Panic, Rage, and Heretics

Some nights you do about eight months of really good intensive therapy in about two hours, and follow it up with blogging, because you're an idiot who only remembers life lessons if you write them out. 

I was going to see a movie - Heretic. Is it about Mormon sister missionaries? Yes. Are they being held against their will in a spooky dark house? Also yes. By Hugh Grant? Yes, yes, yes. It is a true recipe for horror.

I was going to meet up with some friends in St. Louis for what would have been my third viewing of the film. I've been analyzing it this way and that - trying to figure out what it is that made me love this film so much. The most recent review I'd read on the film implied that the entire film drew an interesting parallel to the Mormon temple experience - done in REVERSE: ie, you go to HELL - and I was looking forward to watching the film again to see what temple parallels I could see. (I have always been a sucker for temple symbolism.)

Here's the thing about St. Louis... Parking is awful. I mean, parking alone will ruin the entire experience. I'm not worried about robberies or hail storms or getting lost. I hate the parking. I have had SO MANY St. Louis experiences completely destroyed by parking. 

You wanted to see the arch on a day the Cardinals were playing? $50 for parking.

Earth Day festival? One mile of walking - with children, which makes the whole thing unbearable.

Meetup at a restaurant? Just kidding. No parking.

I had enquired of my friends regarding parking, to assuage my greatest of city fears, and they assured me the parking was, and I quote, "super easy."

Upon arrival, it was clear to me that the parking was not "super easy." I braved my chances on the free parking garage, and found myself in a line with no fewer than twenty other brave souls, all circling endlessly until some spot, somewhere, vacated itself - but only if YOU happened to be the lucky one able to benefit from it.

In the Spring of 2023 I was diagnosed with a Panic Disorder, which cleverly disguised itself as heart attacks, strokes, and any other number of fatal illnesses, which all had to be ruled out before the official "it's all in your head" was given by knowing doctors. 

Sitting in my car, in the endless spiral of that parking garage, I felt it - the imminent death looming just overhead. I was trapped. There was nothing I could do. I was going to be late. I was going to disappoint people. I...

"Fuck this." 

I texted that to my friends, bid them a happy movie viewing, and fled, beginning the fifty minute drive back for home. 

I said "fuck." I may not be Mormon anymore, but in many ways, I am still VERY much Mormon, which felt glaringly apparent as I reflected on my use of the word. I had said "fuck." 

Interestingly, as I pondered, I realized that using the word felt empowering. Though, I was still mortified by my behavior and embarrassed. I was embarrassed, and felt that I had wasted my time, (and thirteen dollars from ordering the ticket ahead of time), and frankly, I was overwhelmed by the feelings and circumstances resulting from what had been a VERY long week for me. The panic continued to hover. But "fuck" gave me some glimmer of hope...

"Get..." I hissed quietly to myself, as another driver just kept GETTING IN THE WAY.

Get... Why had I stopped myself? 

Because yelling isn't very nice. How many times, in my life, have I held myself back, because it was the "right" thing to do? 

Why did I love the movie Heretic so much?

Because those sister missionaries were me. Because the suspense and build-up of their fear was tangible and SO REAL. They were trapped in a situation they didn't want to be in, and they were SO POLITE about it - just like I tried to be. Like I always have "freaking" tried to be.

I have told myself the movie Heretic would have ended differently if I were one of the lead female protagonists. Would I follow the creepy man who might be a killer even DEEPER into the creepy house, when I'm already creeped the creep out? No. I would sit on the couch, fold my arms, and refuse to be budged. If Hugh Grant tried to carry me, or force me from the room, I would do my best to bash his head in with Coke glass, or a nearby lamp. This is Female Self Defense 101 - DON'T get in the car!

Bashing someone's head in with a lamp isn't very nice, however, so do the sister missionaries in Heretic do that? No, they don't. (They don't even swear ONE TIME in that entire movie.) And would I genuinely have toughed it out against Hugh Grant? ... I don't think so.

I realized, so much of my life has been filled with moments of sacrificing my own comfort or, frankly, even SAFETY, because it was the "nice" or scripted "right" thing to do. 

It was sitting quietly in a skirt while the boys ran around shooting hoops and laughing together in the comfort of pants and shoes. It was keeping my mouth shut about injustice, because I didn't want to be labeled a "bitch" or made a social pariah. Frankly, it was sitting in on private bishop interviews, where a complete stranger, a much older gentleman of authority, asked me about masturbation. 

I thought about going home from my mission, and about how "nice" I was. I went home a few months early, (personal choice), and was told "not to tell anyone" - including my own district leader - that I would be going home at the end of the transfer. How aghast, confused, and betrayed their faces were, when they realized I had not been forthcoming with them! And I just smiled and tried to pretend that everything was fine - when I SHOULD have been running around proclaiming my truth, the entire time! "I'm going home in two weeks! Because I think it's the right thing for me to do! I'm happy! I really am truly happy about this!!!" Instead I accepted my fate of feeling unnecessary shame and embarrassment, because some man in a suit and tie implied that I should. 

