Pulled Pork, Lost Dogs, And The Devil's Music

I really don't like the term "pulled pork." That's all.

8:54pm
Waterloo, Ontario

Soundtrack: AC/DC - Highway To Hell

Good Evening,

First of all, AC/DC, where have you been all my life? Lately I've been seeking out classic rock, hell, even modern rock. Recently I've added some AC/DC, The Who, Audioslave, Melissa Etheridge, and Bryan Adams to my collection, with notions of adding some Led Zeppelin, Bon Jovi, etc in the near future. I grew up almost solely listening to Christian music, so you can imagine AC/DC wasn't exactly in the mix. But enough about that.

This will be a rather random entry, as it's one of those evenings where I feel like writing but don't really have a set topic to write about. So here goes...

1) Does anyone else have a problem with the term "pulled pork"? I mean, I like eating it, but I'm uncomfortable with saying it or even reading it.

2) Lately my Facebook news feed has been full of lost dog posts. I mean, I get that there are a lot of pet lovers out there, but it's getting a little annoying, just sayin'. (Somewhat related, I remember when I made the joke that whenever I see an Amber Alert, I look around for hot girls named Amber. My uncle wasn't impressed. Oh well.)

3) I turn 40 this upcoming July. It's a big number, and you'd think I'd be depressed about it, but I think I went through my mid-life crisis the last couple of years, and like measles, I'm hoping it isn't a recurrent thing.

4) Is there anything better than Sunday afternoon breakfast? On Sundays after attending my Unitarian congregation, I make it a habit to frequent a pub Uptown that serves breakfast until 2pm on the weekends. I always order "The Highlander," which is a nice way of saying "for those who want to eat absolutely everything, plus french toast."

5) Speaking of my Unitarian congregation, we have a new minister filling in while our regular minister is away on sabbatical for three months. All she had to do was to quote Pema Chodron and Thich Nhat Hanh, and I was won over.

6) I'm looking for a new wallpaper for my desktop. I currently have Mr. Rogers on my desktop. Yes, really. If you have any suggestions, feel free to leave them in the comment section on good ole FB.

7) I currently have 7 candles lit in my bedroom here in Waterloo. Somehow I think Norah Jones would be a more appropriate soundtrack right now, but this AC/DC album is just too good.

8) Tomorrow night I might go back to this meditation group that rents out the hall in my church on Wednesday nights. We sit in silence and then drink exotic teas, like Bengal Tiger Chai or some shit like that.

I'll leave you with this video which I found hilarious when I came across it yesterday:



mark andrew

On Being A Sanctuary For Other People

5:59pm
Waterloo, Ontario

sanctuary: any place of refuge; asylum.

Memes. We all love them. Ok, not all of us love them, especially when they implore us to "Like" and "Share" them. However, yesterday my friend posted a meme that I rather liked. It simply read: "Be the type of person that makes everyone you come across feel perfectly okay with being exactly who they are."

Yes, I believe that each of us can be a sanctuary for those around us. I hope that you have 2 or 3 people, or even 1 person that is a sanctuary, a refuge for you. You know, someone that you can be completely real with, without feeling the need to put on false pretenses or masks. 

What does it take for someone to be a sanctuary? I think it requires a few different things. One of them is owning yourself. How can we be a sanctuary for other people if we haven't given ourselves that inner place of refuge. A place that can hold all of our fears, anxieties, our wounded inner child. This requires time and some effort (and often therapy). If we are always running, always busy, and never stopping to pay attention to our shit, our fears and anxieties will continually surface in the form of anger, jealousy, always having to have the last word, etc. If we haven't tended to our own wounds, how are we supposed to be truly present when sitting with a friend in need? Now, does this mean that we have to have it all together before being a good friend to others? Of course not, but I think we need to be in the process of tending to our own needs. The late Catholic priest and author Henri Nouwen speaks of "crying inward" lest we continually spill our pain and rage onto others and expect them to heal us. 

