Coming Back

I began this summer filled with compassion and the hope to use it to refine myself in my religion. I looked upon each fresh day as some marvelous creation that had sprung from... ah, I have no name for him. None that should be written, anyway. And I will be the first to admit, I strayed.

It's a horrible, horrible habit of mine to begin things with fervor and then have my attention slowly wane. I think it began when I tried to incorporate traditional puja worship into my belief system. The rituals didn't work for me, and my interest began to wane. Unfortunately, this was all that it took to take me off track.

Recently, I had a stint with paganism, and I realized I took it up simply because I knew it'd be of interest to my guru, Lucius. I think to myself, now, is he truly my guru? Not that he doesn't deserve my respect and love! He was a teacher to me, yes. He brought me this far. Before him, I was a spiritual cripple, incapable of really understanding what it was I believed in, and viewing all religion as some incomprehensible puzzle. He gave me the key. In that way, he was a guru. 

But for his wealth of knowledge, I understand that like all men he has his flaws. A sort of fascination with the darker aspects of things. The belief that all things we do, white or black, are usually selfish in its motive. A lack of interest in, currently, achieving a level of enlightenment higher than what he has already experienced. Perhaps, even, a pre-occupation for sex. These are the flaws. I would not admit to them, before, or perhaps I would, but never dwell on them, but recently something unfortunate happened. He expressed an interest in me. Not in the student-teacher way, nor the father-daughter way. It was extremely, extremely awkward and broke my heart. I admit that now I will probably always be wary of him, nor will I trust him as easily as I did before. 

But I can't help but think, if he was younger. But as it stands he's sixty, and I'm nineteen. He's also married. And, also, I trusted him like I've never trusted anyone else. It seems to be me to be a miserable little cycle, where older men, usually his age, tend to think of me as something more. I don't know why, I don't flirt. I tend to view them as teachers or father figures. But it keeps happening. I thought it wouldn't, with him. But perhaps this is no big deal. Perhaps I'm blowing it out of proportion. But it still hurts. 

Perhaps I view him as less because he let me down. 

Regardless, I understand my stint in paganism, while it did have its moments... certain occurrences that pagans are apt to say happen... In my case, stopping in a random gas station that was selling 99 cent incense called Night Queen. In representation of Nyx, of course. And, of course, the time I stopped by in another gas station and, lo, several bottles of bacchus waiting for the plucking. Bacchus being another name for Dionysus... it was not for me.

There is something to ritual that does not appeal to me. It cheapens the experience, somehow, and makes me feel as if I'm fooling myself. I take more from a catholic mass than I do a Hindu puja, or a Pagan trance dance. I think that, for me, my day to day living must be my form of worship. My adoration for a cloud-flecked sky and green hills, compassion in my actions, peace in my thoughts. These are my ways of worship that truly made me feel alive. I believe what I believed when I first touched summer. It's a trial of hits and misses.