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werewolf
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When I was young I moved through life with a sort of jaunty inertia. The goals, as they were explained to me were unassailable, and so what would become a large source of anxiety was not yet present in my life. I suppose my belief was a combination of what had been told to me, and an innate desire to believe fervently in things. However, after my first girlfriend died, I took to questioning whether others really did or should believe in the bounty and promise of life. A subset problem became how many actively deluded them as opposed to just being deluded. Of course I suppose this deep questioning, the flip side of my deep belief, too was always within me potentially and merely had to be triggered by something in the world. My life soon became a constant cycle of the world drawing out something already inside of me, something often surprising and sometimes not completely disappointing. I came to believe there was little I could say for certain the world could not, in the right circumstances, draw out of me. The thought was a tiresome one, and I often wondered if I would have engaged on this path of constant self-discovery without that initial triggering event. I once felt like a character in a play, but now felt like a play without characters. I guess I still held hope for something new and refreshing, such as spirituality, a pursuit which people seem to save for last if they are sincere in it. God in the trenches right? I can think of no better place to find him/her (that seems affected doesn’t it?) than the mud of war. Many think of God and all of the things we see as evil as incompatible. But I can think of no more necessary role for a god than to destroy cities and take away beloved family members, all those things we have not the foresight or courage to do for ourselves. Which leads me to the death of my father when I was 16, which I only mention to provide context to the above as well as relate to you something he once told me that would come to be the doorway through which I entered every new world. He said, the year he died, the honest year, that “everyone has a reason for who they are, and they all think their reason is the best”. I like to think of it as a transcendent comment, though likely it was some justification which he wrongly thought we would expect or think necessary. Either way, the larger point is to describe to you what happened next, when I thought nothing could even happen anymore. I had just moved to San Francisco, and while compared to the life I expected as a boy I had become quite absurd, I was not enough in either direction to forgive myself. The reason that there are so many Catholics I suppose, is that its famed guilt is easy to feel. It was around this time I met up with a friend I had known from the internet.
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