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Bad Moon Rising

Bad Moon Rising

Huge moon in the sky. 97% full.

Day 12 of Quit Smoking Fest.

Status: Irritable, angry, feel like the cosmos – and a person here and there – is laughing at me, making this EVEN MORE DIFFICULT than it already is. One little passive-aggressive omission is enough to mess up my whole psyche right now. So FINE.

Yes – keeping to it, despite recurring themes of infuriation. In-fury. Harpies, valkyries, screeching ugliness inside.

Let go? Be angry? Be sad? Not even stable enough to decide.

Bad dreams – being chased, stealing a series of cars. One car had switches on the top of the dashboard for 32 speeds and a wheel tilted horizontal. Dreams on Chantix – vivid, hitting all the hot spots.

This bites. Hard.

Another week. In another week it will get easier.

Meanwhile – I’m not lovable. I’m a caged feline – with long, strong vicious claws. Keep away. Stay back. Leave me alone. Take off.

Every repetition, every hurt right now is likely to make me explode. I am unrepentant. I am flexible and I make way for others all the damn time. Right now I’m seething, and it doesn’t matter how damned stupid or inconsequential any of it is. Not one bit. Just – keep your damn distance.

I don’t have to be patient or kind or understanding or mature today. For today, I AM JUST NOT FAIR. Ok? Today, I don’t care about my carefully constructed edifice of contextual ethics based on empathy and compassion. Every day, like millions of other people, I face a world and a set of circumstances that isn’t fair. Nothing is fair. I’m never going to be that shining light upon the hill and I can’t fix a thing that’s wrong. So for today, I GIVE UP, already.

I only have an hour or so to be evil, and I’m staying home – and away from my husband and son.

We just watched “Man on a Ledge” and I was thinking it’s a good thing I can’t get any altitude tonight.

If all I can do is manage is not to have that cigarette I desperately, desperately want right now, that’s ALL I CAN DO.

I knew this would happen. I got through this far, through a couple of depressive swings, and a bunch of self-pity, and even one fairly self-destructive episode where I had to have been begging for some sort of psychological trauma even by entering the realm… and finally, all it takes is a simple little thing, a thing I should let pass, a thing that really doesn’t even matter – not really. I shouldn’t really even be surprised.

But that one little thing could be my undoing here. I just won’t let it. It doesn’t matter – I’ve gone through a hundred reloads today. I only have to get through a little while longer without a smoke.

Looking at the moon should help. But not tonight. Lasers and lightning bolts from my fingertips. Do you feel THAT, moon?

Negativity Storm not to be taken seriously

Negativity Storm not to be taken seriously

And this is why I won’t be taking Chantix again…

The combination of nicotine withdrawal, chantix prescription medication, and the increased attention I’m spending to my own state of consciousness is all creating very strange thought-storms. I know that all of this will pass, and I know not to believe any of it or even to take it that seriously. This is where training in observing your own thoughts and emotions is very helpful.

Yes – I’m bracketing for my own protection, but there is no reason to spiral down as though any of this were real.

I know, I’ll miss that. A lot.

Then the voice is MY voice. I can’t reproduce the entire chant that got me home, but I fell into a sing-song negative rant. I tried to let the thoughts be spoken to help release them. Here’s a little sampling of what I remember – it was a constant stream…

(reee-me-owwwww, morphing into a deep double-sound chant, then) yah yah yah, nee nee, LAAAAAAA!

You don’t even know a thing
You don’t even know
ALL THAT WORK FOR NOTHING
IDIOT
NAH nah nah nah nah
Cuz I’m a girl, ain’t it
Blue collar RISING
SICK of it

SICK of HATE HATE HATE HATE
Sanctimonious self-righteous corrupt asshats!
Wadda ya think you’re gonna do about it?
YEAH, just be the crank, just be the crank

I shall wear purple? PURPLE?
Like royalty, like PRINCE?

What does it matter?
What’s the damn point?
Why do I even waste my time?
I don’t have the energy.
So tired, can’t do anything.

