Field Note: Losing My Religion, and No, I do not want it back…

Of course I’m aware of how socially I will likely be cancelled here. Cancel culture goes both ways. Shocker. Cancel away. Not changing my point of views. And so here I go.

People sometimes bring more than their shopping needs into a shop. People bring more than their educational needs to a college. People bring more than their dietary needs to a restaurant. It happens all over.

They bring disappointments, worries, and stories they need someone to hear. I listen and offer encouragement when I can. That kindness is sincere, but it takes more energy than my job should require.

Sometimes they turn the conversation to religion. I hear about church, prayer, and fellowship, and I find myself smiling politely while experiencing something very different inside. I understand what they are doing even if they don’t. They are making me a religious witness. And I can’t withdraw consent. I’m captive until they leave. They never have anything more to offer. They don’t sign up for a course, check out a book, or buy a drink. The whole thing was, “This person is trapped behind a counter and has to service me.”

To me, this is another layer to my religious aversion.

In my experience, religious communities have included hierarchies, patriarchy, gossip, politics, pressure to conform, uncomfortable performances of belonging, and performances that are rewarded with attention.

Some find a large amount of comfort in religious communities. I do not. What offers someone else comfort leaves me feeling distrustful.

I am not religious, and fellowship is not something I seek.

I have a very different point of view, one I don’t expect others to share, and some may even find threatening to their view of the world.

I meditate. I practice breathing and mindfulness. I let many things go, emotionally. I accept chaos and disruption and death and finality. I don’t believe in a great beyond or reincarnation. I do not believe in karma—not the kind that makes sense or rewards goodness. I don’t think the universal laws care about goodness or energy. I believe when you die, that’s it. Poof. Consciousness extinguished. And I see religion and 99% of culture as something constructed to protect people from that terrifying reality—a reality I confronted long ago when I found my mother’s body on the floor, in the beginning stages—and then some—of rigor mortis.

When you see a dead body—someone you knew—like that, with their lips darkening and pulled back in a gruesome grin, their feet and hands curling, the discolorations, you understand the finality of death. There is no coming back from that. Consciousness is gone. Poof. And once the electricity stops, the body goes about decomposing rapidly.

But in a public-facing role, I embrace the delicate balance between being welcoming and having respectful room made for my own convictions. My courtesy can be mistaken for agreement. My silence can be mistaken for shared belief.

It is a double bind. But it is the best I have. A smile. My quiet pleasantness.

I practice radical acceptance that a substantial number of people are going around believing in something I do not believe. Faith is not enough for me. Witnessing is performance. I resent being pulled into their performance as a witness. I don’t believe it is sincere, and it feels like being taken hostage, frankly.

I personally think if people really confronted the reality of their own mortality and the mortality of those around them sooner, they would learn a deep appreciation for life and consciousness. I think a lot of bullshit would stop. They would stop extracting attention for economic or personal reasons. Time would be restored as precious. It would be offensive to waste people’s time through tricks with media devices and political campaigns.

I respect another person’s right to believe. I would appreciate that respect extending both ways, including the understanding that a friendly person helping you in a work-related role may not share your religion, your politics, or your assumptions. There is no way for them to speak up. They are enslaved to the view of the evangelical in the throes of their normalized testifying.

That is life. I take a breath. I accept those around me the way they really are, not as I want them to be. And I let that shit go.

Some days, the public is tiring because of the extraction: being forced to be an audience for someone seeking attention and comfort while I am trying to earn money in a pleasant manner. I can offer kindness, but I also have limits. Sometimes I don’t feel comfortable, and I just have to smile it out and hope it goes away quickly. It’s better these days. Much better than the performances I had to suffer through at a public college. So much for places of enlightenment.

I lost my religion long ago.

I do not want it back.