I think that another requirement for being a sanctuary to those around us is that we need to practice deep listening. Do you ever notice that, during conversations with friends or acquaintances, we don't really hear what the other person is saying? Instead we often are merely waiting for the other person to stop talking so that we can say what is on our minds. This isn't deep listening. Going back to our own journeys, how can we be good or deep listeners of other people if we continually run away from the dark places within us, if we aren't listening to ourselves? Some of us will do anything to run away from our dark places. We have so many things around us that can distract us - our computers, television, Facebook, Twitter, books, music, video games. Now, sometimes we need these distractions for a moment if our pain is too deep to face, but at some point our dark places are going to catch up to us if we don't tend to them, if we don't listen to them. When we have taken the time to listen to ourselves, as hard and wrenching as that can be, we can truly be present when we are with other people. Instead of being in inner turmoil when we are in another's presence, we can sit with them and truly hear what they are saying to us.

As a good friend of mine pointed out to me, being this type or person, a sanctuary as I call it, does not mean taking responsibility for another's feelings or actions. It is not our responsibility to make others feel good. But I do think that it's incumbent on us to try to make them feel welcome and safe. Now, it may not be possible to help someone feel safe with us if a person's turmoil and anxieties are so overwhelming that they cannot receive our offering of a peaceful presence. But even in this scenario, we can offer a non-judgmental presence. We can let others feel all the shit they're feeling and not insist that they put on a mask or "buck up and be happy."

As I end this particular blog entry, I ask myself two important questions:

1) Am I doing the work that I need to own my own pain so that I can present with others?

2) Am I truly listening to others when I'm in a conversation, or am I simply waiting for a chance to say my piece?

I hope that you have a sanctuary or sanctuaries in your life. I love you.

mark andrew

Is It Possible To Overdose On God?

Is it possible that religious belief is toxic for some people?

10:48pm
Waterloo, ON

Soundtrack: Martina McBride - Greatest Hits
                    AC/DC - Back In Black

Good Evening. The music is loud, and I'm tempted to line dance, but I'll refrain.

Sunday School and services on Sunday mornings, Bible studies on Wednesday nights, youth group activities on Friday nights. Christian student clubs at elementary and secondary schools, and three years of Bible college to boot. And that's not counting the thousands of hours spent reading religious books, watching Christian movies, and listening to Christian music, as well as having countless conversations about God/religion/faith

Is it possible to overdose on God? I say that it is. I have a hard time reading posts about God or Christianity when they come across my Facebook feed. They're everywhere, and I get that because many of my FB friends are Christians. There are prayers, prophesies, declarations, and of course the worst ever - the posts that say "share this or you're denying God."

There was a meme or post that I stumbled upon a few weeks ago that simply asked, "What food from your childhood were you forced to eat that you just can't stomach today?" For some it was creamed corn (eww), for others it might be porridge or liver and onions.

You can see where I'm going with this. "Mark Andrew, were you forced during your childhood to believe in Jesus/God?" Let me say this. I believe that my parents were doing what they truly thought best for me by having Christianity be such a huge part of my life. It was what they had been taught, and what their parents and grandparents had been taught. However, let's think about this for a moment. When you're faced with a belief system that basically says, "Believe in Jesus/God or else you're going to a place of eternal torment called Hell," doesn't that sound like a forced decision to have to make?

Almost everything was God this, Jesus that when I was growing up. There was no explanation of other faith systems so that I could explore them for myself and decide whether I believed in one of them or not. It was all Jesus all the time. So much so that it's hard for me to stomach these days. And it's too bad, because the person of Jesus sounds like a pretty kick-ass, turning tables, revolutionary kind of guy.

I also believe that, for some - not all - religious belief can be a mental illness, or that mental illness can be exacerbated by religion. For instance, incessant prayer over perceived sins or shortcomings can not only reach the border of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, it can jump over the line. It's called religious scrupulosity.

Common Scrupulosity OCD obsessions include:

• Fear of living a life of sin or one that God wouldn’t approve of.
• Fear of doing something that doesn’t align with your moral or ethical standards.
• Constantly wondering if you’re praying enough or the right way.

Common Scrupulosity Compulsions include:

Excessive prayer.

Saying the same prayer over and over again until a state of certainty has been achieved. You feel as if God would approve of the amount.

Reassurance.

Seeking constant reassurance from God.

Excessive reflection.

Making sure that you haven’t said something God would blasphemous.

Going to church or temple.

Constant visits to places of worship.

Confession.

Excessive confessions to a priest, rabbi, other clergy or even a significant other.

Thoughts of unholiness.

Having natural associations that you think are unholy and offensive to God.