DO DO DO DO – la – DO DO DO
You are such a stupid little shithead
No imagination at all –
Dumb suburban undisciplined scatterbrain
Dumb dumb dumb dah dah dah dah DUMB

All that money wasted
All that reading just to be alienated
All that curiosity just to be faced with

COWS COWS COWS COWS
SHEEP SHEEP SHEEP SHEEP
PIGS PIGS PIGS PIGS

Yeah, yeah, FEM FEM FEM FEM
fem fem fem fem
fem fem fem fem FEM FEM fem fem

Everything’s a mess
People don’t really like me
I can’t keep my house clean
I have so much to do

I’m so TALENTED –
I’m so INTELLIGENT –
I’m such a waste of air.
WHY do I try?

I could give up like a ZEN MASTER
and back away and escape SUFFERING
and bathe in LOVE LOVE LOVE

But I hate those indoor voices
TOO DAMN soft! FAKE! FAKE!
Compassion! Yeah – TRYING! TRYING! TRYING ALREADY-YA!

Turn down the critic!
Turn down the intellectual!
You’re PUTTING US OFF…

OK – NICE NICE NICE NICE NICE NICE NICE
Then I can be WRITTEN OFF
Underestimated, then I’m
PERKY!
NICE NICE NICE NICE NICE

OH “YOUR” so SWEET!
I’m NOT SWEET!
I’m an ALIEN! A LEGAL Alien!

WEIRDO, different species.

Must be me.
Must be MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

So yeah, it took about 45 minutes to get home. It had been a trying day. The tears that followed restabilized me, and then I waved my arms up vaguely toward the clouds, as though some God(esses) would shoulder my dark side for me.

Still – the benevolent deities did do a nice thing. My son had lost his key in the bushes, leading to a series of issues and problems – but I got out of the car, walked over to the general area and walked right to the key and picked it up.

Key. Got it.

I’m not the stoic kind. I’m checking in with people I trust as an early warning system in case things need to be adjusted and I can’t see it. My mind is going places without me – but this too will pass.

End of a Friendship

End of a Friendship

I’m rather down today after formally ending a friendship that went all the way back to childhood. Normally, I would feel it was better to simply fade away, but in this case I felt I had to draw a very clear line. After a couple of attempts to try to maintain the friendship despite our deepening differences, there was a online conversation back and forth about a news story that troubled me. The way the comments were framed, the information that had to be ignored to do so, the transparent rhetorical strategy – all of it illustrated a deeply problematic character in her husband. My intuition was screaming alert.

I did some research. In doing so, I came across a truckload of information that made the friendship impossible to continue, and even made me wonder if there had ever really been a friend there at all. Just following the thread of this one person through the maze brought a deeper level of understanding about how certain things are structured right now in this country of ours. I feel like I had a brush with the-opposite-of-greatness. Horrible. It’s not that I didn’t already have some indication that her husband was a bit of a jerk, but I was able to put it off to differences in political opinion and in “I guess you had to be there” allowances – for as long as I didn’t have too many details. As a last gesture of honor toward our shared past, I won’t illustrate with all the links, and funding sources, and results. Over time, I’m sure others will do so, and in ways more effective (I hope) than anything that I could do. History will be the judge.

I have no idea what could have possessed the person I thought I knew to drink the kool-aid on these matters, not only politically but also in terms of some rather basic ethics. I’m bewildered and deeply disappointed. The girl I knew could have chosen any path. What an incredible waste. How could she have sunk so low?

Dear X – This isn’t about the back and forth on the dueling couple, but the responses I saw troubled me in a number of different ways. I’ve had a bad feeling for a while, really ever since I saw your husband disallow you from eating some dish at the reunion. I knew he was a right-wing academic, but I also knew that you guys had supported Y in his music – and figured that he must have another side to him. Yes, we disagree on politics, but our friendship is more important – I let it go.

Until now, I really didn’t understand the level of corruption that was possible to maintain while still claiming an academic position. It would be one thing if the problem were merely a set of political differences, as I thought. Unfortunately what I’m seeing is much, much more than that. It’s amazing what you can find when you have a thread to follow. I wrote about seven pages last night detailing it, but you’re an intelligent woman and I have to conclude that you not only know but also approve.

