Eat My Dust

I’ve been enrolled in my palliative care course in my theology program for just a little over a month, over which time I’ve done several interviews with professionals in the spiritual health ministry discipline in the trauma, intensive care, end of life and funerary fields, all of whom have not-so-subtly pushed the envelope about social trends of homophobia, transphobia, classism and the relationship between human value and supernatural work ethic.

It’s been a challenge analyzing those view points in the lens of the course, which of course wants me to read spiritual autobiographies of men who were privileged enough to die of debilitating disorders that did not break their minds with the help of several hundred thousands of dollars’ worth of in-home medical equipment and rotating caretakers–and G-d, of course–and to enforce the logic of healthcare directives that prioritize the long term impacts on the immortal soul over the insignificant trifles of the mortal flesh.

Challenging, because I mostly because I find agreeing with these theologians, and their theology. And I despise their churches.

Continue reading

Humility, Death Cafe 1/28

Last Sunday, I fully intended to post. I didn’t see myself falling off the wagon so early on in my posting regimen, especially since I was only posting on a weekly basis. I had topics scheduled out for at least ~3 months and hoped that between now and then enough inspiration would strike to keep the longevity of the blog rolling.

I also thought I had already experienced the shock and heartache of everything that Nov. 8 foretold. I had already set my sights on how ugly things were going to get and made adjustments thusly. My partner and I set up goals and credited our deadlines. We developed a ‘2 – 5 year plan’ to get out of trouble without landing in more trouble impulsively. We shifted our career and academic aspirations to be more productive and reactionary. We got married. We signed all manner of directives. We planned for the likelihood of trauma.

Continue reading