I had an eye-opening dream last night. Well, technically this morning as I was waking-up, but anyway.

…I’m not convinced but I’m fairly certain there are soulmates. Possibly what is called “twin flames” although I wouldn’t call it that but definitely soulmates. What would it take to convince me? Scientific evidence. Science doesn’t prove or disprove the supernatural. I’ve heard both atheists and Christians try to argue that it does, but as someone who respects actual, real science I know that science is beautifully neutral about things like God. It’s supposed to work like…a well crafted, ocean crossing ship. A seafaring vessel that can take whatever nature throws at it. A strong, determined, tough as nails joy of human development. Science isn’t a replacement for God. Science is a mark of human progress.

But God…God is mysterious. Soulmates are mysterious too, should they exist. And…as terrifying as it is for me to consider as someone who is both a Christian and a human who respects actual progress…I do wonder if Christianity has been slaughtered a bit when it comes to romantic love. I’m not sure how, but I’m starting at almost 40 years old to think that Christianity has had that issue at the heart of its most vile flaws (so to speak) for centuries. Romantic love, or rather the absence and/or mistreatment of it. Feminists might quickly add, of course, that that’s likely due to a pervading toxic patriarchy that has dominated our interpretation of the Bible or perhaps a toxic patriarchy that wrote the Bible in the first place. …I wouldn’t necessarily agree with them on all of their conclusions and that’s important to note, but…I do find that angle fascinating.

Anyway, I’m angry… I’m angry at people who have turned themselves into nothing but unreachable, barely readable, almost inaudible assholes. Assholes. Not meaningless assholes though, mind you, because no human being is meaningless…regardless of how they treat themselves or others. …But…assholes. I’m angry at assholes. Or maybe, aspiring assholes because sometimes I think that’s too grand a name for these sort of people.

I love…”The Shining”. I think that’s one of my favorite films. Isn’t is amazing?! It’s not flawless…but golly does it come close. It’s genius. Absolutely…fantastic. And you know, that one scene keeps coming back to me. The scene with the woman in the bathroom in room 237. That scene keeps coming back to me…

Golly was that woman evil, but also…I really think she was…wildly angry. Like, not in a rage per se but so…engrossed in her longing for violence. Not a masculine sort of violence though. A feminine variety of violence… She wanted to rip Jack apart from the inside out subtly, carefully, fastidiously, perfectly. Every piece of art has numerous interpretations but my interpretation of “The Shining” rests on the idea that Jack is reincarnated from the previous caretaker from the hotel’s heyday in the 1920’s.

Jack is called back to the hotel not because of Danny or his wife exactly but because he’s himself. He’s evil. He’s profoundly evil… And his life has amounted to this moment. All his aspirations, all his dreams…all his sins…all his love, should it exist…is being pulled back into the past because the hotel has decided to kill him. The hotel is an entity but only in so far as it consists of numerous different other individual entities. And they all long for…justice. It’s almost as if the “the hotel” is in Purgatory and the ghosts are in therapy…and they’re sorting through their lives and as part of the restoration of their souls into their perfect sinless state they must process through the ills of “the caretaker”. Who was he…really? What did he do to us? Who was he really? His soulmate in 237 seems to think he’s beyond wretched. A worm of a man longing to be as much as a rotting carcass of his former self…and as his soulmate she seems to find it hilarious.

I love science. I love it because it deals in truth. Real, actual, truth. Or, at least, it’s supposed to. I think, as a Christian, that it’s often a grand, epic vessel used by God. A rare bird. A special, remarkable mark of the progress of our species.

And…we are not beasts but humans. Mere humans. Mere sheep according to Christ. That’s how vulnerable we are…to God.

God warns us against conjuring up…ourselves, so to speak. Why? Because it’s dangerous. Seemingly… As living beings we’re at a disadvantage with “ourselves” conjured up since our bodies are fallen. Our spirits are eternal. Our flesh rots eventually… Our spirits do not end. Our spirits do not end. Your spirit is eternal. That’s part of the idea of Christianity. Our spirits live on…forever. You…yes you…never truly die.

How can that be? That we hear without ears? See without eyes? Feel…without a brain? Because…we metaphorically exist in room 237. We are the twins wandering the halls. We are…in the “Gold Room”. Metaphorically. We…exist. That’s the idea.

Can it be proved by faith? No. That’s…not how faith works…necessarily. As part of your faith experience you might doubt and need proof, but that’s not the definition of the word faith.


Was Swedenborg (who also loved science seemingly) correct or are we stuck with a “ twin flame” forever? It’s unclear to me… If I have a “twin flame” I can’t tell…what…happened. It seems as though there’s something a bit…absurd about it. One way or another. I’m not literally like the woman in room 237 at all…well…I do like taking baths but other than that…we’re seemingly quite different. Ha! If anything I’m more Jack. I’m a woman though, of course…I just…don’t understand what in the world happened. *smile*

Unlike Jack though, why am I taking a bath in room 237…by myself…in a huge hotel…and I always hear music from the 1920’s playing from downstairs while I sit there? In my version of “The Shining” I love room 237, but I’m alive. My family is fine. I’m just…enthralled by the Art Deco details of that room and I keep asking my ex-husband (who I’m still very happily raising my kids with) why there’s always 1920’s jazz playing whenever I’m in that room. He doesn’t know… He says he’s heard music sometimes playing in the kitchen…but…he says to him it always sounds like it’s coming from outside. Like there’s a song playing outside… He wonders if there’s a sound system we don’t know about installed throughout the whole hotel. I’m comforted by his explanation even though I doubt it…

The hotel possibly killed Jack. But that was the literal caretaker Jack from the film “The Shining”. Who are we? Who are you? Who am I? Where are you in “The Shining”? Racing down the hall like Danny on your tricycle? Who are you?

