Nurse Sean (dot) com

Its Christmas eve, and I hade modern Christmas carols. There’s definately a spiritual energy in the air on this evening every year. When the busy rush of Christmas ends like hitting a brickwall and everything is silent. Its as silent as a night gets. There is a peace on earth amist the silent dark. There is true joy in people. Kids are so excited they could pee their pants at any given moment. It all seems to stop on Christmas eve though. The excitement gives way to waiting and the rush gives way to introspection. The dark carols of centuries past haunt your mind and release the pain of the world. Damn rudolph and his happy jinggling for ruining this beauty!

I’m going to church tonight. A rare occasion save only for Christmas eve. Catching up with old friends from youth. Kids I skipped Sunday school with to smoke, or eat candy. Meeting their kids and spouses. I’m growing old. I’ll be in that place that is so sacred as a tradition to my family that being there trancends whichever year it happens to be. I could be two or two hundred, and the emotions are the same, unchanging. In that moment that we light the candles and sing silent night, I will momentarily believe in God again. Then we’ll blow out candles, and my cousin and I will sneak out for a smoke. Dozens of folks will say hello, and ask how I’m doing, tell me how mature and like my Dad I look. I won’t recognize most of these people.

This is my new years eve. The real one has never had any impact on me. Perhaps because I’ve worked new years eve for the past countless years. I count my years by Christmas. A peak on the emotional turning of the year. The one day I’ll know I’m happy. The one day I reflect on last year and next year, and marvel how fast it came.

I’ll smile more in the next couple days than all year. I’ll eat beautiful foods. I’ll miss my sister when she’s in Edmonton. I never miss her. I’ll wish my family could be together, even though we’re never together and that never bothers me. I’ll hug my cat who has no idea how special this time of year is. I’ll sink back with a glass of eggnog, and Christmas music and amaze at my own peace. A meditation.

Sould attatchments. An author/good friend, describe the precense of ghosts as these. Emotions are unchanging after death. You’re simply attatched to those that were the strongest, and continually experience them. You stand in the kitchen and watch your family, revisiting an emotion once experienced.

This is what Christmas is to me. An unchanging emotion, like liquid northern lights. Flowing from one place in life to another. Experienced, but never altered. I hope this never changes.

Part Two: Lost without Wilfred

I’m twenty three and I feel the urge to go into the ministry and preach the love of God to a congregation. To spread the white light of God’s love to the people of the world and take away their pain as he did for our group that single day when I was fourteen.

However, how can I do this whe I am completely absent of any belief in God, or any devine being for that matter? I’m an athiest, who practices paganism. I believe that all matter contains energy that shares itself with the rest of the world. I believe that I have the power to feel other’s pain and suffering. I feel I can send healing energy to those people. I can make them feel exceptionaly happy.

But why this urge to leave my life as an athiest to preach the love of a God that I don’t believe in? How can I stand in front of a congregation and tell them to love a God that doesn’t exist? Why do I need to share my testimony.

As a pagan, I look back on that day when I was fourteen and explain it as the sharing of energy. We all felt an immense unity and the whole was so powerful that we created a surge of energy that none of us were equipped to understand. We turned to the only source available to us. We believed it was a Christian God, proving his existence.

But we felt pure love, and it is this message I want to preach. The purity of souls and the ability for this state to bring peace and joy. Jesus preached this message. He told us to love everyone and to treat everyone with respect. In that circle, we loved and respected each other, and that created our power. If we follow his teachings, perhaps we all could experience this.

How can I teach this message when I have rejected Jesus and his followers? I remember a slow decline in religious belief when my church rejected me for being gay (Note: I was going to a different church at this time). My belief in God, and his white light dispersed. I slowly became an athiest.

I remember discovering paganism, and the beauty of its message. It was more in line with the teachings of Jesus than Christianity itself. It tought good living and good acting. It brought me the joy of companionship and kin. In its rituals, I could vaguely feel the white light.

It was never the same though, and I’m not sure it ever will be. I’m not sure I will ever experience anything of that power ever again in my life. If I do, I’m not sure I would recognize it as the same. I strive for it though, and beg for it. I want to feel the safeness that I was wrapped up in that day. I want to feel the power of Wilfred towering over me with love. I want God.

More than once in the past few years, I’ve felt the urge to go back to Christianity, but never followed through, knowing how empty it made me feel compared to my paganism/athiesm. I crave its rituals and rules. I miss its guidelines for living. Its concrete plans. I desire its universal apeal. I want my crutch back.

