If I Were to Choose a Religion

I do not practice a religion. It’s not for me. The fact that most of my experience with religion has been attempts from adherents to convince me or even force me to believe that theirs is the one true one has not bolstered its case. But let’s just say that I have never been interested, and will never join a religion. One of the few things I am confident in saying I will never do.

However, if I was going to choose one…

I’d want it to be old. Real old. So old that no person knows exactly how or when it began. I’d want to practice a religion that predates what’s been written about it. I’d want a religion that we did not create. I’d want one that created us.

If I were to follow the word of a sacred text so I can know how things are supposed to be, I’d want one that is still being written. A text that knows I am here. I’d want this text to be the direct word of divinity, untranslated by human needs and wants, or the limitations of language. One that I could witness in its original form, any time I want.

The sacred text of this religion would not be in any book. It would be in an old-growth forest. It would be on a mountain slope. It would be in any place on earth that has been left alone long enough for the text to become legible. The text is nature, because only nature can tell us how things are supposed to be. Because nature IS how things are supposed to be.

This religion only has one rule, as immutable as the rising sun: Balance. Harmony. That is the one natural law from which all others derive. Nowhere in my sacred text is dominion over the world given to human beings. What was given to humans was a chance. We were given a place in the world— what a gift— and it began with balance, and it will end with balance. Whether we follow the natural law or not, it will be enforced, eventually. Maybe that’s what “fate” means in this religion.

I would never be a priest. Just a permanent acolyte. If I were a priest of this religion, though, I might suggest to my community that the time they spend asking gods what to do might be better spent helping nature enforce its single law. Helping it achieve balance. I like to think that the more we help nature, the more it will help us. Maybe that’s what “prayer” means in this religion. Again, not a priest.

What is most enticing about this religion is that any of us can experience divinity, right now, with our own senses. We need simply to stand before a giant sequoia tree, one that has stood in its place since before prophets and messiahs were even born. Why, when trees and oceans and sunsets exist, why would anyone prefer to place divinity somewhere unknowable, able to be experienced only upon death? Why must religion separate divinity from life? I don’t think it controversial to say that life is the most divine thing there is. Not even just human life! Have you SEEN a giant sequoia? Or the Grand Canyon? Or any dog?

I’m just saying, MY religion would leave undeniable evidence of the primacy of its single law everywhere we care to look, and it would look pretty damn good doing it.

I have good news. You can join this religion. You, too, can reach the unending state of bliss and harmony that rewards its most loyal followers. Joining requires no conversion, no tests, and very little proselytizing. This religion will even forgive you if you choose one of the other religions, because you’re actually already part of this one. Indeed, to experience this religion fully, you need only answer one question. Think carefully, and answer honestly, and the moment you have answered it, you will know if you qualify.

What is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?

A Guide to Handling The Fact That the Friend Who Shamed You Into Attending His 49-Seat Play Is About To Expose His Ballsack Onstage

1) Breathe! First off, what did you expect? The Director’s Statement in the program clearly warned you that this play “pushes the envelope” by “tearing down boundaries” and questioning “traditional ideas of purity and self.” You should have read between the lines. This is one of those ballsack plays. You had your chance to leave before the house lights went down. You could have pretended you forgot to lock your car— better yet, you forgot your GLASSES in the car, and you NEED those to SEE the play— and just not come back. You could have said you checked in on your dog using your indoor security camera and he was HURT and you had to go help him. That naked-ass friend of yours doesn’t know you don’t have a dog. You could have done anything when you realized what sort of play this is. But you didn’t, it’s happening, and now you have to sit and wait for it.

2) Reflect! This is the first play you have been to in TWO YEARS. Two and a half, really, it’s not like you were putting on pants and going to the theatre all the time before the pandemic. It’s not like you didn’t repeatedly appreciate how thoroughly all the small theaters were closed multiple, multiple times as the coronavirus ravaged the world population and economy. The point is, live theatre is back and, the thing is, in order for Hamilton to fly, Jeffrey’s little chamber play about the world’s most boring dysfunctional couple has to crawl. Shitty plays are the price we pay for the good shit to make its way to Disney+. Ooh, you could offer yourself a little Hamilton screening on Disney+ when you get home from this debacle as an incentive! Now pay attention, because Jeffrey just uttered the line “Living through a computer screen is not living.”

3) Relax! The anxiety you’re feeling? This is what he wants. He wants to shock you. Jeffrey has always been this way, even all the way back in college when he would climb the big tree in front of the dorm and hang out there pretending to read? Or when he forced everyone at the barbecue to dare him to drink the hot beer and onion mixture you’d been simmering bratwurst in? Remember how he turned off the music and made everyone watch him and thought he was some sort of badass for doing it? This is who he is, it’s who he’s always been. Jeffrey doesn’t like himself, so he never acts normal because he’s afraid of what you will think. If you are nervous, HE WINS. Do NOT give him what he wants. When he eyes you in the lobby after the show, pretend you don’t even remember the nude scene. Because he is GOING to eye you.

4) Focus! Do NOT look sideways at the person you came with. Do NOT acknowledge that this is weird and awkward. Because YOU made them come here. You should have known better. If you just look forward or perhaps focus on a corner of the sofa Jeffrey is currently sitting on ass fucking naked, it’ll look like you’re just watching the play and not Jeffrey’s ballsack. Pretend this is a typical play for you, that you have pushed your own envelope as a spectator so far that a ballsack is nothing, it’s scenery, it’s a prop. The moment you acknowledge how weird it is to your companion, you look weak.

5) Think! If your companion nudges YOU because they are uncomfortable, act annoyed. Your absolute best bet as far as they are concerned is to pretend that you understand the thematic necessity of the nudity, though we both know there is none. This play was a failure the moment the lights went down to the sound of Arcade Fire’s “It’s Never Over (Oh Orpheus)” played WAY too loud. It was a failure the moment the director cast himself in the lead role. Wait— is HE getting naked too? What the fuck— just bear down, eyes forward, think about what you need at the grocery store to furrow your brow and look smart. It’s the only way.

6) Wait, can the actors even smell that? The odor of their own sweaty naked taints mixed with pancaked stage makeup and musty-ass rented costumes as it wafts through the theater on the back of an air conditioning system built in the 70s? They cannot possibly know how bad it smells in the audience. If they did they would shut this place down. The point is, Forgive! The smell, though emanating from Jeffrey’s balls, is not entirely Jeffrey’s fault.

7) Jeffrey really is just trying his best, he’s not such a bad guy. He came to town with big dreams and a couple awards for his acting in high school, he’s still figuring out what the real world even is. Forgive him a few missteps. If he’s still doing this ballsack shit in five years maybe you can intervene but for now let him just do his thing, let him make his friends, let him push his envelopes and hopefully soon enough he’ll find something to do with himself. Meet a nice girl, maybe, and move back home. Giving up entirely would honestly be the best thing for him. It might even be the best thing for you. One thing to be said about your high school friends who all went into insurance… you’ll never, ever have to look at their ballsacks under hot stage lights in a 49-seat black box in the worst neighborhood in town. And that’s something.