I’m in the tub. I’m not rotting yet. And all I hear is jazz and look forward to my Eggs Benedict in the morning before nature hikes and fun days exploring the maze. Sometimes I have lunch in the maze. My whole family packs lunches and explores the maze… My whole family loves the hotel. The hotel has no problem with us… They seem keen on us living actually.

Maybe they need more time. Maybe the hotel wants us to stay alive because…I am the woman in the tub in my own life. I’m alive so I’m like Jack…but I’m…the woman. In 2021. Not 1921. In a tub. Drinking from my 1960’s English ironstone Wedgwood. Confused…alive…incredibly sad oftentimes and angry at assholes…but…alive. *smile* Sometimes I listen to the jazz and cry…or wish I was crying. And that doesn’t bode well for whoever will arrive in the room on the other side. It’s not a good sign. Probably. But…I’m not God. I’m just a sheep.

I’m a sheep in a tub listening to jazz. My wool is getting cleaned from the dirt in the maze. I’m dirty but not rotting…and like my uncle who passed this summer…I’m hoping to be cremated in my old age when I die… Maybe placed in an antique urn and kept with my kids and grandkids. We’ll see…

What about you? What’s your dream? Do you have dreams? Do you watch films or just sit in front of them thinking about yourself? Do you know other people exist? Does it make you happy to know you’re not alone or does it irritate you? Do you want…a soulmate? An…actual…real…other half of your soul?

Soul. I’d bet your soul belongs to your spirit and that your spirit and soul belong to God. Do you want a…mate. For you? You? …Who you really are? Because that’s the idea.

Faux Hate

You don’t hate me. At least…I doubt it.

Certainly not everyone reading this blog is a “hater” but even if you are I highly doubt you truly hate me. It’s not that if you’re a hater that you don’t fill the criteria to qualify as a “hater”. It’s that I don’t believe you anymore. I don’t believe your hate is real…

Jealousy? Envy? Maybe. Maybe… But really…it’s something else. And sadly, after observing “haters” for years now I’m pretty sure most of you can’t even find your own reasons for your supposed hate. One could say that you want to be a different person, or younger…etc. etc. but that’s just more of the above. It’s something else.

I tend to go back to my observation that most hate I’ve experienced over the years has been due to issues surrounding social class. And I don’t think that’s insignificant. But what does it mean? Simply put I highly suspect that I’m experienced as a very bad omen… Not a bad omen for everyone but a bad omen for many. Like a hint that a new Gilded Age has arrived…and gone are the days of dreams. Not all dreams but some dreams.

Humans have souls and spirits. People are intuitive. And I don’t think people know how to react to me…if they can sense my actual soul and spirit. They might not hate me as an individual per se so much as what I represent… But it’s not about my family or my privilege or my beauty or any blessings. It’s about the darkness looming. Not dark skinned people. Not the darkness of night. The darkness of a new darker age… And moved to rage that they’re losing time or losing their sweet treats the “haters” begin to mourn. And the prettier they find me…the nicer they find me…the more caring they find me…the more they feel safe expressing their own inner darkness. At least to some degree. They want to fight the darkness with more darkness…

I try hard not to lie. But maybe it’s easy to feel lied anyway to when you had thought so much in your life would be so wildly different than it is and somehow…somehow…it feels good to yell at me about it. Like scoffs in the audience at the upsetting end of a film noir when you thought it was a romantic comedy. It feels like my life as you observe it must be a lie…because if it’s not what does it mean? What does my existence mean? A harbinger of trouble perhaps.

Who else are people hating more these days? Blacks. And actually…I have a feeling they will and are making progress as a group of people. So maybe it’s easy to want to make them “the reason” too?

Actually…it’s been baffling to me for years. I’m not black and yet there’s something oddly similar about the taste of some of the hate they receive and what I’ve felt. I can just tell. And I think sometimes people, especially angry white females and/or non binary folks, try to make me a bisexual or a lesbian or “something” to both minimize me and to somehow deal with their feelings of hate toward me. Because they too can feel the oddness of it all and they can’t label it in a way to create a feeling of safety. But I’m straight (I’ve never been involved with any women or non-binary people in my life but always just men) and a cis woman and I’m not black so why do they feel so much of that particular kind of hate? That…fearful…determined…obsessive…grandiose…hurt…at times psychotic…rage. ? It’s not just narcissism either. And I think actually what it is is more or less death…

Yes, it’s death. Not like actual human death but evil death. Despair.

The “haters” see my face and then look behind me and sense darkness. And it’s not necessarily my evil or darkness but something hopeful coming to an end. Like my life lived is the final chapter in something that was never supposed to end in some people’s estimation. And most depressingly in their lack of hatred for me but their overwhelming grief at the ending they “hate me” anyhow. And surely there are others like me… Other people who accidentally trigger a similar feeling of loss.

The American Dream. Has it died? No. That’s not what’s ending… It’s something else. And I’m pretty sure it’s not my fault. Or my family’s fault. It’s just that this isn’t Heaven. This isn’t even Purgatory necessarily. So cling to truth. Cling to God… And please try not to confuse me and my own life with the fact that I walked by you and you felt a chill. Try not to confuse my place with me. Kids who worked in child labor in the US in the 1800’s weren’t the issue of child labor itself. Life can be experienced but it doesn’t just belong to us and the ultimate power over life belongs to God even as He doesn’t violate our free will. So, bad things can happen against God’s will as He’s all good even as evil also exists. We chose this path as humans…in the Garden of Eden.