Lately, I’ve wanted to put on the cloth and lead the congregation. Something I haven’t thought about since I was sixteen. I want to stand in front of people and tell them that all you need is love. And to be good to people. All you need is the message of Jesus, and you can feel the power of God. I wouldn’t tell them of my lack of belief in God, or better put, my very different view of him. I would never reveal that the only vein that connects myself to a God that I crave, is a moment when I was fourteen that I felt his power.

Part One: He played his guitar

I was fourteen and had never really been away from home by myself. Of course I had been to the traditional scout camps, or the periodical youth group retreats through my church. However, this was well beyond those experiences. I was travelling across the entire continent on four planes to go to a conferance of youth from accross the world who were affiliated with my church. I wasn’t all that excited to go. I wasn’t particularily interested in religion and basically wanted to go soley for the trip to New York we were taking after the conference was over.

The conference was a place called Allentown/Bethlehem. You may recognize the names from a famous Billy Joel song about Allentown and its painful economic situation after the closing of its factories. But I wasn’t to hear that song for the first time for about eight years.

Bethlehem was the centre for the entire church, and this was chosen as the sight for this years conferance. The history of the Moravian church had routes back to the beginnings of the protestant church and developed at the same time and place as the Lutheran church. From Europe, Moravian settlers came to Bethlehem as their chosen place in the new world.

After what seemed like years of air travel I was blasted by stifling heat and humitity as I stepped of the plane in Allentown. Something that as a western Canadian, living in a cool, dry climate, I was not at all used to. The sun was intense and the pavement from the runway after walking down the steps from the plane was painful. Even worse were the Bible college dorms that we were forced to stay in that lacked air conditioning. For me, they lacked the chance for sleep, and instead offered sweaty nights of hot, sticky sleeplessness.

The campus was quite beautiful, with extremely old buildings surrounding a massive recreational field which seemed to serve no official purpose. The campus seemed to be from the eighteenth century, a time in which my home city of Calgary didn’t even exist. The entire town was filled with such old buildings that reminded me of movies about witch trials in eastern America, the ones were men and women walked amongst misty wooden, and brick buildings spouting religious hatred.

The city was also filled with the normal rundown streets and buildings that always seemed to fill small town America. This part of the city seemed so distant to us in our safe little dorms at the warm clean university. The run down, rusty warehouses even looked pretty, and I took many pictures of then from different vantage points. I seemed to be forgetting, or perhaps ignorant of the fact, that these factories were a source of painful poverty and dispair.

I settled in fairly quickly at the college, making new friends and experiencing something I’d never experienced. Religion. The way my church worked at home was that it was simply a place where ordinary people came to ignore the sermon and eat donoughts and drink coffee and gossip. Here in Bethlehem, we talked openly about God, religion, souls, spirituality. We voiced our opinions, and heard those of others. I experienced religion as it was meant to be experienced. I heard for the first time the power of a gospel choir and felt the power of faith.

There was a kid by the name of Wilfred who played guitar and somehow became somewhat of a leader. I’m never sure why or how certain people become leaders, but it seems that groups of people will always tend to gravitate towards one person as its centre. He was dark skinned and came from some tropical island in the Bahamas, or perhaps Bermuda. He was fairly tall, and had a wonderful accent. He wrote and played beautiful music about God.

Everyday we would find time sit sit around and listen to Wilfred’s music. He would play us the songs that he had himself written, and then sing songs that all of us knew. Mostly from our nightly mass get togethers where the entire conference would come together and sing. We would watch the sun go down gently over the distant buildings and feel the heat of the sun slowly, and only slightly, lessen. We would sit and watch fireflies for hours, The way they would just suddenly light up and then disapear. They were everywhere, almost a blanket over the field. Everyone would laugh at me, because I thought fireflies were fictional animals from some childhood book my parents had read me, and I would stare with such intensity at their beauty that they thought I would never leave. There were no fireflies in Calgary.

As time went on, Wilfred became stronger as our leader. Between bible studies, tours of the beautiful Bethlehem buildings and its abandoned factories, and the numerous recreational activities, we were always with Wilfred. We listened intently to what he said as if his word was flawless and everything he said was stronger than our own souls. He spoke of the power of God, and his beauty and love. He read from the bible and preached. We listened, rarely speaking.

I remember one single day with more clarity than almost anything in life. We sat in a circle that included the mysterious Wilfred with his guitar. He played our favorite songs for us and we sang along, now knowing the words after almost two weeks of hearing them. But he didn’t speak to us about God this time. Instead, he put down his guitar and said,

“I want to tell you about my life.”

