Michael Gungor - This: Becoming Free

1. Seeking the Ox

2. Discovering the Tracks

THIS is all there is.

Yesterday and tomorrow are just wounds and stories.

THIS is not all there is.

There is also thatdesiring milk while you drink water.

That is suffering.

Of course, that is absurd, for THIS is all there is.

Does this confuse you, beloved??

Perhaps I could say it a different way?

If I ascend to the heavens, you are there;

If I make my bed in Hell, you are there.

3. Finding the Ox

M y editor, Nancy, wisely wondered if addressing the reader as beloved in that first little poem might be a little too forward so early in the book. Its a valid concern. The thing is, if someone really good-looking or charismatic were to approach you and tell you with all the right facial expressions, body language, and tone of voice that they love you, your heart would probably melt and you would feel good about it. Others of us have personalities that might lead some to assume that we have played a lot of Dungeons and Dragons. And when people like me, with our unkempt hair and our how-do-you-tie-these-on variety of pants, just come out of the blue and tell you that we love you, it doesnt always come across in the same way as if Oprah or George Clooney or someone whom you know and love were saying it. But just because I like sci-fi, have divergent fashion tastes, and compensate for what some would call a weak chin by sporting a fairly patchy, neck-heavy beard doesnt mean my love for you isnt sincere.

But you dont even know me! says the reader whom I dont know.

Again, this is a valid concern. I might not have a familiarity with the depths of your individual soul. I may not know your name, your specific wounds, what keeps you up at night, or what dreams you have for the future. But those are all just stories. Masks and costumes that, impressive as they may be, dont fool me nearly as much anymore. None of the aspects of your personality, memory, or imagination are the real or fullest You. No, you, the real You, are Life itself, God herself, the All in All that gives rise to stories like yous and mes and Clooneys and neck beards. Under it all, there is always and only THISyour very heart and self.

This book, Beloved, is my love letter to you. Its full of stories and ideas and bizarre hippie shit. But its also full of my heart. Because the real reason Im writing this is to simply tell you that I love you and to remind you of who you really are under all of those stories of yours.

4. Catching the Ox

THE FIRST NOBLE TRUTH
Life Is Suffering

THE SPA
Part 1 (2012)

WALKING MY DOG IN THE RAIN
A Parable (Part 1)

THE SPA
Part 1 (2012)

The spa where I became an atheist was nice, but you know, Aunt-Rhonda-from-the-suburbs-goes-shopping-at-Ikea nice. Thankfully, it was the middle of the day on a weekday, so there was hardly anybody in there. The young woman at the front desk smiled and greeted me even though she probably wondered what a guy who looked like me was doing in a place like that. My appearance often rides the line between musician and homeless, and this didnt look like the kind of establishment that marketed to either demographic. Normally, I might have made sure to smile extra big and stand up extra tall, holding my shoulders back like my mother always told me to do, trying to assure the young woman that I was gainfully employed and housed and that my credit card would not be declined. Maybe if Id been feeling better, I would have said something polite about the weather. But not this time. I was in no mood for small talk. Just get me into that steam room as soon as possible. Ive got to get out of my head.

The nearly constant theological and existential angst spirals had increasingly impeded my social skills as of late. Normal human interactions like a simple and sincere greeting were sullied with an underlying contextual circus in which I desperately tried to make sense of the entire universe through a phrase like have a good day.

Have a good day? Im supposed to have a good day while siphoning off the spoils of my privilege, ignoring the tremendous suffering of the world? A good day where I kill another who-knows-how-many living organisms in order to eat and survive? What is a good day in this cruel and cold universe?

Then I would feel guilty.

Come on Michael, you need to show this person love, because God is love, and that love and justice is the arc of the universe, and I am supposed to be the very embodiment of that love in the world.

Then again...

Why should I go through the trouble of bending myself toward this supposed subtle arc of divine love in the universe if God doesnt even give enough of a damn to make sure all his little girls and boys in his good world have enough food to eat, clean water to drink, or that they dont get sold into the sex trade?

Thats the headspace I was in when the young woman at the front desk of the hotel spa greeted me. So, sorry, but I was not in the mood for meaningless pleasantries. I barely said a word. I paid her and made a beeline for the mens locker room.

I wondered what was wrong with me. On paper, life was good. Really good actually. I had parents who loved me. A smart, gorgeous, talented wife and a beloved daughter who was my very heart. I had lifelong, devoted friendships with wonderful people. We owned a comfortable home near the Rocky Mountains with a little backyard that had a fire pit and a sandbox shaped like a pirate ship. Lisa and I had built a successful career together in the Christian music industry. People often stopped us on the street and told us how much our music meant to them. I had everything I needed and nearly everything Id ever wanted. What was I missing? Why was I so miserable?

I knew. I just didnt want to know.

My whole world was built on a lie.

The spa had really nice showers. Double heads. Incredible water pressure. Man, I loved a good shower. I had a good showerhead at home, but why wasnt it this powerful? Where can one even purchase such a thing? How unfair is the world? Sometimes I wondered why we didnt all just commit suicide and get it over with.

These showers really were exemplary though. I turned both nozzles on as hot as I could handle and stood under the unfairly impressive, nearly scalding jets of water. It was almost enough to make me forget about the whole my-life-is-built-on-a-lie thing. Almost.

Its just hard to enjoy a day at the luxury spa when youre paying for it using fairy tales and violence. I was a sort of pseudo-Christian celebrity living in America. You know... the country founded on life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness and built on the backs of slaves? One nation under God, right? That mythical entity up there who watches and judges us and gives us permission to steal land and commit genocide against indigenous people. Everything in my life was built on these skeletons and lies.