How dare they make me sacrifice my own self - my own emotions, self-image, and social needs to fit their agenda? 

"Get out of my fucking blind spot!!!" I yelled at the driver behind me. 

(Am I advocating road rage? No, I am not. But this was cathartic for me at this time. I will pursue a complete psychoanalysis of my own personal anger issues and "rage" later. Give me this right now, though.)

Do I panic because I allow, and set myself up, to be a victim? Is that what the panic is about? Feeling helpless? Does this honest, frank, deliberate rage make me feel better and avoid panic because I'm not going to play that victim role anymore? 

After yelling in my car, I managed to avoid descending into a panic attack. Instead I just thought, and that was more disturbing. What would it look like if I was truly honest about what I want and need? What challenges get in the way of that kind of radical honesty? (Children. Children are a big one.) 

Have I let others convince me that advocating for my own well-being is stupid, weak, or selfish? Are relationships with people who think I am stupid, weak, or selfish for caring about myself relationships even worth retaining? If those relationships are not worth retaining, how can I get my own needs filled in other ways? 

What if I can't? 

Do I just suck it up and accept the mediocre, scornful, arrogant "tolerance" of others, to fill my needs - and accept that I will continue to panic as my image flies beyond my control? 

Does my image really matter? Does it matter what people think of me? How can I tell the difference between needs and wants, when it comes to my own mental health?

What is the cost of being "safe"? Is it worth the cost? If not, how much risk can you take without sacrificing yourself? Where do you draw the line?

And then I stopped by McDonalds on the way home, and grabbed myself a McFlurry and some fries.

Cheapest therapy I've ever paid for.

The Room Where it Happened

Tonight I attended one of my "Religious Transitions" groups. Since I've discovered them, I've tried to attend weekly. It's a room full of people who have lost their religions and, often, additionally, lost all faith in God. We sit and chat about the various ways that religion and the loss of religion has affected our lives. The good, the bad, the ugly. (Mostly the bad, we can be honest.) 

It is incredibly refreshing to walk into a room of people who can instantly understand the complicated emotions that arise from losing your entire system of belief and way of life. They are people who understand, innately, what "sunk cost" feels like, and felt the same way about the truth that it landed them where you are at, yourself. There are people who have lost careers, people who have lost family, people who have GAINED incredible peace, and yet still attend this group because of the dynamics that religion plays in their current life, relationships, and internal monologues and beliefs.

As a Mormon, I would have committed crimes to be in that room.

That is a really weird thing to say, but it is 100% true. 

You mean, there's a room full of people who left The Church, and all they do is talk, honestly, about why? With no Church Members present? 

The secrets to apostasy are in that room, people. The secret successful maneuverings of the devil can be laid bare, there, in that circle of chairs. If I could just attend anonymously a few times, I could figure it all out - then I could help them.

It's funny, because it's a room full of people who would have had the same inclinations. They've already had those thoughts, in their former lives of belief. They are, to be frank, "onto you."

There are no secrets. There is anger, there is fear, there is a LOT of humor, and there is stability. There are questions, there are frustrations, concerns, conundrums, and clarity. 

Other people's stories and questions are their own, as is common courtesy in group settings, but a question I found myself asking, tonight, was - "How do you know if some self-righteous religious zealot's preaching is something worth putting down, pointing out, correcting, or just ignoring?" 

It's whatever protects YOUR peace. 

"Hurt" is a complicated thing. Hurt comes from inaction, from action, from knowledge, from ignorance, from attempts to repair, and from neglect. Hurt IS GOING TO HAPPEN. This is life. It's unavoidable. 

The measure of what is "good" or "bad" cannot be found, necessarily, in the hurt that happens as a result. Human beings have a right to feel whatever responses they feel, given their circumstances. Sometimes that feeling is "hurt," and that feeling is valid. But we cannot say that "hurt" equals wrong, or even bad. If you reset a bone, it will hurt like hell, but it is, actually, very good. Thank you.

Does it hurt people to remind them that not everyone in the room is Christian?

Does it hurt people to let the actions and words of an outspoken Christian slide, in assuming everyone believes the same? 

The answer, to both, is yes. People may feel hurt.

How are you supposed to know what to do? 

While, surely, we owe protection to people, we must include ourselves in that equation. Is telling an LDS missionary to "Stay off my porch!!" going to help ME feel safe, where I am at, today? Getting turned away at doors hurts, yes, but as the human behind the door, I'm having feelings too. 

(For the record, if the missionaries knock on my door, I will do everything possible to get them to come in and eat food and rest for a bit, as well as invite them back. They will soon realize I am an ex-Mormon, and be horrified by the kindness I show them, after they realize JUST HOW STRONGLY I feel about the Church, and the fact that I am NOT coming back. I literally played around with the idea of legally changing my name to include the phrase "I Dissent," so that if some well-intentioned niece in the future tries to do my "work for the dead," she will get to that veil, and I will have the last word as she reads off my name.)