I actually believe in intellectual integrity, and don’t think that universities should be the location for sham research, paid-for-comment faculty, and political think-tanks – but rather for independent research that is peer-reviewed. I have no idea how you could have married someone who actually specializes in undermining academic integrity and in the distortion of public information, and who is part of the corruption of the political process for private gain (regardless of citizen/consumer rights or protections, regardless of casualties). I’m not just theoretically opposed to the content, but I actually consider this to be unethical – even criminal – behavior, and want nothing to do with it in any way.

I can’t see a way to justify trying to maintain a friendship with someone who obviously participates in – and approves of – all the corrupt practices and money trails I’ve discovered. I hope that at least your chosen path has brought you something that you wanted badly enough to justify it to yourself.

I’ll just remember you as the talented, intelligent and graceful girl I once knew, and grieve for her. Further communications from either of you are not welcome.

Goodbye, X.

So now it’s done, and I feel like it was just the first step in a process of disentanglement for me. Do I have any white sage? I actually feel – somehow – tainted. I know that people change, and that there are always existential choices to be made. I’ve made mistakes myself. Perhaps I’m still making them. I try to have a caring center and to offer compassion to others. But there’s a limit, and this is toxic at a level that I haven’t been this close to before.

I don’t hate my old friend. I don’t even hate her horrible and corrupt husband. But I won’t allow that kind of thing to be part of my life, nor part of my personal set of friends and associates. I can’t live with this knowledge and still call her “friend.”

Corruption and fraud in the cause of greed can succeed for a while, but it will always be discovered and judged, even if it takes a hundred years. Those who participate in it still have to live with the knowledge of the hurt they’ve caused, the casualties of their destructiveness. Deep down, we all know the truth of it. I see the causes, the studies for hire, the interests behind all this. It sickens me.

So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen… good-bye.

The Changing View of God’s Will – or Witches and Doctors and Priests, Oh My

The Changing View of God’s Will – or Witches and Doctors and Priests, Oh My

“You have no power here! Begone! – before someone drops a house on you too!”

Long, long ago there were healing women, women wise with the knowledge of herbs, of sound and smell and taste, of birthing and guidance and support. Their various mindsets are probably not ones that we can fully understand or inhabit today, although an undeniable hunger for their possible stories is evident in our fictions. History may be written by the winners, but speculative imagination is open to all.

Such women had an important role in small communities, until their role was re-interpreted. A strong patriarchal movement, armed with the authority of a monotheistic God, saw women with any sort of power as a threat. Their own stories cast women as inferior and sinful and subordinate to men. Women were no longer allowed to own their own land, and their bodies were to be thought of – and treated accordingly – as property. Powerful women, women with any sort of unapproved education, were to be disempowered: by making them seem subhuman (and/or superhuman), by cutting off ties to their kinship networks, and by casting doubts on their existential right to exist, such that communities would feel that it was wrong to “consort” with them. Women, and especially intelligent women, became the enemy (All our “wars” do the same thing – “othering” the human as less-than-human).

The outcast has power, too, of a sort, but after such events as the Inquisition and the infamous Witch Hunts, the burnings at the stake (how much worse than a crucifixion), the drownings of “water tests” and the like, much of the understanding and knowledge that might have been accessed later – through whatever methods of succession they might have had – was probably lost. Women seeking to reclaim the figure of the goddess, latter-day herbalists, Wiccans and witches, and all the overlapping seekers who blend them and other perspectives in their own attempts to balance the spirit, all have in common a yearning for the denied and nearly exterminated appreciation of the female principle, whatever that might look like. Because of this yearning, and the inherent oppositional and defensive position, there is sometimes a reversion to awkward and unfair gender binaries, but how can there be spiritual balance and integration and movement of all, even now, when male and female have been out of touch for so long and in such alienating ways?

