McSweeney’s LIst (4 December 2024)
Consider this a warning that today I'd like to talk about one of those controversial subjects you aren't supposed to discuss at dinner tables. It's an often triggering topic, something either yelled or whispered with few in betweens, so I'm just going to talk about it from my point of view without any agenda.
I'm talking about faith.
Wait, wait, don't go, I'm not trying to get you to join any weird clubs. My ongoing conversation with you thus far over these years has not been a long con to get you to pledge allegiance to a sacred badger. I swear, hang out for a minute and lemme talk my shit straight from my heart.
First, let's distinguish Faith from Religion. Faith is what you believe, and Religion is the team sweater you wear. Faith is what you have in your heart, and Religion is the club you’re a member of. I know many faithful, spiritual people who don't have clubs. I know club members who show up to meetings when they're mandatory, just to pay their proverbial dues, who don't have an ounce of faith in their bodies. Of course there are also religious people who embody the cosmic message of Faith and Love, and exemplify what I believe it's all supposed to be about. Still, you can definitely have one without the other.
From a religious standpoint, I'm ethnically Jewish, raised in a hippie mish mash of armchair Judaism and reinterpreted Roman Catholicism. We lit Hunnukah candles in the rainbow glow of our Christmas tree. (No, this did not multiply the gifts, we did gifts for Christmas and spun dreidels for Hunnukah.) The spirit of Christmas was bigger than Santa, and unrelated to Jesus, and the most joyful time of year. My father taught me that Jesus was the son of God, and I was the daughter of God; we are all equally God’s children. He took umbrage with the burning bush (the bit where God appears to Moses and tells him to kill his son as proof of his dedication), saying that his God would never test him so heinously. It was evident that the Bible could be interpreted in different ways, leading to the myriad Christian sects that my father couldn't explain. Plus, there was the austere Buddha incense holder, and the fact that my parents were into Transcendental Meditation. It was a religious soup, bits taken from here and there to match the flavor of their faith. (In hindsight I realize that my parents were not the type to ask questions. When they encouraged me to chant OM, they couldn't answer what it meant, meaning they had never asked the question themselves. Meanwhile, since the very edges of my earliest memories, I wouldn't repeat spells that I didn't understand.)
Answers on Judaism were more vague. My Jewish grandmother read cards and palms, and wrote G-d, because somehow even the written word was too powerful to spread around. That side of my family instilled ghosts, numerology, and ESP in me, giving me my witchy foundation. (Hmu if you wanna talk about cards, crystals, and cosmic things.) When I had questions that went beyond the basics, my mother didn't have the answers, and enrolled me in an after school Hebrew class at a local synagogue. The teacher scratched her head and her hair moved, and that's how I learned about the wigs. As I recall, I got bored of the glass and dropped out. My mother said that I got kicked out for asking too many difficult questions. My Religion and my Faith were diverging, even if I didn't have the words for that yet.
I went to reform synagogue for a bit. There was a lot of Hebrew, and sitting and standing. I wasn't getting the answers about the Religion I was looking for, and nothing on those services resonated with whatever my Faith was. I popped into different churches with Christian friends. At a United Church the minister said that regardless of religion, if you were there for God, you were in the right place. That tickled me in the right spot, but it was still so intangible and inexplicable that I couldn't put my finger on it. Who was God? How could I muster belief if I didn't even know that part?
When I was 14, I read my first book about Yoga philosophy, Yoga For You by Claude Fayette Bragdon. There wasn't a yoga pose to be found, only the juicy bits, and even then, vaguely. Published in 1943, I imagine it must've been an esoteric book, one that probably went unnoticed by those not in the right circles to search it out. It gave me hope that there was another way of looking at things, and it felt like I had been let in on a secret. I carried that sentiment for years, but couldn't explain it, or fully articulate what I believed. But right then, I believed in something.
Years later (lifetimes later), I found myself in a very shitty and violent situation. It tore my brain down to survival mode. I lost so much weight; my doctor explained that in the midst of the crisis, my body had found its fighting weight, so to speak. Working at a yoga studio that was more interested in yoga bodies than yoga philosophy, people kept telling me how great I looked, asking how I'd done it. I smiled and played it off, telling them the closest thing to truth I could: that my body had simply done it by itself. I remember saying that I was simply letting go of the things I didn't need. That year, I did my first ever handstand, giggling the whole time at the absurdity of the inverted world. That year was also rife with thoughts of death, and wondering what the point of suffering was, and asking why I was here. I stopped writing, and thought I'd never pick up a pen again.
