knowing Him. The Real Him.

Now, I am in that unique position where I perfectly understand the most sexually depraved person and the most reclusive religious authority. Hmm.. Which makes me think of an even more distant past that has shaped me, that part of life most people associate with innocence. I never had the luxury of having my innocence beyond the first four years of my life..


[to be continued..]