I start with the ancient healing woman who became cast in the role of the witch because I don’t think we’ve come to terms with gender, knowledge, and healing. Our cures are poisons, our poisons are cures. It’s all in the amount, it’s all in discernment, it’s all in complexity. It’s hard to convey, and our stories are inadequate. Our mythos doesn’t function. Our logos is a weapon. And so, the vision of the ancient woman is a comfort to me. It carries things that cannot be conveyed otherwise, like music does. Like art.

Spiritual traditions, despite their wings of the horrible, all have a heart, no matter how it might be eclipsed, in the love and compassion that is the wellspring of all insight and communion. Every sacred book has its wisdom in this deep truth, no matter how its other pages may incite cruelty. It is the choice of each community and of each person to decide whether to take the paragraphs of the ancient libraries as an excuse for their dark side to oppress and to kill, or to read them as stories that illustrate the truth of the dangers of the human soul, in order to propel consciousness into a different space – the space of empathy, and discernment. Perhaps there’s more than one reason that you never hear the story from the point of view of the Canaanite.

Science and medicine have had moments of confrontation with religious communities – even when they have been members themselves. I think of Galileo, Mendel and Darwin – all of whom proposed understandings that seemed to undermine established teachings and were seen as a threat. On the other hand, the churches have had times of amazing institutional support – founding universities, building and supporting hospitals. The religious world is not monolithic of course, but eventually it seems that scientific discoveries are incorporated into religious understandings in some way – and the hanging sense that religious views don’t change is an illusion. The very existence of all the subgroups and diverse views among just the American protestant wing of the christian religion exemplify that, but even the more ancient religions include a spectrum of views, ranging across flavors militant, orthodox, literal, evangelist, conservative, scholarly, social-activist, meditative, welcoming. To me, the religious brand is less important than this kind of sub-grouping. From what I can tell, the fanatical haters are much the same across all religions, as are the compassionate lovers.

If God’s will is understood as something that is so fragile as to be easily undermined by human knowledge, things get dark. “The best lack all conviction, while the worst / Are full of passionate intensity” as the poet W.B. Yeats succinctly put it. Those who believe they are representing God’s will seek to impose it as though it required their assistance. In this view, there is suspicion towards the cosmos, and paranoia about non-members.

If God’s will is understood more as “how it’s going to be” regardless of human decision, free will and action, then that is not threatened by much of anything, much less by better understanding our universe and our own niche within it. In this view, there is trust in the cosmos, and acceptance of both our sufferings and our various beings – whether in the form of women, of doctors – whether in extending the life of the aged, or by treating addiction or depression or a heart condition, or using birth control to better plan for thriving families. How do we know God’s will isn’t for humans to learn to make better decisions? Jesus was a healer. There is no reason in this perspective not to try, and no reason to throw away the gifts that we have been given.

If people believe both these at once, or in a syncopated rhythm, then odd things start to happen. They sometimes take on the role of God for others. Preachers and politicians believe that they speak for God. Doctors become arrogant, scientists mistake the model for the reality, communities project both good and evil onto the “what is” such that they cannot accept either the strengths or the weaknesses of science and medicine and religion and politics. Science becomes another “faith” and scientific method is considered discardable – or science becomes a perfect totality rather than a self-correcting and evolving set of theories (narratives that attempt to explain replicable experimental results). Religion inserts itself as scientific description and loses the deeper truths of its narratives. Some people become fearful and defensive, others violent. Lies become more acceptable. Truths lose the “scene” in which they have meaning, and are used as weapons.

H.L. Mencken describes the “inferior man” as one who (among other things) lives in fear: “The one permanent emotion of the inferior man is fear – fear of the unknown, the complex, and the inexplicable.” Such a man – or woman – will always fear anyone that that is perceived as different. He/she feels others must be dominated, controlled, and forced to be predictable, to follow commands, so that his/her own inferiority remains concealed, even from himself or herself. I was careful here to include both genders, but…

It’s especially disheartening to me that many women can’t see the various attempts to put women back in the box for what they are, but I have hope and confidence because of the many women (and men!) who observe injustice and who work, each in their own way, to be themselves and to encourage others. I think that despite our regressions here, we will continue to move ahead – onwards and upwards. We could have been much more. Maybe we still will be.

