Faith: Shaken, not Stirred

I've always been a believer. Just ask my sister.

When she told me that the tall metal structures looming in the field were Martian sentries posted to ensure the good behavior of the human slaves, I believed her.
When she told me that if I mounted the slide, threw a frisbee and leaped for it, if I manages to catch it in midair... I would fly, I believed that too, much to the chagrin on the ER nurse and my mother.
When she told me that the reason people had pubic hair was from all the friction caused by legs rubbing together, I did not pause to consider, instead I walked with my legs slightly apart for the next 2 years at which point it occurred to me that if this were true, people would have pubes down to their knees.

But I am a person in whom the habit of belief is well established. I don't consider myself gullible per se, just open minded, and willing to give almost anything a chance to be true.

Yet lately I have found such belief to be difficult to maintain. Something that used to come with such ease, now seems not to come at all. I grew up in an atmosphere where the unexplainable was accepted as plain fact. Tarot cards, Astrology, Palmistry, and Reincarnation were the foregone conclusion. My mother spoke with such conviction about these things which had no observable phenomenon to support them, that I was fully willing to believe almost anything should it be related to me with enough conviction.

But I must admit my own experiences as an adult reinforced my tendency to accept certain of these things as valid and meaningful paths toward truth. So many times I had firsthand confirmation of the legitimacy of these mysteries, that it was simply another part of how I approached "Truth" in the world as an infinitely faceted thing.

And I know full well how strange and laughable this sounds to rational intelligent people. Many of my friends express surprise that a person they otherwise consider to be totally pragmatic and sane can rise above her rational experience of the world and simply choose to believe in something because it feels good to do so. And so I have done, in the face of great evidence to deny it, for many years...

Why now I seem unable to do so is a matter that occupies my mind a great deal as of late. I am perfectly aware that in times of great emotional stress people are likely to experience changes in behavior and mood. I know that it may be difficult to perceive the world in the same way when experiencing intense visceral duress, but I've been through all that before. I wonder why this time, and as a result of this trauma, have I lost my ability to believe that things happen for a purpose, and that my suffering is not in vain. Perhaps it is mainly due to the intensity of my distress that the need for answers also intensifies, and when none are forthcoming, my ability to be patient and trust that there are answers diminishes accordingly.

And there is all manner of encouragement available to me, mundane and mystical. This is my chance to see things from a fresh perspective, that what goes up must come down, that I am now like a babe in the wilderness ready to discover a whole new life...

Somehow I find it hard to believe.