A Bridge Over Troubled Waters

Dancing on the Razor's Edge: I, Monk

[Note: This book includes material that was written over a 2 or 3-year period. I didn't keep accurate track of what was written when whilst both compiling and editing this book.]

Part 3: Just Sayin'

"this essay"

This is primarily aimed at Christian "leaders," "ministers," "priests," et cetera. However, others might consider this essay to be informative. (That, or purest gibberish 🙄.) Therefore, for your edification (or amusement), I present "this essay."

I've called called a "priest" by some, yet a "thief" twice. I consider myself a freelance monk. Your opinion is duly noted. Just don't call me "a good man." You'll hurt my feelings 🙁.

I've heard a few mentally ill people complain about how "Christians" interact with the mentally ill. Maybe it's symptomatic of much larger social protocols. You tell me.

⁓

True story. A mental health professional once told me, "__, you're not schizophrenic. You're psychotic."

Umm... Thank you?? 😶

And... the proverbial shoe just dropped. Yep. Homeboy is a triple threat: psychosis, bipolar, and unspecified autism. Plus one more thing - that's mostly stable. Reader, I'd introduce you to "Glenden," Charles, and Mr. Israel - if they truly existed anymore.

Think whatever, but I credit God for the revelation that all 3 of me share my name. Any further disassociations will be "me myself" becoming "Me Myself."

Yet 2 of my-selves could coexist simultaneously. (Long story. But multiple personalities ≠ schizophrenia. Not even close 😐.)

You may call us/me Macbeth, my nom de plume. I've mildly disassociated a few times lately. (Wattpad's™ May, 2021 mental health, literary challenge has awoken old memories. Fascinating.)

"still this essay"

One church that I previously attended restricted me because I was taking mind altering, psychiatric medication. Thing is, that medication kept me sane. I bore them no malice then, nor now. However, others might've taken great offense at being told that their psychiatric medication limits their possible roles in a church. (And not for any safety, or compassionate, reasons.)

Their logic: the leaders tied the Greek term "pharmakeia" to sorcery. I wish that they'd dug a little deeper... Some words have multiple meanings that must be discerned in context.

Look: Many American Christian churches serve coffee. Sometimes a whole lot of coffee!

Hmm... Is that the wrong type of "pharmakeia" too?? Think. About. It.

😶 PLEASE

Or should Santa Claus put candy-coated rooster eggs in each of your Christmas stockings...

And a pregnant goose in each of your bathtubs? (I've written unpublished books. Methinks a letter to Santa Claus is doable!) 😛

Um... That's scads of pregnant geese... 😶

[Author's aside: taking psychiatric medication ≠ taking a mind-altering chemical for spiritual and/or religious reasons. Nope. So... Back away from the coffee pot. Real slow like. (Snicker, snicker.)]

~⁍~

{Question: how is the Apostle Paul having had a "thorn" in his flesh any different than some people having a "thorn" is their mind? Problem: this isn't a rhetorical question. I honestly want to know.}

"son of this essay"

One personal thorn: noisy churches. There are times to raise the roof. But every single service?

Are rock concert quality sound systems REALLY necessary in small rooms?! WITH SMALL CHILDREN PRESENT?!

Another personal weakness: I often struggle with separating speech from music. Moreover, I can't hear myself thinking, or praying, while loud sounds are assaulting my ears. (Pain is slightly distracting.) However, many people thrive on piercing noise.

I love my present church. Yet, during Sunday services, I'm usually in another part of the building - while wearing industrial-grade earplugs. Frequently, music is playing while the pastor preaches.

Confession:

Sometimes normal people scare me. Yet I'm "psychotic?!"

O... K... 🙄

Part 4 (?) "I, monk"

"Monkhood," Part 1

When perhaps many people think of the term "monk," they may envision some pious fellow living in an all-male monastery. For a "Christian" [or "Catholic"] monk, the image maybe more detailed, perhaps even archaic. However, a "Protestant monk?"

Um. Yeah. What's that?

Personally, I live in an apartment building. I've an ex-girlfriend who's now my best friend. Although I'm under no oath of celibacy, I'll likely never get married. This is despite having had 3 different women (including my ex) tell me that I'd make a good husband.

So... Why am I a bachelor? More to the point, why do I believe that I'll never get married?

At the root, one word:

FEAR

Perhaps terror, or even horror, may be more accurate.

If I've any true form of paranoia, then it's about myself being in a romantic relationship.

From my point of view, this "#BraveTogether" literary challenge questions the connection between bravery and mental health. *Right at this specific moment (as I'm typing this) I'm on the southern border of abject fear. I feel sick. It could be said that the only way to be truly brave is when you truly ain't.

*[Whether "abject" was precise, "border" stands.]

Concentrating on my writing, my scientific theories, and my spirituality is my safe zone. And my hiding place. My invisible monastery, if you please. Like a turtle, I carry my armor-plated sanctuary around with me. Since it's invisible, I can interact with the sea of humanity with some confidence. My writing this under a pseudonym is simply another scale in that armor.

Considering myself a monk is a healthy self-definition.

"Monkhood," Part 2

What denomination first called me a "priest" may or may not be important. The arguments for me being a priest under New Testament rules are pretty solid. That stated, under New Testament rules, I don't qualify as either a deacon or an elder. I likely never will.

I play more of the companion or servant role in the Church. Methinks this defines the role of a monk. It's perhaps wise that I maintain an observational mindset when it comes to religion and spirituality. Leaders of any sort ought not think too highly of themselves. (One of the greatest follies that any leader can commit is to believe their own press.)

One of my touchstones is to remind myself that, in my Christian walk, I've been a sinner, a saint, and a heretic. I mean this in all sincerity.

Am I a good man? No. Only God is good.

Am I a holy man? I try. [And often fall short of the mark. (Some days this is an understatement.)]

Is my salvation secure? I don't bet my eternity on it.

Am I more comfortable in the company of God's Holy Angels than I am with humans? Frequently. (It's complicated. Put simply, I hope that I have friends in high places. My definition of "reality" may not be typical - whatever that is!)

What's my secret to life? To live it. (Or - at the very least - to pretend show up 😔.) To try to love myself, others, and my God. Why make life complicated?

~⁍~

Hmm: now - that - is an interesting question.