My Confession - Part 5

My favorite place to study and relax at St. Francis Xavier was a small facility in the middle of the campus called the Wellspring Center, operated by a couple of sisters from the local convent.  If you are picturing a couple of little old ladies puttering about in traditional habit, with incense and crucifixes, then perhaps a bit of clarification is in order.  These were two engaging and spry women in their sixties, casually dressed and using their time to maintain a place for students to come and eat lunch, read, study, relax, and quietly converse with their fellows.  It had a home-like quality that the stiff silence of the library was lacking, and was treated with respect by those who occupied the couches and chairs.  Windows along the walls let in the warm sunlight and shuttered out cold gray rain.  There was a small kitchen with a fridge and microwave, and of course, a coffee maker and teapot.  Juice and cookies were in the fridge, and the sisters were always about, chatting with students or tending to their own business. 

It was here that I spent my between-class time.  When there were a lot of people, I would saunter off down a carpeted hallway, to a cozy chapel in the back of the facility.  Stained glass windows gave sunlight a vibrant array of color, warming the medium length brown carpet that I enjoyed many a nap upon.  Other students seldom came into the chapel, and so it became my own place of sanctuary - one of the only places on campus I could generally assume would be open for me to enjoy solitude.  Here I would pace the length of the walls, quietly meditating or listening to music.  Here a sleepless night could be remedied with a morning rest or an afternoon nap.  I felt very at peace in the Wellspring.

Two days out of the week, my last class of the afternoon was World Religions.  This was far and away my favorite class, partly because of the fascinating subject matter, but mostly because of the professor.  He was a young man in his early thirties, with reddish-brown hair and a full beard.    He was an atheist, which made for many very amusing lectures.  He was never disparaging, only careful to point out obviously fallacious and oftentimes hilariously misguided beliefs.  He was equally critical of his own beliefs, and never judgmental.  The point of the class was to give us an overview of religions over the world, throughout time.  None of this was in depth, and what we took away the class was only a very simplistic understanding of individual religions, but we came away with a much deeper understanding of the connection that all religions have. 

I think that if he was really trying to communicate anything substantial, it was that religion is the product of an underlying motive in humanity that transcends our cultural differences.  We express our spirituality in vastly different ways, but we all seek the same thing.  Understanding that really intensifies the sense of sadness one is gets when they consider the terrible things that our religious determinations have brought upon us.  It seems so obvious to me that people in every corner of the globe seek the same truth, and that we are all privy to only the tiniest reflection of it.  I struggle to see how anyone could be so convinced that their humble vision of the universe is the correct one.  I have spent a small amount of time learning about many different religious world views, and it seems to me that the real truths are those that appear time and time again, regardless of cultural and theological differences.


I could go on and on about this subject, and never really get anywhere.  The point is that my already existing doubts about my early beliefs were validated when I learned about how they fit into the big picture.  Being in this class and having everything laid out was eye opening and affirming.  I was particularly inspired by what I learned about spirituality in the east, something that our professor was quite passionate about.  His explanation of philosophies like Taoism and Buddhism struck a chord with me.  These were ideas that could address my spiritual nature without my having to ascribe to religious tenets and dogma.  I loved the metaphor of the river of life; the idea that our lives have a current and direction, and that we can learn to paddle with ease downstream, or we can fight our current and find ourselves exhausted, frustrated, and no further along.  I wanted to find my flow, and learn how to stop fighting against it.  To me, it was the realization that I had no hope of controlling the course that my life was going to take, and that I could take comfort in the knowledge that despite not knowing where my river would flow, it was most assuredly flowing somewhere.  All I could do was keep paddling, and watch out for rocks along the way.

By learning about the actual nature of religion and understanding that it is what lies beneath that is really important, I was gradually able to work through the fear that Christianity had instilled in me as a child.  Fear of doubt and fear of being wrong.  Fear that my rational development was really some kind of satanic deception and that what I was leaving behind was reality.  Fear that my early mentors would be proven right and some day I would return to the fold with my head bowed, unable to ignore the supposed "Call of God".  These fears all began to fade away as I grasped onto an inkling of spiritual understanding that held up under intense rational scrutiny.  I accepted my ability to believe in something without the determined sense that it had to be true.  My beliefs could be malleable and undefined, and most importantly, they could be anything I wanted them to be.