He told us a passionate story of his life. I remember nothing about the story aside from his complete vulnerabilty. His absolute sadness. His helplessness. He was our leader and he was telling us that he was imperfect, and he suffered more than any of us. It didn’t stop there though, everyone shared their suffering and pain. The only story I remember is that of one of the better friends I made who revealed that his Dad had AIDS and was going to die soon. My story, and everyone elses is lost on me. We released our pain to each other and to God. We built power through our emotions asking nothing of God, but for the sharing of struggle. We became one as a group and more powerful as a group.

Something happened to our group that day when I was fourteen and at church camp. As we spoke our stories, a surge of love came amongst us. A power beyond anything human and we all felt it. We all cried silently, and we didn’t know why. What we felt was a powerful, invisible, white light, circling around our suffering and begging it to go away. Begging us to submit to a more powerful force. Asking us to release our pain to the universe.

We all reacted differently. I stared into the distance in shock for the rest of the day, even in bible study. I couldn’t hear anything, see anything, do anything. All I could do was the white light, knowing it was the presence of God. It had silently spoken to us revealing itself to be God. I remember one Kid who walked for hours up and down the centre field mindlessly reading the bible aloud, weeping, while one intructor uselessly tried to comfort him in his emotional pain. Fireflies swarmed around his legs as the sun went down. Others just wept for hours and hours. Wept for the beauty of the experience, and wept because the white light was gone. We felt as though God had touched us in a time of need. And now that he was gone, religion was all that could fill that void.

Like an island, this semester is surrounded by deep pools of nothingness. When I work, I feel worthless. I feel as though no goal will be reached or that there is no possible goal to be set. I’m stuck in my job. I like my job, I hate my job, sometimes I love my job. For the most part it feels like I’m trapped on the small island of nocareera. Forever forced, to make one latte after another. The most amazing fact is, that people seem to respect Starbucks employees. I used to. I’m not sure why, they’re no better or worse than anyone. I have troubles respecting myself. Its just a job, its just a way to earn money, no more, no less. My job serves no purpose, therefore there’s a lack of responsibility. Its a safe island.

I met a women at work today. I describe her as a new age fundamentalist. She’s clearly the most dedicate, faithful pagan I have ever met. However, she takes it too far, just as any religious beliefs can be taken too far. She’s condescending in her speach, and rarely takes opposite opinions into concideration. She condems others for the way they live their life. Its strange how I always considered these qualities to be purely Christian. I based my quasi-hatred of Christianity in this belief. My eyes have been opened to the idea that any belief, perhaps not even religious, can be used in a harmful style, no matter how beautiful and good you believe this belief is. I stared in shock as she quickly angered at Dan for going to Las Vegas to study casino buisness in school. This would apparantely encourage world-wide disharmony. I argued against this and more of her beliefs, but oddly from the same position, based in the same spirituality. All she could think to say was, “You just don’t uderstand what I’m saying.” Little did she know just how well I understood her. I never let it slip that I studied the same metaphysics she does, but at the end slipping in a forgoten phrase that summed everything up and proved I knew everything she knew, and in the same way. It was a gentle argument, all in good jest. It was fun on an otherwise boring day. She gave me an amathyst. She was amazed when I described on length the energy qualities of amathyst. I adore her and her fundamentalism. I have a new pet amathyst.

Don was in for coffee. I’ve nicknamed him “hot coffee shop guy”. He’s a writer and often appears for coffee to write his books. Included in his latest book that he’s working on was a description of our coffee shop. So, he allowed me to read this description. Our work was described as “poetic”. I was truley flattered that for all the and work and tense moments, and chaos, we appear to be poetic. Poems are the ultimate beauty of simple words. We are the ultimate beauty of intensly dedicated staff. A note from these few pages of his unfinished book: He describes the modern world as the “now-tribe”. An ingenious concept when left to ponder it. Don also described me as one of the few genuine people he’s ever met. I suppose that means that to others I appear real, true, honest. I have no front. I have confidence, and no need to plaster facades onto my face. I can wear an ugly outfit, because my personality is more important than anything else. I’m not known as “the one with the good eyes” or “Nice ass guy”. I’m known as a good person to have as a friend. I have to say, I was deeply flattered by this…I didn’t say so however. He left, but I promised to buy one of his books.

So, after work its off to the bookstore I go. No luck! His book is out of print, and I will have to go to the library to search for it. That was the only book by his in the computer system. I wanted to buy it though so he could autograph it for me. I guess I’ll have to wait till the next book comes out. I was also on the hunt for Leonard Cohen’s next book though, and for some reason I couldn’t find it in any stores. I know it exists, I’ve seen the commercials, read the lyrics, seen the actually cd in person. Not there. I was looking forward to laying back and reading Don’s book with Leonard Cohen in the background.