In some ways, it all goes back to how comfortable a community is with the idea that humans are allowed to explore knowledge, to ask questions, and to act on their current understandings. Some seem complacent about having knowledge of good and evil – or at least their internal definitions of such are rarely questioned – but the return of the repressed haunts them. Who do they have to control to maintain their community? Are women who use birth control witches? Sluts? Good way to rein them in, but go big! Shouldn’t insurance companies control them? Shouldn’t employers tightly define coverage?

But why should an employer define coverage for a person on “moral grounds”? What a nasty mess. First of all – the implicit ideology that it implies – that the worker has taken the previous role of the woman-as-property – is about the best evidence for the reality of the class war (and the rise of the dominionist theocrats) that I’ve seen. Beyond that, if you know anything about the extremes of non-intervention against a fixed idea of “God’s will,” you are aware of the many deaths resulting from refusing blood transfusions, and from childbirth, and from replacing medical treatment with prayer, and – in extreme cases – all of the injuries and deaths resulting from various pathologies centered on delusions about what God might want someone to do or not do (assuming for a moment that all claims about God are not delusional or at least inadequate). All armies claim that God is on their side, after all, don’t they? As George Carlin noted, someone has got to be wrong. Could it be – ALL of them?

Suppose your insurance company or business is owned by someone who thinks that your health issue is a punishment from God, and that in his/her/their judgment you don’t deserve treatment? Do you honestly believe this wouldn’t happen? We can vote with our feet by not working for such employers – if we’re in a position to do so – not everyone is. Over half this country is currently living in poverty, or very close to it. The “job creators” are still much more likely to skim the profits off the top and take them off to the Caymans, or Dubai, or to invest in global pursuits outside the American economy. In America, consumer rights across the board is the only fair position. If a religious community doesn’t want members of their flock to use science – however the subset of “wrong” medicine and science is currently defined, let them convince each to their own conscience. Sure, some will be condemned to an early and perhaps unjustified death, but at least then it was their own choice.

The roles of doctor and priest and priestess and healer and witch are intertwined. Each uses psychology. There are placebo effects. There is authority, and there is scapegoating. Sometimes overblown claims about power take hold, and abuses are legion. But each also draws on the will of the wounded, the will to live, the will to heal.

Perhaps each could help the other because of this, if they ever would. If healing has physical and spiritual aspects, and if psychology helps, and if there are different constellations of knowledge with overlapping themes and recurring narratives, maybe science can learn to tell better stories, maybe religious groups can embrace the totality of the human to a better spirit, maybe there can be better integration, better education, better cooperation, to promote the general welfare for the betterment of all.

But the power corruption is deep, deep, deep. I don’t forget the witches burning, the lynchings and the attempted genocides, especially when I read the comments of our contemporary brownshirts, fascists, and inquisitors, our bigots, our smug self-righteous, our haters.

I stand against the haters, in the way of the statue crying. It is almost impossibly sad. The utter, utter waste of it. The ignorance and greed and insecurity that it represents is such a huge loss to us all.

We’ve all come a long way, baby. Women and men, of all religions and races and kinds. But the backlash is severe.

In politics, the framing is always about our choice – but the choice is deeper than who we think might be best at representing our country’s values or our interests. The choice is really much more about who we choose to be – given our scientific knowledge, our spiritual path, our understanding of the human, our hopes for the future. Do we bother to seek a deeper understanding? Are we more comfortable with being told who we are and what God expects us to do, or not do, or do we see the acts of questioning about our meaning and constructing our character as life’s continuing project? Are we arrogant and oppressive and destructive, or are we working alone and together to try to make our communities, our nation, and our world a better place for thriving? For…all…the people.

When the healers and the knowers and the questioners become the enemy, it’s a dark dark place to live. That’s why I light a candle, and write, and smell the flowers, and commune with the trees – in hopes that a slight echo might come back across the ethereal plane to give me strength. Perhaps in turn my little spark might help to jump the gap in our country’s synapses, and echo forward to our daughters and sons of the future.