The last class I took was also most helpful in my journey towards independence from my early belief system.  It was called History of Christianity, and to be honest it was mind-numbingly boring.  Our professor was in fact, not a professor and was teaching the course as part of his doctoral work.  He studied the Greek language, and his thesis had to do with the interpretation of original Greek documents.  This gave him a very interesting perspective on Christianity, as he was able to read and understand the New Testament as it was originally written, and not as it was translated.  He would often note interesting mistranslations (or at least controversial translations) that had wormed their way into the very heart of Christian belief.  Unfortunately I can't recall any specific examples.  It was particularly interesting because he maintained that he was still a Christian, even though he did not consider much of the mythology of Christianity to be historically accurate.


I had many interesting conversations with him after class, and though his lectures were a slog, getting to chat with him afterward was something that I looked forward to.  What I learned in the class served to solidify my burgeoning beliefs, and gave me the knowledge I felt I needed to really understand what I was trying to leave behind.  It painted Christianity with the undeniable palette of human creation, and made it easier to face the arguments the mentors of my past had left with me.

As I continue to write about my time in Nova Scotia, I begin to realize that what I remembered as a very difficult time for me, was in fact one of the more valuable experiences of my life.  What was difficult was acknowledging that here again, I was something of an anomaly.  I was again feeling different.  I didn't go out on the weekend, and I didn't hang out with friends.  I didn't bond with any community and kept to myself.  The few friends that I did have were often frustrated by my seeming lack of interest, as I would only talk to them during school, never progressing beyond casual greeting and conversation.  The sorts of people I could identify with were people who I didn't want to be identified with.  I was afraid of being branded as 'different'.  Looking back, I can see how incredibly naive such an outlook is.  Not only because I am beginning to learn how to embrace my difference, but also because my fear of not fitting in was entirely rooted in the mistaken assumption that somehow I was a focal point.  Maybe it was because I spent so much time looking at others, that I thought equal attention was being paid to me. 

By the end of the year my interest in my courses had convinced me to stay at St. Francis Xavier and finish a degree.  I found a room mate and made plans to move in with him after the summer was over.  I felt some excitement at the prospect of taking a giant leap forward on my own, because my brother was graduating, and would not be a safety net for me the following year.  I left most of my things with the guy I would be moving in with - including a guitar, my notebooks and text books, a collection of over a hundred compact discs, a suit and other clothing, and various other sundry items.  Then I flew home, stopping in Ontario to make a round of visits to family there. 

Over the summer, I began working at McDonalds again, and started to settle back into the routine I had developed before I went to Nova Scotia.  My plan was still to return to school, and I had locked myself in by making arrangements with a room mate, so I couldn't easily back down.  Sure enough though, as summer carried on, I grew more and more unsure of my decision, and started to wonder if there was a way I might cancel my plans without leaving him in the lurch.  Then one day, I received a phone call that I quickly decided was a signpost in my river.  He called to inform me that the house we were planning on renting had been sold, but not to worry, he would find another place.  I felt as though I was being given the very opportunity I was hoping for, and excitedly tried to explain to him that I would then not be moving back to Antigonish.  I was totally oblivious to it, but I think he was rather offended that I responded this way, because the $200 check I sent to have my things shipped back to me was cashed, but I never received any of the items I left there.  He never took another call from me either, and wouldn't return a single message I left on his machine.

I felt cheated for a while, but was rather easily able to forget about what I lost and move on.  The thing I miss the most are my notebooks.  I would love to read what I wrote then, and have a clearer reference to what was going on in my mind. 

Deciding to stay in Brandon is, in my mind, the beginning of a journey that has had both great joy and great sorrow.  Looking back on the last five years, I see a series of experiences that build on one another, breaking me down and building me up.  Before University, I was feeling lost and couldn't decide where to go, or what I wanted to do.  When I came back, I settled into a particularly negative lifestyle that ultimately left me feeling trapped and powerless.  Working to get out of the emotional and financial hole I dug for myself has been a long process, and continues on today.  I am still burdened by the choices I made in the years that followed University, but having to deal with the fallout has really elucidated what it is I want out of life.  It seems that to figure out what I wanted to do, I had to not be able to do it.

In the following posts, I will begin to talk about things that are still particularly painful to recall.  I squander my income on marijuana and beer, find myself engaged to a depressed and suicidal 16 year old, lose my job, and make a comically botched attempt at robbery.  Here comes the good stuff!

Thanks for reading, I had strep throat for a week and was being a big suck, so I excused myself from writing.  Turns out, the longer I go without writing, the harder it is to motivate myself to start again.  It is way too easy to say I'll do it later.  So again, thanks to those who have shared stories and comments, I would most assuredly have stopped by now without that motivation.