My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

Nothing.

So, today I get to wreak havoc through the streets of San Jose by way of my Anybot.

This space for sale.

I literally have nothing to say.

I’m a time traveler!

…yesterday.

I have a monkey jumping up and down on my brain.

Tattoo by Kyle, Doc Dog’s Las Vegas Tattoo, Ybor City

So, this tattoo, number seventy-five, isn’t a song lyric, or a book quote, or a film quote, or even a quote anybody would ever recognize. Still, it’s a quote that suits me, I think. It was crafted to suit me.

I have a similar quote that Ira Glass crafted for me. He was talking about me, talking about our This American Life episode. He was telling someone about how I have all these experiences during which I could die, leaving my house is kind of a dice roll, but given all that, he said I’m just “so fucking normal.” I thought that was about right, I’m normal in that I’m pretty much as fucked as anybody else. Now, what he said is permanently etched into my leg.

Well, recently I was tweeting Aimee Mann about something I wrote and I ended with, “Yes, I’m weird.” I’m weird in a lot of ways, but I’m definitely especially weird about my writing. Everything that’s typed here is first completely “written” in my head. I hear the words, I know how they’re going to fit together, then I do the final physical act of typing. I know, that sounds a little weird.

I often like writing first-person present, some people don’t dig that, but I write it anyway. That’s what I was telling Aimee, that’s what ended with, “Yes, I’m weird.” That’s what garnered the reply that’s now permanently etched into my stomach…

“…just weird enough…”

I liked that, I’ll happily wear that label until time wears it away.

Tattoo by my man, Colt, Doc Dog’s Las Vegas Tattoo, Ybor City

So, this tattoo, my seventy-fourth, is from one of my favorite Elliott Smith songs, Talking to Mary, which is off of the posthumously released two-disc set, New Moon.

Mary is the kind of woman that you’re lucky to ever meet. She knows you better than anybody ever has, or ever will; She can hear what you’re thinking like you were saying it right out loud. You love her so much, you’re scared, always, somewhere in your head, of the day she might go away.

I know this woman, that feeling. Nothing feels so bad, and so purely good, both at the same time.

So, I’ve always thought of myself as a kind of, sort of, probably best described as a lapsed Catholic. Maybe? I mean, I go to Midnight Mass because I like the decorations, and the songs, and the story, but that’s my yearly visit to church.

Many years ago, after I quit talking, before Sara went away, I wanted to “get right with God.” It just seemed like the thing to do, for lots of reasons. I started dragging my assistant to mass every Sunday, I was looking into bible classes, I wanted to take Confession and Communion. I was really serious, it wasn’t just a passing thing. After a month-ish, less, I was at an evening mass and at that particular mass was a Bishop. It seemed so perfect, I wanted to ask someone how I would go about taking Confession and Communion, as my chair won’t fit in a confessional, and I’d recently switched to eating via a tube in my stomach. I knew I’d need accommodations. I figured a Bishop could totally get me those accommodations. I figured a Bishop would be totally happy to do so.

Well, after mass, my assistant and I went up to the Bishop, my assistant (Steven) explained my goal toward Confession and Communion. The Bishop looked puzzled a moment, then he asked Steven, talking about me in the third-person, “Can he take anything by mouth?” Steven explained that I can’t because of the tube in my throat, but I have the tube in my stomach, and we can crush things to go down said tube. The Bishop shook his head and told Steven that Communion has to be taken by mouth, only by mouth. Someone else then came up to chat with the totally not helpful Holy Man, and that was that. We left.

I didn’t lose any faith in God, but I definitely lost faith in His PR people. It felt kind of un-Christian. I remember thinking, had I just approached Jesus, He wouldn’t have totally blown me off, He’d have at least talked with me awhile, something. I remember leaving church, the sun was setting a gorgeous orange, I was thinking about dinner with Sara, a cold evening breeze making me feel keenly alive. I felt God all around me, but outside of that church, away from that Bishop.

Ever since, I only go to Midnight Mass. I always feel close to God at Midnight Mass. Generally though, I don’t go to church to strengthen my faith, God feels so much more vivid elsewhere. I see God in star-filled night skies, in sun shining through green tree leaves. I feel God falling asleep holding someone I love. I see God in her eyes, eyes that love me back. God’s not relegated to a place, God is everywhere, so it’s not like this bad experience at church broke me. I just quit feeling like church is important.

Well, after my experience at the Greek Orthodox church, I started feeling like I’d like to go back, maybe a lot. It felt nice being there. I liked being there with Maria, liked how she lit up telling me all about the church, the Liturgy. I liked how everyone was so friendly; people talked to me, not about me, in the third-person. The church itself is gorgeous. I was happier when I left than when I showed up. I was thinking about all of this stuff while hanging out with Maria last week, mentioning parts, leaving out parts.

We started talking about going to visit my church sometime, as she put it, “your turf.” I had to laugh, the Catholic church is hardly my turf. I reminded her, “I’m a lapsed Catholic AT BEST.” Then I started typing, Besides, I’m technically originally baptized Serbian Ort-, at which point Maria said, “Wait, if you type Orthodox, I’m going to have a cow!” I had no idea I was saying anything important. To me, it’s always been an amusing aside that I was baptized Serbian Orthodox, and was promptly baptized AGAIN, as a Catholic, as soon as my parents divorced. It never seemed like it meant anything. I barely knew my dad, I really don’t know the Phillipses at all, so I always just thought my baptismal resume was just another example of my never doing anything normal, and it is, but it’s more too.

Basically, if you’re baptized Orthodox, but fall away for whatever reason, they’ll always accept you back, if you ask. You don’t have to renounce anything, or convert to anything, you just get welcomed back.

I asked.

There’s one small ceremonial thing to be done, but after that, I re-join my Orthodox heritage.

I don’t know how this is going to go, but Atheism isn’t for me (sorry, Ziztur!), and I’ve really always wanted to be a part of a more welcoming church. I’m sure I’ll disagree with lots of things, as I always have, but I’ll be a part of something that’s beautiful, a place to be among friends. A place where they’ll let me take Confession and Communion, I won’t be rejected for losing something that I didn’t lose by choice. That alone tells me that I’m doing something right.