All the great texts I'd read faded into fiction; my questions became pointed, and in need of immediate answers. It was suicidal ideation in a way; I was not only wondering why I was alive, but whether anything would be truly different if I died. My brain was writing its own course on existential philosophy, and the stakes were high. In hindsight, it was a true crisis of faith, and I was solidifying my belief system. First, I had to come to terms with the nature of not only existence, but consciousness. It's one thing to be here, and an entirely different thing to be aware of being here. Gifted with the beautiful double edged sword of awareness, we know it's all so temporary while also forgetting ourselves and losing our shit over petty things on the regular. We're silly creatures, but each unique between our ears and in our stories. See, I reasoned that each of us has their own lens, their own history filtering that lens, their own internal experience of existence that is truly unique. That our outward life is what causes ripples in reality, but we each have our private experiences, the perspective that dies with us. In a huge cosmic system that we barely understand, that's a glorious and strange opportunity to have: to even briefly feel the wind on our faces, to curl our toes into the earth, to laugh until we need to pee, to feel rage that blanks out all logic. What a fascinating situation. And what if it's all meaningless and accidental? Well, that makes it even crazier, doesn't it? That of all the life forms we are this one, that of all the times we are now. The odds are smaller than winning the lottery. The fact that I am a woman, born in a time when I won't burn for being one, in one of the few countries where I'm especially safe. Numbers are jagged and don't resonate with my heart, so when I consider luck this improbable, I call it a blessing.
So in my darkness, I found gratitude. Even if I was in a bad spot, I was stoked to be alive at all, thankful for every sunset and scraped knee. In Eat Pray Love Elizabeth Gilbert writes of a moment on an Indonesian rooftop, doing a handstand under the moon when she realized that God wants to feel the world through her hands. Even without a concept of God, one can say that we are here, incarnations of the Universe interacting with itself; Earthlings created by Earth to experience Earth. Ocean water briefly cresting before returning to the whole.
When I returned to the coast, visiting the ocean for the first time in decades, the first time in my adult life, I stood ankle deep in the cold water and cried joyfully. It was the closest thing to God I had tangibly experienced: older than trees, without the ocean we would not be here. While we are fundamentally made of cosmic soup, the ocean is the earthly pot in which we were seasoned and simmered.
Gratitude by itself was nice. I understood why people worshipped the Sun, the Moon, the Seasons, and the Ocean. My heart was exploding, the love dissipating into the sky, and I told myself it would land wherever it was most needed. But love is more easily maintained with a beloved; look back on mystic poetry where the word Beloved is synonymous with God. Look back on the Sufis who spun, childlike, ecstatically. Sometimes, struck by the biggest picture view of it all, realizing that they were waves returning to the ocean, they would say they were God…and if they were heard saying so by the wrong people, people who had not seen and could not possibly understand, they were decapitated.
I decided that God was whatever this is. The Sun, the wind, the odds of being here, the feeling of love, of sadness; that was the anthropomorphic amalgam of what God is. Comedian and spiritual dude Pete Holmes quotes Barry Taylor, the road manager for AC/DC, God is the name of the blanket we put over the mystery to give it shape. Hallelujah, I think I've found it. Call it Fred, call it Angels, call it Ancestors, it's the same blanket. It's the same mystery. It triggers the same amount of mind boggling by whatever name, though a name does make writing the love letters much easier.
Have you ever hugged a tree? It was big in the 90s. Anyway, when you hug a tree, the scales of bark pressing into your soft skin, and you can feel its age; you can imagine the way the world changed around it as it grew, feel the incredible life force that stood through many seasons, and inhale the oxygen it gives. The more love you give that tree, the more it feels like it's bouncing love back to you. Try it. The more you throw yourself into the absurdity of it, that you will be seen as a person hugging a tree, the more liberating the connection. I think that God is the name for that love.
I read myths and found the ones that tickled my tree hugging heart. I changed the names of God that felt most like music to me. I started wearing a bindi because I'd promised myself that if I ever found a Religion (or more appropriately in this case, a collection of spiritual traditions and tales given an umbrella term), that I would embrace it. The older I get, the more I see that all of the Gods are beautiful, and will appeal to different sensibilities, because of course, we’re all our own wave. And the more I learn the more certain I am that anyone who dresses their hatred and war in the garb of Holy Scripture is lying: no religious book I've ever read has preached hate, in fact, quite the opposite. The people who hide that way are the ones taking The Lord's name in vain.
Those who claim their Religion is the Only Way, or that their God is The One True God, are limiting their love, but better some than none. Perhaps they have never had a crisis of Faith and needed to build their own, perhaps Religion is enough for them, and if so, fine. And as for the sect of non-believers who seem to want to convert believers (ironically enough), consider that there are many paths to the same ends, and sometimes you find yourself crawling on your knees in the dark, not even knowing what could save you, and you look up and lo, you find a reason to believe. Events like that will never be swayed by logic, and that is the definition of Faith. Amen for it.
FIGHT THE POWER (FESTIVELY)
Since 1969, Black Rose Books has been publishing radical, English language books right here in Montreal. Join them for discounted prices right in time for the holidays. These are boundary-pushing books that dig deep, and stand out.m, and it's your chance to gift something meaningful (or treat yourself) while supporting independent voices, and a small independent nonprofit publisher.
Come for radical ideas, critical insights, and stories that you won’t find on any bestseller shelf.