As I was saying,

I, the person on the receiving end, am having my own experiences. I am equally entitled to peace.

If yelling at zealots is what protects my peace, then I can go for it. By doing so, I've told someone that "I will not hold the hurt today - you can." If the zealot is a little old grandpa I take mercy on, because he's well-intentioned, if tone deaf and blind? "I will take the hurt today. You can stay ignorant."

More often than not, as evidenced by this blog, I like to call out wrong where I see it. It is what brings me peace. Does it make other people uncomfortable? Often. (If you don't want to read it, for your own peace, just scroll on.) But I can protect my peace, by, in religious talk, telling truths on the rooftops. 

- ("Religious zealots? What the hell is she even on about?!")

This last week I went out to lunch with my mum, my daughter, and a dear neighbor, for her birthday. 

I sat with my back to the wall, with a clear view of the rest of the room in front of me. At one point in the meal, I noticed that the table beside us, of eight women in their sixties, had called the server over to their table. They held his hands in their own circle of hand-holding as they bowed their heads, closed their eyes, and prayed over their meal.

Former Olive Garden server, me, horror-movie-screamed inside. 

My GOSH, what would I have done?!

Their server quietly played along, not a look of approval or discomfort crossing his face, and cooperated while they used their position of power and authority over him to force him to play along with their religious observance. (Which was not very Christian of them, because everybody was watching, and this room was no closet.) 

I realized, that even as the godless server I am, I would have done exactly the same thing - played along with their prayer, selling the appearance of my belief, shamelessly, for their approval and, subsequently, their tips. 

They would have felt fine, and I would have simmered in anger and religious trauma for days. For me, religion is incredibly triggering, as it reminds me of choices that I felt manipulated into making, beliefs I was sold without options, and the fact that I am currently living my life entirely without my informed consent - the good and the bad. (Wait, you mean... I didn't HAVE to get married and have kids? And I didn't have to believe that I was inferior to men all those years, and develop the subsequent people-pleasing fear I still have of them? And I didn't have to NOT attend my good lesbian friend's wedding... And I... etc, etc, etc.) And to be manipulated into further participation at the price of your paycheck? 

All that to say, this room full of apostates are some of the best people I know, and I'm grateful for having found a group that understands the intricate weavings of complex post-traumatic stress disorder, and the irony of becoming everything that ever disappointed you - and loving it. 

No, there are no secrets. Just hurt, and people who want to share it.

Easter

Yesterday I left behind a bit of lawn, roughly 60x30, unmowed. Weather got warmer, and we had adventuring to do, as a family! So I pushed it off til tomorrow, which was today.

I pulled out the lawn mower and got to work, careful that I wouldn't start until after 8, because it was the weekend, and people sleep, good heavens! I waited until 8:30. 

I got started, and noticed a couple neighbors out in their backyards, shooting me glances and whispering to each other. At first I chalked it up to my half-assed mowing the night before, or maybe I was leaving lines somewhere? It was clear that I was obviously being watched and judged. (Was it my kids?)

Then it came to me.

Jesus.

It was Easter, this morning, and I'd forgotten. 

Look, friends, Easter morning is when Jesus rose from the tomb and got to work. I'm fairly certain he would have approved of me mowing the lawn, by my belief system AND yours. 

Frankly, Mary Magdalene was ready to be interrupted by a gardener. It's a day for gardening and lawn care, and everybody knows it. How else are we supposed to find all those eggs under the long grass?!

Anyway. Fortunately I'd hid eggs outside prior to beginning my lawn mowing journey, so when I finished after ten minutes, our neighbors got to see us egg-hunting with our children, which is a proper and good thing to do on Easter morning, so they stopped shooting judge-y glances.

Why did I hide eggs? Because it's absurd, and absurdism is where I'm leaning, these days. Also, Julian wouldn't stop talking about egg hunts on Easter, so I felt kind of obligated. It used to bother me, how "secular" these religious holidays were, but now I'm grateful, so that's been a weird 180.

Anyway. Thinking about Easter.

I've recently posted several quotes from a book that I've been reading on the Bookmobile, when there are no patrons. It's slow-going, stopping and starting, but it's giving me the time I appreciate having to deconstruct and think and hypothesize.

The Templar Revelation by Lynn Picknett and Clive Prince.

Yes, this makes me want to steal the Declaration of Independence too, but I'm actually finding the book extraordinarily well researched. It uses a simple, clarifying voice that makes the subject at hand accessible as well, which I'm always grateful for. (I can be thick as a brick.)

The book is going over Templar history, obviously, while also incorporating some of the larger Christian questions in France and different gospels, cultural differences of belief and values, and analyzing what is KNOWN while playing with what can be honestly hypothesized, why/why not, etc. etc. Great book. I'm loving it.

(The DaVinci Code? It certainly mentions some of the other gospels, the fact that Mary and Jesus probably had a "thing" going on, but it really delves into that and elaborates on the cultural significance of events/statements/customs, and hypothesizes on origins, due to similarities in the same time period/area.)