I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I suffered from religious scrupulosity for about 21 years or so. I already struggled with OCD in other areas of my life, like checking and washing rituals, and this constant God-talk provided me with something else to be obsessed with and utterly consumed with. It's awful to live under the threat of "believe this or else." Some would say that if I had just trusted God's grace that I wouldn't have such problems, but the thing about being a fundamentalist Christian, I found, was that not only were you supposed to say the magic words ("I confess I am a sinner and I accept Jesus as my Lord and Saviour.") but that you then had to make sure to be a good Christian, whatever that meant. It was my duty to pray regularly, read Scripture daily, and adhere to a list of do's and don't's that was seemingly endless. 

Is it possible that religious belief is toxic for some people like myself?

Is it possible to overdose on God? 

What do you think?

For more information and stories of people who have lived where religion blends into mental illness, check out this site.

Mark Andrew

We Need People (And Dartboards Apparently)

3:59pm
Starbucks - Chapters Waterloo
Soundtrack - k.d. lang

Good afternoon. I got up at the crack of 2pm today, and now find myself sitting at a crumb-laced table at Starbucks inside Chapters. I was all excited to sit here and watch last night's premiere of The Bachelor or to blog on my laptop. Alas, Windows has decided that it's time to undergo a massive update, so I was left to download the Blogger app and blog from my phone, all the while sipping on a grande blonde roast.

If you're like me, you love being around books. So, finding yourself in a bookstore is the nearest thing to heaven. For me today, it is a warm refuge on a -20 (with the wind chill) day. I shuffled in out of the cold a few minutes ago, only to be greeted by books, yes, but also...dartboards. Yes, dartboards.

This is the problem that I have with today's bookstores. It used to be that you could walk into a bookstore and only find, well, books. Now, Indigo, in all their wisdom, has decided that we also need pillows and wine glasses and blankies...and dartboards? I mean, who wakes up in the morning and says to themselves, "I really need a dartboard...I think I'll go to Chapters!" No! Bookstores were meant for books, and over-priced beverages.

One of the things that crosses my mind today, as my computer restarts for the umpteenth time, is that we need people. At least I do. No person is an island, even someone like myself who teeters on the border of introversion. Perhaps you're an extrovert and you have dozens and dozens of good friends. Or maybe you are happy with only 2 or 3 close friends, that's all you need. One of my goals for 2018 (not resolutions!) is to continue to reconnect with friends here in the city and to make new friends. Also, I need to get out of bed earlier. Take depression and anxiety issues, then throw in hypothyroidism, and you have 3 very tempting reasons to stay bundled up under your blankies.

Yes, we need people, even if that means we surround ourselves with strangers, like here at the bookstore café. There's something oddly comforting about being here, surrounded by strangers waiting patiently for their lattes or doing research on their non-updating computers. And there's something reassuring about humanity when a stranger makes eye contact and offers you a smile.

I also think that we need physical touch from time to time. Ideally this would come from someone whom you are in love with, but it can also come in the form of a big hug from a platonic friend, or perhaps a FWB arrangement.

I hope you're having a great day, and if you need a dartboard, there are plenty here at the bookstore. One would think that people would go to Target instead.

mark andrew

2018: Out With The Old? Not So Fast!

9:49pm
Waterloo, Ontario

Soundtrack: Mary Chapin Carpenter - Stones In The Road

Good evening. I have a Facebook friend who almost exclusively posts memes with Bible verses on them each day of the week. Yesterday's seemed aimed at the ending of 2017. It simply read, "The old life is gone; A new life has begun!" (2 Corinthians 5:17)

Why are we always attempting to shed things from our past? Why do we try to convince ourselves each New Years Day that we can magically shut the door on who we were the previous year and start completely new?

What if we embraced our whole selves instead?

There is a particular fixation in many Christian circles on dying to the old self and being born again. The act of baptism often symbolizes dying to sin and rising to new life. The act of the eucharist/communion symbolizes the continual remembrance of the death of Jesus and one's own joining Christ in his death so that we too may rise in glory.

For years I tried to die to my "old self," or to sin as they say. I had been taught that since I had accepted Jesus into my little beating heart when I was 7 years old that I had died to my old self, which was sinful, dark, even evil. Yet as I grew up I couldn't stop sinning or doing bad things. You see, there is no magic switch, as much as we might like to believe, that turns us from being bad little boys and girls to men and women worthy of love.

