Looking For Inspiration

I haven't been feeling like doing much of anything except sleeping, and I haven't even been doing enough of that. I have some things I want to write splashing about in my head, but the act of writing them down seems beyond me. Talking to my therapist today, she said it sounds like depression. I realized that she was right. As often as I've been depressed, I cannot believe that I didn't recognize it. I think this round has been more about shutting down, rather than my more typical edge-of-crying sadness.

More than anything, I feel like whining, and I don't want to subject loyal readers to navel gazing of that sort. My solution this last week has been to write supportive emails to my Blogistan sisters. It takes me out of my own head for a bit, and I hope sends a little love out where it's needed.

One subject that's been burning to be written is related to religion. To be delicate, I can't imagine how I can write this without offending some very nice people. I'll give it a go, I suppose. This might seem whiney. You've been warned.

I can't remember a time when I ever bought into religion on any level. My parents took me to church with some regularity, but it never stuck. I'm fine with that. I think of myself as a humanist, and my values hew closely with the Christian standards, just without a god looking over my shoulder. I sometimes envy the serenity exhibited by those with a god, but not to the point where I would try it.

My point in sharing this: Perhaps I've never embraced a god because I've always felt forsaken. I have never felt that I rested in the busom of a supreme being. I'm an outsider looking in, and always have been. I don't fit, and I resent it.

Strangely, though, I had the most vivid dream five or six weeks ago, unlike any I can remember. Very cinematic in construction, covering several months. The dream seemed to take place in the Old World, perhaps Italy or Ireland, with narrow streets and old homes.

It began with an older female relative coming to live with our family. Soon there was prayer going on, maybe saying grace at a meal. She noticed me doing what I do in real life. I have my eyes open and my head unbowed, being respectful but not participating. She called me out for it, told me how disappointed she was. Before long, I am bonding with her. I attend church with her, though keeping my skepticism. Gradually, I am won over by the church. At the end, months later, I acquiesce to my relative, and lead a halting, clumsy, but quite sincere, prayer.

I awoke with a sense of inner peace and warmth. Was this a glimpse at something my soul cries for, a sense of belonging? Despite the feelings engendered by the dream, I cannot imagine becoming spiritual in this fashion. I have attended my local Unitarian church from time to time, and I like the sincerity of the people there, and their openness to differing religious views. This is a place that would be accepting of me were I to become openly trans. Yet, I still have trouble being at ease there around so many people I don't know. Not being at home in my own skin has left me socially stunted, unable to get my footing with new people.

Ultimately, I think I want a sense of community more than religion. Still, I don't want to embrace a new community as my male self. The falseness of my male presentation makes it seem unworthy of the effort required.

I'm not looking for proselytizing comments, or encouragement to find a god. I just wanted to share something that seemed very profound at the time, and still leaves me wondering now about the message I should take from it. Thanks for indulging me.