I've been in a funk the last several weeks. I would like to say that is why I haven't been posting as much as I probably should. There's been a bit going on. My mother was diagnosed with Stage 4 Cancer of Unknown Origin in May. After several rounds of chemotherapy, an MRI indicated that the tumors had their point of origin in one of her ovaries.
May was unpleasant. The diagnosis came shortly after my 50th birthday.June was also without much hope. My wife and I decided that instead of staying close to home for our vacation in August that we would visit her and family, because at the time we didn't know if we would be able to see her again before she passed away. Suffice it to say, she was in much, much better spirits and her state of physical well-being was far better than I had expected.
During the most stressful period I remembered how Christianity is supposed to be The Religion of Comfort. Being the sort that I am, I asked myself, "Was there anything there for me?" I can safely say, "No. No there was not. No in the least."
It took me some time to think of a metaphor to describe the revulsion, disgust, and contempt that a hypothetical return provoked. It took some time, but I found it.
I used to smoke. I stopped smoking on a regular basis about 12 years ago. I have had a few off & on over the years. The last one was in August 2009. It was an American Spirit. Not even one of the Camels or Gauloises of which I was so fond once upon a time. The smell, the taste, the stink on my fingers were awful. I realized that I wanted the way that I remembered feeling after a Gauloises or two. But as I much as I wanted it, I didn't have that feeling of well-being or calmness at all. I was too busy hacking up phlegm that wouldn't budge.
Consideration of a return to Christianity, provoked those same feelings: disgust, revulsion, and contempt. Further, any nostalgia was purely for remembrances of experiences that in retrospect I only imagined.