Yesterday, I woke to the sounds of birds chirping outside my groundfloor window, and it was one of the many instances where my mind was awake before my body. The dissonance associated with the two's separation meant that all of the information I would interpret in the following twelve to fifteen seconds would be, just that, information, and any associated sentiment would be lost in neurological translation.
"Birds chirping. Alarm. Not yet. 6:25. Birds chirping? 6:25. Not yet. Birds chirping before 6:25? Shit."
I reached slowly for my cell phone, pressed any button that would brighten the screen, and awaited the answer to just how long, exactly, I had overslept. 8:48. Two hours and twenty-three minutes longer than I had intended. I scrambled together my things, forwent breakfast, threw the lunch I had prepared the night before into a plastic bag, and ran out the door to catch the first bus I could find.
After spending roughly two and a half minutes in my first class, and then having a three hour break until my next class, I decided I was hungry and should probably dig into my lunch. I took out what was a sort of beef stew and rice concoction in a tupperwear container and headed to the cafeteria to use a microwave, which is stored on a shelf at the far end of the dining room at about eye-level. When my meal was hot, I opened the door, reached for my food...
and spilled my entire, soupy lunch. All over the microwave, the shelves, the floor, myself. I didn't know what to think, and then from some deep, unknown place, slowly and quietly at first, but then bigger, louder, laughs began to emerge. What else could I do? I stood there in the cafeteria, in front of everyone, hungry, disoriented, embarrassed, and laughing.
"¿Crees en Dios?"
"Um..."
"¿Tú, tú crees en Dios?
"Um... no?"
I had since left the dining room, and was sitting outside on a bench reading, when I was approached by a semi-circle of three Chilean students on behalf of Jesus. They went on talk to me for the next five minutes about how God loves us, all of us, even if we don't know him or refuse to accept him, in Spanish. I had the time to spare, and didn't want to be rude, so I withheld the information that most of their lecture was being lost on me linguistically, and entirely ideologically. They handed me a flyer for a meeting this upcoming Thursday, entitled "Cuando Hay Sufrimiento, Dios está con nosotros." All I could think of was the Mitch Hedberg sketch on "Handouts" where he comments that no matter the message of people handing out flyers, all he hears is "Here, you throw this away." Still though, it did seem ironic to me though, that the day that I had slept through class and then spilled my lunch, and was sitting outside cold, hungry, bored, and alone, I was approached by religion, offering answers. God does work in mysterious ways, I've heard.
One of the Chileans handed me a notebook to write my e-mail, and fortunately, the divine spirits granted me quick thinking enough to write down without hesitation, mpeters@tulane.edu. Come on, God's got to have a sense of humor...
Time passed as time waiting for class usually does, slowly, but finally 3:00 arrived, and my last class of the day, "Social Responsibility in the University" began. Our professor began with the subject of "University" and how, at its inception, was designed to teach students, within its curriculum, the skills and ideas necessary to solve societal problems. Now though, our teacher argued, the University has become primarily a business, selling students only the information necessary to achieve a high-paying job in one specific field. I was almost too hungry to focus, but when we were prompted to explain what "Dignidad" meant to us, our teacher's cell phone interrupted:
"I don't know what you heard about me
But a bitch can't get a dollar out of me
No Cadillac, no perms, you can't see
That I'm a motherfucking P-I-M-P"
Now, I'm no expert on dignity, but I'm fairly civically engaged, enough so that I don't need to be lectured by some condescending doofus with 50 Cent as his ringtone. It was worth a good laugh, and I'm glad that the irony of the situation was not lost on account of my stomach eating itself.
The teacher went on to ask every member of class if he/she believed in God, and I couldn't believe I was being asked the question for the second time that day. Same response. "Um.. no?"
I'm a highly spiritual person, yet simultaneously one of the least religious people I know. I decided that I believe in belief. I believe in the idea of believing in God, the idea of believing in some higher power, the idea that one's self is not quite the epicenter of the universe. Yet, I can't quite convince myself honestly that I can believe things I don't. Maybe I was the only one being honest, but I was the only member of my class with that answer. I can understand just saying yes and being done with it. It's embarrassing at some level to tell someone you don't believe in God, because it carries the connotation that you don't have a rubric of morals to follow, a set of values that guide you. It did make me think, though, about what I really do believe, and if there's more to this whole thing than what appears on the surface.
My most honest answer: I don't know. And I am okay with that. I know that I am at my happiest and must fulfilled when I am able to be loving, engaged, and connected with others. I am at my happiest when I can be generous with my time and energy. I am at my happiest when I am part of something, concrete, bigger than myself.
All in all, I believe in Odin, duh.
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