Anyway.

Easter.

This book has given me a new appreciation for Mary Magdalene - The Black Madonna.

"They have removed my Lord and I do not know where to find him," were the words that the goddess/priestess uttered, in the mystery plays of the schools of Osiris, Tammuz, Dionysus, and Attis, as she anoints the god prior to his death (symbolic or real). (Traditionally, it was also three days later that the priestess/goddess would intervene in raising him again.)

Obviously, this is suspiciously familiar. Why were women, especially Mary, included in the story of Christ, given the time and place and cultural attitudes held towards women? Because they were essential to what was happening. They were with him at the cross and they were with him in his resurrection. These were the roles of the priestesses in the mystery schools.

"Christ(o)" means "Anointed One," and there is only one incident of Christ being anointed in all the gospels - by Mary. She used spikenard for his feet. Spikenard was a costly oil from India, where it was used in the Tantric tradition, where different perfumes and oils were assigned for specific parts of the body. Spikenard was for the feet. (And hair...)

Mary was a priestess, likely from a town called "Magdolum" in the north-east of Egypt, and it was she who made Jesus the Christ. ("el Mejdel" in Galilee, which has been said to be her hometown traditionally, was actually known as "Tarichea" in the time period, disproving that theory.) 

Mary was the Magdala - the tower, or elevated, great, and magnificent one. 

Mary was a priestess, and... (big words, hide sexy meanings)... she was the hierodule who, through hieros gamos could bestow spiritual enlightenment - through the process of horasis. 

In reading this book, I had a moment where I asked myself if the current Priory of Sion still practiced sex rituals, and then I was like, "Oh my gosh, how do they pick women to be the priestesses? I wish I could be a goddess in a sex cult!" 

And then I was like, "Dammit! Joseph Smith! I already WAS!"

Anyway. Happy Easter. 

Why I Am No Longer Christian

Once upon a time I was a Mormon. Yes, I understand that many Christians want to debate if that's Christian at all, but let's simplify and just say - if you need Jesus to have existed, in order to get to heaven, you're Christian.

I was Christian. 

Thank you, Jesus. 

I remember the day that I realized I wasn't Christian anymore. 

I'd been delving into my Jewish ancestry, learning more about Judaism and Jewish practices, culture, and belief. (This is 4 years of seminary, 4 years of religious university college courses, and many years of Gospel Doctrine Teacher later.) I knew a lot of information about the Jews, but now I was learning specifics, as well as Jewish justifications for their own holidays. I'd learned all about Passover, in Seminary, and the ties that Christians had made between this Jewish holiday and their own beliefs. I knew about Jews from a Christian perspective, but I was making it a point to learn about Jews from a Jewish perspective.

One day, as I sat in a church, drinking grape juice out of the quaintest of cute little plastic cups, with individual pull-back lids, which was SO ADORBS - YES, I was geeking out and probably hormonal - I was caught off guard. Perhaps I was reminding myself I was supposed to be thinking about the blood of Jesus Christ, not my kitsch interests, and OH MY GOSH, DO THEY SELL THEM LIKE THIS ONLINE?!

I thought about Jesus, and I thought about this grape juice - actually red, in symbolism of Christ's blood - and I realized... Oh my gosh. We're supposed to be drinking His BLOOD.

I knew this, logically, but drinking red liquid instead of the clear liquid of my youth, it made me look at things a little differently. 

I realized that drinking blood was SUPER not kosher.

...

In very casual terms, let me explain why this was huge. 

In Acts 10, there's a big scene where Peter is instructed, through a vision, that God is not holding Christians to the Jewish dietary laws any longer. This was a big deal, for these Jewish apostles. And it was new for them, as well.

...

I realized that in the telling of the Last Supper, when Jesus is telling his apostles to drink in remembrance of His blood, that literally no Jewish man would have sat back and been like, "Yes." No, they would have freaked out, or at least MENTIONED something about the perverse thing Jesus is suggesting to them. 

I knew that the the historicity of Christ was something that could be up for question. I knew that the scriptures we had were written hundreds of years after the events, and as is the case with scripture, was probably written from third hand or fourth hand or FIFTH hand accounts. I knew that any parable or miracle might have included more to the story than we knew, and I was okay with that. 

But I wasn't okay with Jewish men suddenly being "okay" with being told to drink in memory of someone's blood.

I realized that likely didn't happen. 

Attis was a cult around 1200 BC which involved the ritual eating of a dead god. This was also a ritual observed in ancient Egypt, as well as Mithraism (300 BC) - all of which predate Christ. Chicken or the egg, is how I would have argued this as a Christian - they knew Christ would do this, due to prophecy, so it looks the same. But maybe it's just because the idea was taken from those other practices as a way of convincing greco-roman converts to join with Christianity, though familiarity. (The Church has done the same thing with Christmas. It would not be unheard of to apply a Christian lense to an already popular pagan tradition.) 

