Losing My Religion

Listen while you read: R. E. M.

Life is bigger
It's bigger
And you, you are not me
The lengths that I will go to
The distance in your eyes
Oh, no, I've said too much
I set it up

That's me in the corner
That's me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don't know if I can do it
Oh, no, I've said too much
I haven't said enough

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

Every whisper
Of every waking hour
I'm choosing my confessions
Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt, lost, and blinded fool
Oh, no, I've said too much
I set it up

Consider this
The hint of the century
The slip that brought me
To my knees failed
What if all these fantasies
Come flailing around
Now I've said too much

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

But that was just a dream
That was just a dream . . . 

~ Michael Stipe and R.E.M.

Okay, so if you are seriously defensive about your chosen organized religion, you should probably stop right here and go do something else. I do not wish to offend anyone.

"Losing My Religion" won a Grammy in 1991 for Michael Stipe and R.E.M. for "Best Pop Performance" which I find humorous, since I would never consider this a "pop" song, although I don't even know for sure what that designation means. And to further befuddle me, they claim that the song has nothing to do with religion or loss of faith. Apparently, "losing one's religion" is a Southern expression that basically means, "I'm at my wit's end." Stipe, a fan of the Colombian author, Gabriel Garcia Marquez (as am I), defends the song as "a classic obsession song," one about unrequited love. I'm not buying it. Even the "official" video is loaded with religious imagery.

Anyway, there's a reason I chose this song. The other day, I spoke on the phone with someone very dear to me. Our history goes back decades, and even though we were not always on the same page back when our friendship was formed, the ensuing years found us ideologically more opposite. Nonetheless, we accepted our differences and continued our long-distance friendship, one that was sustained by our love for one another. We speak on the phone a couple of times a year, and it's one of those "pick up where we left off" kind of things.

A few years ago, my friend found Jesus. Okay, that's cool. (Jesus is just all right with me, sang The Doobie Brothers.) We've had a few conversations in which we respected one another's viewpoints, but agreed to disagree. And it seemed a good idea to talk about other things. Not to make too much of a big deal about all of this, a second phone call yesterday has left me angry, sad, and frustrated. And I'll tell you why.

"There are a hundred ways to kneel and kiss the ground." Rumi said that. We are, each of us, all of us, on our own spiritual journey. I respect that in others, and I would like others to respect that in me. Certainly, I have had my own struggles trying to define for myself what I believe . . . and what I don't believe. I will admit that I have a somewhat unhealthy attitude toward organized religion. "Organized religion is a way to control the masses," my high school sociology teacher told us. A devout Catholic at the time, I don't think I fully understood what he was saying . . . but I certainly get it now. And I want no part of it. My spiritual journey is my own. I do not expect to have "the answer" anytime soon. I think that's the way it's supposed to be. In my humble opinion, much of the discord in our world is because so many others believe that they have the answer and wish to impose it on everyone else. No thank you.

Okay, rant over. It was just a difficult day emotionally, and I needed to vent. If you're still here, thanks for listening. And thanks to R.E.M. for giving me a song.