Think deeply, and just as hard as you can. Appreciate. Pay attention. Ask questions. Love.

Pivot Vector, Or

Pivot Vector, Or

For some time now, I’ve been playing with news and opinion items, and using Facebook posts more than I’ve been creating my own work. I haven’t even bothered to add my own comments to what I post – only quoting some pithy bit and hoping that others might glean something from it. While a vector is a worthwhile thing, I’d rather the thought be the meme. It’s a laziness and sadness that has moved me into a pivot function. I’ve been playing with language today, but am tired and downcast, and so once again lack the essential oomph that pulls me in to writing. When I first started this blog, it helped me to establish a discipline of writing. No matter how short or inconsequential the post, it put me into the useful habit of writing. Once I was warmed to this habit, everything was much less intimidating, and I started writing a lot.

Now I’ve fallen back into just getting through a day as best I can, with nothing left over. The most frightening thing to me about this mode is that years pass. They pass quickly. They pass in a kind of a dream. I don’t feel that I’m accomplishing anything. I’m not enthralled with any particular issue, question or topic. I’m disheartened about America, generally, because far too many of her people appear willfully ignorant, hateful, fearful, small and despicable. Sometimes I have empathy, and I can understand how it can happen. I can usually find things to like about most people, but the collective hysteria of groups often terrifies me. Even the scapegoats have scapegoats now. I feel a violence under the surface, and I don’t know where or when it’s going to burst out next. Homeopathic tension release happens now and again… but I think that whatever your politics or religion or economic situation might be, it’s hard to miss that we’re being lied to every day, manipulated every day, pandered to and promised to and fed bull at a level that is only tolerable because people have learned to self-select their favorite flavor of it. And everyone wants to rant in generalities and cliches, spouting things they haven’t researched at all, and in a kind of sanctimonious assumption of audience agreement. I look at it all with only two possibilities of response – anger and tears. I was happier when I had less information about other people’s beliefs and thoughts. There was mystery, and I assumed that figurative language and irony and humor were universally understood, and that people would prefer to act out of their best, not their worst, and that people asked themselves questions and had auto-discounting factors when they heard things. Commercials trained us, I thought, to ask – what are they selling here, and why? Who is this aimed at, and why would someone think this would… move these refrigerators?

I’ve been culture-jamming, trying to put other possibilities out there, but I’m not the one thinking them up. I love being an amplifier for certain voices, but I’ve given up on my own voice. It seems so selfish for me to carve out time to write a poem, or a novel, or even a little essay. And yet, I’m not really involved in anything either – no community for emergent spirituality, no political campaign, no protest or demonstration. I just observe… amplify… criticize…

I’ve been paying attention to how very hard things can be in this country – at the personal level, among friends – but I can’t wave a magic wand and I’ll never run for office. What can I do?

— So sorry. Don’t know how to make it better. Empathy. Hugs. Please don’t kill yourself. We’d miss you. They were never going to give you a promotion anyway. What do you expect from an organization like that? Yes, you should be making more. I know this is degrading. You have to drive how far to work that shit job? Don’t listen to your brother, he clearly has issues. No, don’t let them infantilize you. Why are you buying this? That’s terrible. Sorry for your loss. I can’t believe that happened. No, it’s not fair at all. I have no idea. Hope I won’t have to make friends with the guys under the bridge. Are you that insecure that you have to brag in every conversation? No, it’s not you. Well, maybe it’s a little bit you, but not in the way you think. Yes, they lied. That’s horrible. Now that he knows you love him, he treats you like you don’t matter? Why stay? Such a waste. He could have done anything he set his mind to. Twenty years of work – for nothing. How can I possibly owe this much? The one percent? That’s mean – let’s assume people can handle a decimal point. We’re really talking about the .1, or the .01, or the .001, or even the .0001, aren’t we? What does it matter, we’re screwed. How could we have let this happen? Why didn’t I see this coming? Does she have to be such an asshat? Will you please stop undermining everything I do? Yes, an arrest normally means it’s over. Well, look, maybe a smaller place. Please don’t give up. You have friends. Leave me alone! There’s nothing I can do. Can’t I just read for a while? Go away. No, no, no. I’m listening. I understand. What can I do? I don’t know where she finds the energy. How does he have time for that? Are you f’ing kidding me? —