I sat there with the cutest little grape juice cup and realized... I don't think the Last Supper happened.

...

Christianity fell to threads. 

If the Sacrament/Communion was a lie, did Jesus ever even say that He died "for" anybody? Maybe he just died. 

Maybe he was just a dude who died.

(Don't even get me started on the rabbit hole of "WHAT IF he DIDN'T die, and just faked his death, and moved to Asia?" It's a fantastic rabbit hole that I invite you to go down on your own time. I first heard it from one of our Muslim investigators on my mission. Turns out, it's not a small, insignificantly held theory. Lots of people believe this.)

Maybe Jesus wasn't a Savior. Maybe he was an awesome political activist? 

And just like that, I was no longer a Christian.

So, several years later, you have me now reading "The Templar Revelation," which explores the idea that "Maybe Jesus was just an Isis worshipper taking over from his cousin's cult?" Does it matter if this is true? Not at all. But little old me would have been aghast to see how many theories and possibilities have been proposed for the Jesus Christ tale.

I read the most fantastic bit, out of that book, that was so validating to me, and so eloquently explained why I feel that I haven't lost a thing, in losing Christianity. From the book:

"It is not difficult to understand the appeal of Gnosticism, although it was no easy option - the emphasis being on personal responsibility for one's own actions - but at the same time the threat to the Church of Rome is obvious. As Hermes Trismegistus supposedly wrote: "Oh! What a miracle is Man!", an exclamation that encapsulates the idea that mankind contains the divine spark. Neither Gnostics nor hermeticists grovelled before their God. Unlike Catholics, they did not think of themselves as lowly and evil creatures who were destined for purgatory, if not hell itself. Recognizing their divine spark automatically bestowed what we today would call "self-esteem" or confidence - the magic ingredient in the process of fulfilling one's potential. This was the key to the Renaissance as a whole, and the fearlessness it induced can be seen in the sudden opening up of the world through circumnavigation and exploration. Worse still, as far as the Church was concerned, this notion of individual potential for godhood implied that WOMEN were as good as men, at least spiritually. Gnostic women had always had a voice, and even officiated at religious ceremonies: this was one of the major threats that Gnosticism posed to the Catholic church. Moreover, the idea of mankind's essentially divine status did not accord with the Christian idea of "original sin" - the idea that all men and women are born sinful because of the Fall of Adam and Eve (especially the latter). Because all children are the result of the "shameful" sex act, that idea inextricably linked women and children in a kind of everlasting conspiracy against pure men and a vengeful God. Gnostics and hermeticists, on the whole, had no truck with 'original sin.'

"Each individual was encouraged to explore both outer and inner worlds for him/herself - experiencing gnosis, knowledge of the Divine. This emphasis on individual salvation was totally antithetical to the Church's insistence that only priests were the conduits through which God might communicate with mankind. The Gnostic idea of a direct line to God, as it were, threatened the Church's very existence." (It goes on, but that's enough.) 

I read these paragraphs, and "felt the spirit." I felt it was true.  

Christianity creates a system where humans are bad, in need of saving.

If you don't believe that you are inherently bad, Christianity offers you nothing besides (SOMETIMES) great inspiring quotes and examples. Anyone can read a book, though, and learn the same lessons.

This quote from the book was talking about Gnostics and Hermeticists, but for me, it rang true to my "Humanist" leanings. Recognizing that good comes from WITHIN is incredibly empowering. Similarly, bad comes from within as well, but just look at the human capacity for good. "What a miracle is Man!" 

Outside of Christianity I found self-esteem, confidence, TRUE agency - as I REALLY believed that I was responsible for my own choices, and real worth - because I AM - no need for comparisons or eventual "some day"s to measure.

Anyway.

This one's for the people who feel sad when people leave Christianity. 

Don't. Trust me, we are genuinely happier without.

Hopeless

Today at the local Ethical Society meeting, where I attend, we had our regular third Sunday roundtable "Living Ethics Discussion." It's typically a day for discussing our own personal challenges and ethical dilemmas, bouncing our concerns and ideas off of our community, which is awesome. 

Today's discussion ended up focusing, primarily, on "the hopelessness of the upcoming generation." 

I don't believe anybody said that, word for word, but that was the gist.

Upon coming home, my husband, who had been home with a baby, asked what we'd talked about. "About how younger generations feel hopeless and about how we should smile more at our neighbors."

He laughed. 

It's not his fault. Half of what I say is setup for comedic effect. Unfortunately that one wasn't supposed to be.

And in that moment, a sweet, sweet, hopeful part of me died, and I found myself wanting Trump to win the 2024 election.

I AM the upcoming generation, and I do feel hopeless. Not half as hopeless as people younger than me, but fairly hopeless even with all the privilege that comes with my equity. *wipes tears with savings account.*

I am incredibly lucky that I'm not a 90's kid, and that I was able to sneak in and buy a condo at just the right time, which made eventual home ownership possible for my family. I am incredibly lucky that my husband didn't major in elementary education, or work in carpet cleaning, or some OTHER field which pays below accepted standards of living. (Thank god not everyone gets to follow their dreams...)