We should never try to crucify a part of ourselves, or "die" to a part of ourselves. It's not psychologically, emotionally, or I suspect physically healthy. It's the same as trying to flick that other magic switch, the one where we resolve each year to suddenly become a brand new person in some way, shape, or form.

You see, each of us is a messy, mixed up bag of good and bad, happy and sad. We are capable of beautiful things like art and music and making love, and we are capable of heinous things like injustice and murder. We need not repeat the wrong-doings, or "sins" of our past, but we also need not shun our dark sides. Often we try to compartmentalize, putting parts of our lives in neat little boxes, locking some of them up in cobwebbed closets, while putting others on proud display. Instead, what if we were to have an open house where we let trusted friends and confidants roam around, giving them the keys to every room in the house? After all, isn't that what we really want? To be seen for who we really are, warts and all, and loved because of all of it?

Before turning over a new leaf in 2018, make sure to bring along the old ones, because they bear the stories of our lives.

Mark Andrew

I Declare! A New Year, A New You! (And Other Shit)

7:52pm
Waterloo, Ontario

Soundtrack: Norah Jones - Day Breaks

It's a frigid evening here in Southern Ontario, and I just got in from seeing a pretty lousy movie; you know, one of those films that gets 95% on Rotten Tomatoes and has some Oscar buzz, but turns out to be as enjoyable as a root canal. I won't mention the film's name, lest I give it a bad name (okay, it was The Florida Project - do yourself a favour and save your money. Go see The Shape of Water instead - it's terrific.)

The latest Norah Jones album is playing here in my sanctuary of love and lust (otherwise known as my bedroom.) The album is a return to her jazz roots, and it's so smooth that I can't decide if it's very good or very forgettable, or perhaps both. I'll keep playing it.

So it's New Years Day, and I thought it obligatory of me to write a blogpost, ,something that I haven't done in a very long time. I used to write all the time, both on this blog and on a satirical news blog that I created. But then a funny thing happened: words escaped me. However, on this momentous occasion, I thought it incumbent on me to at least try to fumble through something (and so far, I'm most impressed by my ability to use the words "obligatory" and "incumbent" in the same paragraph.)

Do you make New Years resolutions? If so, how's that going for you? We're about 18 hours into 2018, and hey, there's no judgment here if you've already broken them all. I personally don't make New Years resolutions for some reason or another, but I was excited that I was invited to a friends place last night to ring the new year in (though I politely declined). Instead I ate chocolate, and drank smoked beer from this brewery in Germany that I visited when my girlfriend dumped me for having spent a week on the psych ward (or some reason or another.)

What good are resolutions? What good are declarations? I have a friend on Facebook who follows self-named "prophets" and "prophetesses" who are always declaring things in the name of the Lord.

I declare that 2018 will bring abundance!

I declare that 2018 will see a major breakthrough in your life!

I declare that only good is in store for you this year!

Charlatans, I say. Charlatans. (With apologies to Joel Osteen, who has a book entitled I Declare!)

However, I must admit that it was only a few years ago that I was sucked in by such declarations and fantasies. For awhile I was part of a church that was all about the "law of attraction," The Secret, and prosperity-thinking. If someone was sick, they weren't supposed to say "I am sick." Instead they were supposed to use positive affirmations such as "I am healed, healthy, and whole. Every cell of my body radiates health." If you were poor, you didn't say "I am poor." Instead you declared "I am a child of God and therefore I inherit abundance and prosperity." And then you hoped like hell that you weren't just shouting to the wind. Oftentimes you were.

Aren't we fooling ourselves if we think that with the stroke of midnight comes not only a new year, but a new you? Seriously, I'm asking! Tell me if I'm wrong!

2017 saw some good times and some bad times for me. The good included meeting new friends (psst! Rayne, I'm talking to you!) as well as a relocation to this city after having been away for 4 years. I reconnected with my current religious congregation (which is devoid of declarations) as well as with the political party I support and friends that live up here.

The bad included the ongoing shit that is PTSD, depression, and anxiety, being ghosted by a lover, my declining metabolism, and The Florida Project.