When I was waiting to check my book in the computer system, a lady in front of me was doing the same and discussing with the clerk that she was a teacher. I took little notice until she turned around, and gave me an intense stare of recognition. As though my history was on the tip of her tongue, but the stare and the thoughts were cut off by her husband before it could fall out. At that moment I remembered exactly who she was. It was my grade three teacher, and one of my intense favorites. I don’t remember how, but she influenced my life. I’m sure of it. How small she seemed though. I’m a small person, and I towered over her. She seemed so week. At three she seemed so powerful. Her authority and beauty reigned, and now she’s just a wet match waiting for the light of recognition. How could she recognize me at all? Its been fifteen years since I last saw her. She’s most definately tought hundreds and hundreds of students since then. The simple power of her recognition meant a lot to me. I instantly knew that if she recognized me, she would have been proud. Just as when my highschool music teacher, the greatest influence on my life, told Sandy’s brother that he remembers me, and that I was one of the best students he ever had…I secretly cried. Or when I was crossing the street at the university and my Highschool chemistry teacher saw me and smiled, and I could feel that smile saying “thank goodness, another one has made it”. I’ve never had such reassurance from anyone but teachers. Today they seem as angels who have let me flown, but will never forget that they were the ones that taught me how to fly.

I saw Kevin, a reacurring crush as I walked from my failed shopping trip to the bus stop. I walked behind him for three blocks. We’re great friends and I always look forward to talking with him, and cuddling up to him. I couldn’t bring myself to say hello. I walked less than two feet behind one of my good friends that I haven’t seen in ages. A person who I have an intense liking for, and I couldn’t even tap him on the shoulder. I turned and he kept walking straight. Why do I even bother wondering why I’m single?

Jason decided to take us to the zoo to see the incredible light display. It was also perhaps the last time I will see Dean. Jeremy was there too, and Dan, and Alex, and Candice, and her boyfriend. We wondered through the zoo, I was over zealous with my camera, and the elephants were shy, the lights were bright and we were friends together. It was a simple excursion, but one that I feel I will remember for the immense happiness that came of simplicity, rather than complex pursuits. Dean seemed excessively quiet and distant. It felt as though his light was fading and he was already in Ottawa. It seemed he was only there in spirit, when his body was in fact there. I even forgot to say goodbye. I should pray I see him tomorrow before he leaves on Monday. Again, I’ll miss him

We ate at the Harley Diner, an old fashion style restaurant and chatted and have heaps of food for a very small amount of money. Then, we came home and sat and chatted. Everyone else took of for the Gay rodeo dance, while I stayed home. I work early and I hate these dances…and I’m still broke.

Time for a smoke and a book.

It was back to work today after a weekend that seemed to last longer than it should. I had Sunday off, so I was fortunately able to participate in Alex’s birthday festivities. After I left work I went to Wal-Mart to explore the rows of stuff for presents for both Alex and Jeremy. I was there for a couple hours before finaly getting chocolates and a candle. Fairly generic gifts, but not bad since I realized I knew nothing of what they would enjoy receiving. And what is it about Wal-Mart? Millions of gourgeous men….and their ugly wifes.

I finaly got home and was barely beginning to wrap my gifts when Jeremy called and needed to be picked up downtown. So, I in a rare offer of unselfishness said I would. This, however is when my truck decided to stop starting. I tried for about half an hour and finaly Jason had to drive us to where Jeremy was waiting.

We opened presents and ate cake and enjoyed each other’s company for a couple hours before heading out to eat and to go to the bar and party. My truck started on the first try, so I decided to drive. When just arriving at the restaurant, my truck stalled in the middle of a parking lot…and wouldn’t start again. We had to push it into a parking spot.

The restaurant was great. Food amazing. I figured that after a couple hours in the restaurant my truck would start, just as it started after a couple hours of not trying earlier in the evening. It wouldn’t start, so I got to try roll-starting my truck for the first time ever. It worked thankfully, and I drove my truck immediately home.

We finally made it to the bar and I couldn’t wait to have a few drinks, get tipsy and dance myself into a drunken stupor. I was broke though, my bank wouldn’t give me money. It was official, I had spent all three hundred dollars I owed my parents. I sat in a corner, exhausted, watching everyone else have fun. I was simply beginning to worry about life.

The energy at the bar was excrutiating. It felt as though a dark cloud of negativity was lurking throughout the building. Everyone was in a horrible mood, and even though I decided to stop sulking and start having a good time, I finaly gave up on talking to people and just waited again in the corner until everyone was ready to go home.