We are living in a late-stage capitalist hellscape, where the sick have to beg for donations online, the minimum wage is stagnant despite rising inflation, employers punish their employees for personal emergencies, and the average American cannot afford to own a home in 99% of the country. NINETY-NINE PERCENT. Living is no longer a right.

So why did I toss it all to abandon and want TRUMP to win the next election? 

Because things are really really really really REALLY REALLY REALLY awful, and I'm sick and tired of 50% of my voting options (Democrats) refusing to do anything about it.

The president that I voted for is using MY tax dollars to fund a war over in Israel which is, frankly, a genocide. Where Israel literally TORTURED UN officials, and my president wants to pretend that that's not disqualifying for any type of assistance. And, as information is spreading globally about Palestine, via social media and TikTok in particular, about just how bad things actually are there, on the ground, my presidents states that he's willing to ban TikTok. 

SIR. People cannot afford to LIVE. DO SOMETHING USEFUL, not... 

No, I could go on. Instead, I'm going to turn to Trump's 2024 goals, and genuinely ask why I shouldn't want these things: 

"Give the President Unchecked Power Over Federal Agencies."

Will this change literally anything for me today? Hells. Maybe they'll stop putting poison in my food.

"Restore the President's Authority to Bypass Congress."

Congress is already an inefficient joke available to the highest bidder. Bypass 'em. They're not doing anything useful anyway. 

"Appoint a Special Prosecutor to 'go after' Biden."

...Okay? (Oh no...)

"Use the Justice Department to Get Revenge on All of His Enemies."

Who are Trump's enemies? Because so far, nobody's stopped him. Is he saying he might actually get the justice department to take down people in positions of power when they do something wrong? Fair is fair.

I wish I had enemies.

"Expand Presidential Immunity."

I'd love to see them expand it more than they already have. You can literally throw a coup, and nothing happens. Let's start executing people in the streets without criminal convictions. Lets. Why not.

"Purge the Civil Service."

Fire bad apples? 

Freakin' burn the whole orchard to the ground. I don't care anymore. I have a government job. So fire me. One thing we've all learned, from capitalism, is that anyone is disposable. That's what these bootstraps are for! 

"Install Thousands of Loyalists Throughout the Federal Government."

Hell - at least this way we'll know WHO bought them!

"Put Flying Cars in Americans' Driveways."

... Are they literally saying that I could afford a flying car if Trump became president?...

There's more. Obviously there's lots more, but this is what hopelessness looks like. Are you telling me that things might just "change"?

When children are "attention-seeking," any attention is good attention, even if that attention is yelling at them. As a young person struggling against late-stage capitalism, any change is good change, at this point - even if it's just a change for the worse. 

At least then it'll be more obvious that it's not my fault, and I can go a little easier on myself, and REALLY let that hope go as I embrace total, complete nihilism. 

Bad things happen to good people, and sometimes it's their government's fault. 

I don't think the Democrats deserve a win, right now. For all their talk, they're still not honestly doing what the people want. The Republican party is dying, but the Democrats ought to kick the bucket as well. Nobody is doing what's in the best interest of people. And if it takes a housefire for people to realize the seriousness of the situation, and DEMAND more options than two aged white men, then let it happen. If Biden wins, the Democrats will happily coast along for more decades to come - accepting money from private donors quietly, while patting themselves on the backs that at least they're not Republicans. 

I want better options. I don't want either one. Do we seriously have to pull a weapon and hold it to America's head to be offered a livable solution? Because if that's what we have to do - in the form of electing Trump - maybe we just have to do it. 

So we can live.

Today's Church News

Today it was announced that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints would be purchasing historical sites and items of historical import from the Community of Christ.

I have never been accused of being dispassionate, or without opinion, so I'm going to tell you how I feel about that.

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Mixed.

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I have a great love for Community of Christ for being influential for me in a very vulnerable time of my life. They offered love, help, and community to me without duplicity of intent in their actions. They loved and cared for me because I needed love and care, and asked for nothing in return.

Similarly, I have strong feelings about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and those feelings are exactly the opposite.

I don't believe I've ever used the phrase "I love that for you," because it's kind of passive aggressive, but I use that phrase now, for Community of Christ, and I use it sincerely.

I love that for you. 

This last weekend I hosted a friend of mine in my home. She happens to be the Salt Lake City pastor for Community of Christ, as well as being employed by their communications department, so in hindsight...

That's fine. I don't mind being deceived in order for you to mourn. (Girl, you know it.) I just wish I had realized the 'why' at the time, because it would have made a few awkward conversations with local Community of Christ folks less awkward, and maybe we could have all cried outwardly, instead of me giggling awkwardly about ghosts and whatever other insensitive things I might have said, and recognize that YES, our tour guide WAS holding back tears - it was NOT allergies! Dammit!!