I can not (or will not) find it in myself to resolve to do anything extra new or special in 2018, except perhaps to get writing again. What I can do is to let love and the simple pleasures in one day at a time. To finally heed the teachings of authors who speak of being in the moment and being mindful in all that you do. And to commit to watching better movies, drinking better beer, and engaging in much more sweet love - it's better than Klonapin.

I will declare one thing as i finish off this post. I declare that you are enough, just as you are, and that you are a gift. Thanks for reading.

Mark Andrew

Please, Please Forgive Me! Where Religion Meets Mental Illness

During my adolescence and young adult years, I found myself on my knees
 begging for forgiveness hundreds, if not thousands of times.

I was in my teens when it first happened. In previous years I had been able to leaf through the new Sears catalogues without any duress. I looked at the bicycles and toys and other things that little boys look at. But then on one ordinary day I found myself leafing through the swimsuit and lingerie sections of the latest catalogue that my parents kept in their bedroom, and I was mesmerized. What had I been missing all of my life? Yes, puberty had arrived.

Now, puberty and everything that comes with it are of course natural progressions of life, but growing up in a fundamentalist Christian household meant that it also came with a major caveat. Sex and sexual expression outside of marriage was forbidden, and those who engaged in either before saying "I do" were in danger of being in God's bad books.

Along with striving to be a faithful Christian teenager - I attended church gatherings 3 days a week - I also had developed extraordinary checking and washing rituals which only later would I be able to describe as OCD. These rituals were particularly strong at night, when I would repeatedly check that my curtains weren't touching the electric heater for fear that I would burn the house down, getting out of bed to check that the downstairs oven was shut off, and checking numerous times a night that the front door was locked, lest any intruders gain access to the house and hurt my family members.

When puberty, adolescence, and young adulthood hit, my OCD collided with my sexuality and religious life in a way that was embarrassing and exhausting.

Just like millions of other boys my age, I was fixated on the female body, and strange feelings began to crop up in my body that at first I didn't know how to deal with. I found myself touching myself in places that previously had never intrigued me very much. I had heard the word masturbation before somewhere, and when I had asked one of my parents about it, they reassured me (in a way) that it was normal, "just don't do it too much." As well meaning as that parent was, it didn't help me very much as an adolescent. But the real problem with looking at the pretty women in the Sears catalogues, which eventually turned into pornographic images, was that this involved a four-letter word: lust. Lust, I had been taught, was an egregious sin. To me, someone who already suffered from OCD, it was like I was committing an abominable sin against God simply by lusting after women's bodies. One such verse in the Bible that addressed lust was Matthew 5:28, which said, "But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart." You can imagine how much that scared me, because committing adultery was one of the acts condemned in the Ten Commandments.

This is where religious OCD, otherwise known as scrupulosity, came into full-blown presence in my young life. As a teenager and then young adult, I would view a provocative image, subsequently masturbate, then would inevitably end up on my knees at my bedside pleading with God to forgive me for my lustful actions. Ten minutes later I was back doing the same thing. This sequence of events occurred at least hundreds, if not thousands of times in my adolescence and young adulthood. It also included intense, repeated washing rituals in order to cleanse myself from my "dirty" actions. I judged myself for being a "bad Christian" and constantly worried that God was looking down on me with a disapproving countenance. I didn't realize that puberty and all that came with it was normal.

I also made an effort to read my Bible and pray every day, and felt guilt anytime I failed to do so.

Yet another aspect of religious OCD, or scrupulosity, is asking others if you are behaving correctly, and unnecessarily asking for their forgiveness. So, not only does one have to to worry about what God is thinking of them, but they worry about what others are thinking of them.

I continued this religious scrupulosity well into my days at a fundamentalist Bible college, where I continued to view pornography. I came to a crisis point where I believed that I had committed an unpardonable sin against God, and that he had kicked me out of his family. I was guilt-ridden and panicked.

Two things happened that freed me from my religious scrupulosity. One day I had had enough of the intense feelings of guilt and decided to try to drop them and let the chips fall where they may, and I also started to question the major tenets of the fundamentalist Christianity which I had grown up with. This led to my rejection of the faith and an embrace of a more liberal and authentic personal faith.

Today I realize that my former form of religion fed my mental illness, and I am glad that I am free from those days of constantly worrying that I was in danger of hell-fire just because I was a sexual being.

Religious OCD is real. Have you experienced it?

Mark Andrew Nouwen