Sunday, I spent the day in my pajamas. I didn’t have money to do anything, and I couldn’t go anywhere in my truck. I loved it. I read some “Lord of the Rings” and some “Harry Potter” and cought up on some readings for religious studies. I was well rested and relaxed. Dean called and asked if I could pick him up since his car broke down. Of course, I couldn’t since my truck wasn’t working. Then Jason came home and told me he was in a car crash. I’ve decided that someone has cursed our vehicles! Or perhaps there really is a dark cloud hanging over my head and its spreading to other people.

Monday I spent the day at the university alternating between studying and cruising the bathrooms. I wasn’t horny. Just bored. I wanted to catch some lovebirds. Nobody was there all day until Jason said he didn’t believe me that nobody was cruising and we went to the bathroom together. Of course there were three people obviously cruising. THIS is why I can’t get laid. bad timing.

Monday night I tried to read while Jason had wild sex for three hours in his room. Since it doesn’t bother me at all, I was successful, but I still haven’t figured out how Jason gets laid continually while I can’t even get a “hello” out of anyone, let alone a “Let’s fuck!”. We decided he has bad karma and I have good karma, and only those with bad karma get laid. Or more logically only those that get laid have bad karma. Almost like a circle. Nuns, and buddhist monks never have sex, and I bet their karma is as good as it gets! Do I make sense? So, I have to choose between becoming a bad person and getting laid, or being a good person who’s celibate. What a crappy choice!

Today I worked with Savannah the mormon. We discovered that I’ve broken almost all the ten commandments and would never be allowed to attend her wedding because of it. However, I get to go to the reception. no alchohol or coffee…ouch! I got a giggle though when she came up with a scheme that included lying and I asked her how she’d feel if she wasn’t aloud to go to her own wedding.

I worked on my religious studies paper tonight, and my mind is numb. However, if anybody is interested in the separation of religion and the concept of deity…I would love the chance to purge the information and get it out of my system.

I’m not sure if you can tell, but I’m in a much better mood today than I was yesterday. A little fun with my candles and wand and everything seems to be okay. I’ve expelled that horrible black cloud that was surrounding my world. The result of its treachery is still here though, like a broken house after the sun has scared off a tornado.

Leo

Leo

My eyes are stained with insence to the point of pain. I’m surrounded by candles that are glowing in time with my music. Its a vigil for myself, what died is unkown, but it feels as though a part of me has. I’m mourning nothing at all, but feel that I should. I am depressed, but more so scared, and nervous, as though I’m loosing a crutch.

And then I stared up from my standing place on the grass towards the towering social science building. I heard it bending over with laughter and blinking its eyes with uncontrollable convulsions. It reached its arm once again to flick me away with defeat. I’ve almost made it through another semester, but another one is nowhere on the horizon. Another battle has been won by the istitution. It was me who restarted the war, a revolt to prove I still have fight left in me. I shifted on my standing place and bowed my head in shame. I was mourning yet another failure.

My failure this time is that I lost my grip on success. I finaly began to receive amazing marks. I was finaly loving school and going to classes. I was working hard. I was proud. My old self stepped in though, and I watched my marks start slipping. I stopped studying, and going to classes, and now here I am nearly at finals with barely any time to scrape together any figments of knowledge. I am hanging my head in shame that I couldn’t defeat myself. My power to stray from my goals is more powerful than my desire. So, I watched my feet as I walked away from the University of Calgary. The buildings whispering to each other behind me.

There will be no school next semester. I’m broke. I spent three months of car payments on food and parking so that I could work. I have nothing, even the little I had was used to buy birthday presents and Christmas presents. I still have five Christmas presents to buy. I don’t know how I will ever manage. My truck has also broken down. I need to fix it so that I can work, so that I can eat, so that I can buy presents.

I hit rock bottom awhile ago, but now that I spent my savings I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom, and then someone handcuffed my limbs and buried me. Now I need to work my way out. I need to find the strength. For now, though, I’m just going to sit at the bottom and cry, gathering strength for the impossible task ahead.

I need to call my parents, and not only tell them that I don’t have the three hundred dollars I owe them, but I also need to borrow money. I believe the paycheck that was going to tuition will be spent before I even see the numbers on my web-banking sight. Just a blip on my accounts graph. Not a dime left for school.

I’m back to being a simple worker. I’ll work my ass off and deserve every dime I make. I’ll dream of the day I can work somewhere I can enjoy myself.

I will win the wars of money and education!

Buddhists are right..desire is suffering. I’m suffering, and its soley because I desire money and education.