Trying to listen, trying to understand, trying to be a better person, trying not to be angry, trying not to cry, trying to have some energy, trying to get through until there is something to look forward to again, trying not to be depressed, trying to be a good friend, trying not to destroy anything, trying to get the household in order, trying to be a good wife, trying to be a good mom, trying not to grieve too much or too often, trying not to get lost in the moon and the stars, trying to help, trying not to be the problem, trying to judge fairly, trying to move on, trying to be sane.

Going introvert, cocooning. Giving it all up to the cosmos every night, overwhelmed and grateful. Feeling calm infuse me. Appreciating sleep. Having powerful, surreal dreams. Feeling light and love and quiet joy – but only for a while. Only for a little while.

Perhaps the gate has opened up a few nanometers.

“Science means simply the aggregate of all the recipes that are always successful. All the rest is literature.” ~ Paul Valery

“When I cannot sing my heart, I can only speak my mind.” ~ John Lennon

Breathing in the Presence of the Question Mark

Breathing in the Presence of the Question Mark

When one can articulate something, it’s important to do so. This is necessary for dialogue and for understanding and for authentic self-appraisal. But what if one lacks the capacity to do so, or resists doing so? And what if the attempts to do so trivialize the ineffable?

Rule one of intellectual engagement is that all parties must sincerely attempt both to understand others and to make themselves understood.

It has become evident to me, however, that many people, especially the religious, suffer from a kind of conceptual claustrophobia. Their beliefs are of their essence somewhat vague and they are terrified of being pinned down. Although critics often leap on this and claim that this betrays woolly thinking, evasion or obscurantism, I think that there are times when such a refusal to commit is justified.

I remember, for example, an impassioned talk I once heard by the recently sainted Giles Fraser. Recounting the story in Exodus of Moses going up the mountain to meet God to get the Ten Commandments, Fraser said: “The higher he goes up the mountain, the more the mist comes down. The closer he gets to God, the less and less he is able to see.” Meanwhile, at Sinai’s foot, the idolatrous masses are “running around building a golden calf, making God into a thing”.

It is always possible to think there is a fog when really it’s just that your glasses have steamed up. But I’m not only prepared to allow that an intelligent religious faith might have a big fat mystery at its heart, I think it must have. Only the most juvenile gods are like super-humans we can truly understand. If there is a God, it must surely passeth all understanding.

But embracing this mystery comes at a price. If, like the archbishop of Canterbury, your faith is a kind of “silent waiting on the truth, pure sitting and breathing in the presence of the question mark”, then think very carefully before you open your mouth. Too often I find that faith is mysterious only selectively. Believers constantly attribute all sorts of qualities to their gods and have a list of doctrines as long as your arm. It is only when the questions get tough that, suddenly, their God disappears in a puff of mystery. Ineffability becomes a kind of invisibility cloak, only worn when there is a need to get out of a bit of philosophical bother.

– Julian Baggini, ‘You just don’t understand my religion’ is not good enough

And this is the problem, as well as the hint of a solution. Divinity does not really ever translate into theology (lit. words about the divine), even clever negative theology or poetics of the mystics (and I don’t know any better approaches than these). The ineffable is a presence – and an absence – that resists possession, capture, ownership. If you can even point in a general direction of an experience of the sublime, you might have a tiny hope of someone else having an independent connection with it, but it can’t be called to attendance.

Breathing in the presence, breathing out the absence of the “question mark” – or the reverse?

In the fog it’s not always foggy, exactly.

But that’s just the kind of evasion that he’s discussing.

For the misled, for the idolator, their eyes will remain closed, always mistaking the symbol as a literal representation for what it attempts to suggest.

For the seeker, for the lover, the articulations will never be enough.