A pain worse than lower back

When planning this blog some 10 hours ago, I had decided to begin with "butt nuggets:" by way of salutation. It'd've been funny, but most of the humor's been sucked out since 10 pm, when Adrienne got a call from her Dad saying her Momd had a stroke. I won't tarry on it more than to point you to her blog and to ask for your thoughts and prayers, as your beliefs and creeds deem appropriate. To those of my friends (in the traditional sense, not the MySpace sense, which is hopelessly dilluted [j/k we're all totally bff, swear]) who are athiests -- which I think is most of you -- take this time to curse the intentionless void for our hopelessly small existences. For you agnostics, then, hedge your bets however you see fit. I know I have been.

[This was supposed to be about my cover story, and now it's going to be about something else ... let me dispense with this then quickly: I spent the last two weeks writing myself stupid over the newish phenomenon of Evangelical Environmentalism. It's conservative Christians, essentially, who see the environment as a pro-life issue and it's fascinating. The view point is fascinating that is, whether or not the article is I leave to you.]

Back to the thoughtful agnosticism with to which I generally resign myself. I once had a friend tell me that agnostics were cowards who couldn't pick a side. My reply at the time was: "choke on that yoga mat you ideological claim-jumper. Come talk to me when you find a religion you didn't get out of the liner notes of a Ben Harper album." That retort clearly doesn't work for all situations, but the sentiment is essentially the same in each. And though it may seem counter-intuitive, experiencing this thing -- an out of the blue phone call, a hurried walk to the car, a frantic jaunt cross-town, a mother with clear misfirings in the communication centers of her brain, frustration, anguish, utter fucking impotence -- has only made that assertion (agnosticism = cowardice) more absurd and myopic.

After these last fourish hours, I wish I'd just have a Holy Ghost moment already, or some blinding point of clarity that would allow me to put away all notion of God. One or the other, then at least I'd know how to react. I'd either be able to engage on some level whatever spiritual experience Adrienne is accessing, or just be there as a person and feel that mere personhood is enough. As it is, though, I sit idly, providing what I can as she does her thing, not having that spiritual tug and yet -- since she certainly does -- feeling inadequate as shit to just be one dude, trying to comfort a species-deep sorrow. So I acted like a go-between, calling the people I know who do know God, hoping that the connection they have that I don't would do some good to someone.

In order to avoid coming to terms with that intense feeling of inadequacy, I decided to detach and do a little reasoning. This'll keep my mind off things:

The armchair anthropologist in me now sees the birth of religion coming not in the need to explain the vast unknown but in the desire to quell grief. Though it's certainly a more romantic image to picture some human ancestor looking up at the stars and seeing God there, it's more likely he/she looked into the eyes of a helpless, agony-stricken loved one and needed God so as to reassure his/herself the pain wasn't for naught. Pondering an immesurable vastness seems far less primal -- and ultimately less important -- to me than needing reassurance and purpose. Put another way: a man-sized embrace is way less comforting than a God-sized one.

Tonight, I felt inadequate as shit offering either.