Anyway. That's a whole other thing.

I love this for you, Community of Christ.

For those local members on the ground at these sites, I am devastated for you, and for the loss of places that you loved and served. I imagine this will be difficult for you, as it's something that you've built your life around, and I mourn this loss with you.

For Community of Christ? Hells yes. Community of Christ is forging their own road, and they have been for some time. They dealt with the baggage that was Joseph Smith Jr decades ago, as they ceased to revere him as "second to Christ only," like some other religions do. They recognized him as a human, and moved on from him. And I am happy for them, that they can drop this "Mormon Baggage" and forge their own road forward in whatever their more authentic Christian way is. (Heck, money is nice too.)

For the ex-Mormons?  

Folks, we're not okay.

Today has been a gambit for me. It has involved Linkin Park, Twenty-One Pilots, and finally The Road to Nowhere by Radical Face on repeat. Big feelings. Confused feelings. Complicated analysis, and attempts to understand. 

I'm heartbroken. Firstly, I LIVE down the road from Nauvoo. My family has gone there on the weekend just CAUSE. I have blogged about the positive experiences I had there, with Community of Christ running the show - (Presenting the Message.) Having Community of Christ tell the history was so refreshingly HONEST, and I'm devastated that Kirtland and Nauvoo will be losing that honesty - and I didn't even get to see Kirtland as a Community of Christ site. That's devastating for this little "Mormon History Tour" gal, because any tour I do of Kirtland in the future will involve plastic, perfect lies about Elijah, not laughter and jokes about psychedelic sacraments. (This is infuriating.)

I'm heartbroken because the Mormons are going to be excited. 

(For the Mormons? Shut up.)

The Mormons are going to be excited about this. They're going to see it as a victory for God, despite the fact that Mormons are literally selling the holy land of Independence. They'll just proclaim Nauvoo their NEW "New Zion," and hope nobody notices the actual prophecies Joseph Smith Jr made.

For ex-Mormons, this is a day of family relationship trauma. We do this periodically. It happens every General Conference, it happens during the Sunday extended family gatherings, and it happens every time something unfortunate happens in your life. ("I put your name on the temple roll.") Today is a day to be reminded that your family believes and values very different things than you, and they're pretty sure they're better than you because of it, so just go enjoy your life of sin and remember that "wickedness never was happiness" and "You'll Be Back." (One way or another.)

Folks? Kindred ex-Mormon folks? This SUCKS. Avoid your family today. In fact, avoid them for a week, and celebrate the fact that you don't have a guest bedroom just hours down the road that Mormons everywhere are going to want to take advantage of, despite the emotional burden this will be for you.

For the Mormons.

Congratulations. You guys, I'm just so excited for you. I hope that this reinvigorates your interest in Church History. I've really been into Church History for the last seven years or so, and I've learned so much information about these sites. Walking the streets where history happened has really strengthened my beliefs in what I believe, and I can't wait for you to have that same opportunity that I had, to invest energy into studying Church History, so you can fully understand, FEEL, and appreciate the things that happened on these roads, in these buildings, and in these cities. I am SO excited for you to see it.

For the LDS missionaries, I can't wait to see how you explain the failed prophecies of the Nauvoo House, how you respond to the question of "Which room did the Martha Brotherton thing happen in?" in the Red Brick Store, and "Why are there so many hiding spots in Joseph's homes?" Make sure you keep telling people on the tours that recording is prohibited.

For the Mormon Prophet? 

Good luck with that.

Sweet Spirit, Hear My Prayer

The day my convert mother discovered that she did, in fact, have a Mormon relative who had moved to Utah, was an exciting day for her. It would have been a second cousin four times removed, but that didn't matter. My mother was thrilled to know that more family had followed in her footsteps - joined the Mormon church - and that she could visit their grave herself, just a short drive down the road.

We did visit the grave. I remember hunting for it in the Salt Lake City Cemetery, and being uninspired by it, as teenagers are apt to be, with their parents' dreams.

My mother traveled to another part of the state, where one of her relative's polygamist wives' dress was on display in a museum. (I wonder where I get my desire to "see and feel" the history that is dear and personal to me, from.) 

That dress, though, told a story. That dress told a story that I only dared take in after leaving this church that I had been raised in, and that my mother and other family members for generations had sacrificed everything to join.

Can I tell you about Ann Winter?

Obviously this woman is stunning and no blood relative of mine. (I was related, DISTANTLY, to her second husband.) 

William Miller, her first husband, joined the Mormon church in England, alongside his sister Eliza, in 1847. He was a bookbinder, a weaver, and a cobbler. Eventually he went on to marry Ann Winter on Christmas Day of 1854. 

Decades later, having received financial aid from his sister and her husband, John Daynes, in Utah, the family departed Liverpool with 800 other converts on the "John Bright." 

Family lore tells that Ann's mother, Victoria Bultitude Winter, was "very bitter toward the Saints and vowed she would not even bid the family goodbye, but, when they departed, forgetting their carefully prepared lunch basket in the flurry of last minute excitement, she ran to catch them, holding the basket in front of her. She stood waving her hand until the little family was out of sight. This was the last time that Ann saw her mother." 

Ann had a beautiful singing voice, and was asked by the captain of the ship to sing in a concert he was giving. She sang four songs: "Sweet Spirit, Hear My Prayer," "Willie We Will Miss You," "Beautiful Star," and "Under the Mistletoe Bough." 

When they arrived in the United States, William was asked to stand guard duty through the night, on the ship, while the company slept ashore. 

Ann always believed that he had been met with foul play and was thrown in the harbor, due to other suspicious incidents that had occurred near her husband, during their voyage.

Ten days later Ann's fifteen month old baby died. 

When Ann and the remainder of her family arrived in Utah they were deloused, and moved in with her sister-in-law and brother-in-law. 

Not much more is told of Ann. 

She married again, in 1870, on the day her second husband, William Henry Tremayne took both his third and fourth wives. Ann was married to him the same day that Elvina was, at the age of 33. 

We know her children grew up - one of her daughters becoming a singer as well. We have some of their stories. But Ann's story ends rather abruptly, and without much detail, except for the dress.

The dress is in Pleasant Grove Utah, housed at the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers Museum.

The story goes thusly. 

Ann went into town, had a dress fitting, and upon her return home, she fell in the river and drowned.

Was the river deep? It was thirteen inches deep, according to the most detailed report, which added the strange detail that she died with a bouquet of flowers in her hand. It reported that she had likely slipped into the river while picking flowers. 

Thirteen inches is not very deep, and when drowning, we don't usually cling to our flowers.

I don't know what happened to Ann in her last day. 

There are some facts we can see. I see a woman who lost her mother, lost her husband, lost her baby, moved to the desert of Utah, and was quickly married off to a man on the same day as another woman, making wife number three or four, it's honestly hard to know.

She had more children. 

Then one day she walked into town to try on a dress for a fitting.

One of the largest shelf-breaking items for me, in Mormonism, was polygamy. It was reading the stories of women who were largely forgotten, or idolized with ne'er a bad word said about them, about their experiences, or about how they felt about being replaced in their husbands' beds. Sure, we can pretend everyone was hunky dory with it all, and no one had issues, but as a human married woman, I hypothesize there were issues. I hypothesize there were a LOT of issues. I hypothesize there were a lot of broken hearts, broken children, neglected wives, discarded one after another. 

I don't know her last day, but for me, that day, Ann tried on that dress and wondered - who is this dress even for? 

Then she drowned, just like her husband William, with flowers in her hand in a shallow ditch. 

I read through her prolific daughter's history. There is no mention of her mother, her death, or any details of her life after England. Ann Winter's uncomfortable life truth, to her children, was simply... forgotten. It wasn't nice, or sweet, and so it was gently forgotten to the pages of history, buried quietly away under the tombstone of William Henry Tremayne.

Oh! Thou to whom this heart ne'er yet

Turned in anguish or regret,

The past forgive, the future spare;

Sweet Spirit, hear my pray'r!

Oh! Leave me not alone in grief, 

Send this blighted heart relief!

Send this blighted heart relief!

Make thou my life thy future care,

Sweet Spirit hear my pray'r! 

Ah! Make my life thy future care,

Sweet Spirit hear my pray'r!

Hear, oh! hear my pray'r!

Ah! hear my prayer.

Oh! Thou to whom my thoughts are known

Calm, oh calm these tremb'ling fears;

Ah! Turn away the world's cold frown,

And dry my falling tears!

Oh! Leave me not alone in grief,

Send this blighted heart relief,

Send this blighted heart relief.

Make thou my life thy future care,

Sweet Spirit hear my prayer

Ah! Make my life thy future care,

Sweet Spirit hear my pray'r! 

Hear, oh! hear my pray'r!

Ah! hear my prayer!

If you are having suicidal thoughts, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 988 for support and assistance from a trained counselor. If you or a loved one are in immediate danger, call 911.

If you are a Mormon experiencing these feelings, please know, you are not like Ann. You have options. There is a world full of good people who can help you. 

Ann was very much a victim of her time and place. She left her support networks in a time period without modern commodities such as internet, telephone, or even reasonable mail service, and moved to a hostile land which literally had people killing dissidents. As a woman in her time period, she would have been pressured to marry as a means of providing for herself and her children. 

While at times that experience can certainly feel relatable as a Mormon woman, know that there are people who understand that, and can help. Reach out to your local ex/post/unorthodox Mormon communities, if you are seeking assistance, or having difficulty with feelings of hopelessness and despair.

Mormon Spectrum.org - has a wide array of support groups for all those struggling with their faith, at any point of belief or disbelief, and any desire to stay or leave the community.

Ex-Mormon Women Facebook Support Group - my own personal fav.

The world is a surprisingly good place.