WHAT: Black Rose Books Radical Book Sale
WHEN: Thursday, December 5
WHERE: Co-Op Bar Milton-Park, 3714 Avenue du Parc, Montréal, QC H2X 2J1, Canada
METRO: Place-des-Arts (Green)
DETAILS: Facebook
READ LOCAL
Discover the latest releases of new works from local publishers, authors, and translators! This event has a full program of literary happenings, including an interview with author and Mohawk activist Katsi’tsakwas Ellen Gabriel on Saturday, a comic book panel with a stellar lineup, and QWF’s Ian Ferrier Spoken Word Prize Showcase performances on Sunday – as well as a multitude of author signings.
Produced by the Association of English-language Publishers of Quebec (AELAQ), the Read Quebec Book Fair celebrates the vibrancy of the English-language literary scene in Quebec, with local publishers displaying their titles, and Librairie Paragraphe selling books from Quebec writers and translators published elsewhere. The Fair will offer fun for young booklovers, with a cozy, book-filled Kids’ Nook both days, and a musical performance for children by Connie Kaldor and Paul Campagne on Saturday at noon. There will be an opening cocktail Saturday evening—it is free and open to all, wine and bites will be served.
The days are jam packed with readings, panels, and creative activities. Check it out!
WHAT: Read Quebec Book Fair
WHEN: Saturday, December 7 & Sunday, December 8
WHERE: Casa d’Italia, 505 Jean-Talon St. E., Montreal, H2R 1T6
METRO: Jean-Talon (Blue)
DETAILS: Read Quebec
WE'RE MADE OF STORIES
Confabulation, Montreal's original autobiographical storytelling series, is back at the Centaur Theatre with another evening of true stories, shared by the people who lived them! For December, we're going to be exploring the theme Heirlooms. Expect stories of traditions, keepsakes, and people we hold onto -- for better and worse.
Whether you’re a storyteller or a story lover, you’ll appreciate the open hearted tales shared by fellow Montrealers. A reminder that we all have a story to tell.
There's still room for one or two more stories, so submit them here: tellastory@confabulation.ca
WHAT: Confabulation (MTL) presents: Heirlooms
WHERE: Centaur Theatre, 453 Saint-Francois-Xavier, Montreal, H2Y 2T1
WHEN: Saturday, December 8 @ 8 PM
METRO: Place d’Armes (Orange)
DETAILS: Facebook
JINGLE YOUR BELLS
John Cotrocois hosts this festive evening of storytelling, music, and burlesque. Expect an eclectic night of revealing tales told through words, music, and dance! Featuring Sarah Meleika, Johanne Pelletier, PETRO, Malinka Molotov, Jesse Caruso, Shanthony Exum, and Jess Abran.
WHAT: Holiday Tales at The Wiggle Room
WHEN: Sunday, December 9, Show @ 8 PM
WHERE: The Wiggle Room 3874 St. Laurent Blvd., Montreal, H2J 1Y2
METRO: St. Laurent (Green), Sherbrooke (Orange)
DEATAILS: WiggleRoom
COPING THROUGH THE SEASON
Ever wish there was a guide for seasonal depression? Well, now there is. Created by licensed creative arts therapist, and mental health counsellor Bailey Carter, this book was written for all the people experiencing seasonal depression during the winter. Combining research, creative arts therapy, somatic therapy, and self esteem work, you will find exercises that take you through winter in mind, body, and soul.
GET IT HERE:
SLEAZY SZN
It's time to polish your bells and roll around in tinsel! (Just me? Ok.) The third annual Sleazy Christmas party is on deck, and tickets are on sale now!
Co-produced and co-hosted by the Ever-Sleazy Andrew Jamieson and my Classy-Ass self, this year's celebration is inspired by Bill Murray’s 1988 film Scrooged. It’s a journey through the holidays as three ghosts on the verge of giving up try to reach the heart of Scroogey-Jamieson. They're determined to show him the "true meaning" of the holiday, but he's more convinced than ever that it's all about the Benjamins, baby!
This ain't your grandma's Christmas party... unless your grandma is a total badass with a penchant for dark humor and tits. Prepare for an evening of festive debauchery, featuring an all-star multidisciplinary lineup of Abby Stonehouse, Aloe Azimov, Walter J. Lyng, Tara McGowan-Ross, Jessica Bebenek, IF The Poet, Mina Minou, and more!
AND A SPECIAL GUEST APPEARANCE BY THE HOLLY JOLLY ASSHOLE, SANTA CLAUS HIMSELF
We'll provide the cynicism, the satire, you bring your sense of humor and a willingness to embrace the dark side of the holidays. Get your tickets now, because this is one Christmas party you won't want to miss... unless you actually enjoy fruitcake and caroling. In which case, you’re not invited.
THIS EVENT IS A FUNDRAISER
Beyond the spectacle and satire, Sleazy Christmas III serves a deeper purpose. This event is proud to support Forget The Box, Montreal's premier arts magazine dedicated to showcasing and celebrating ground-level, underground, and marginalized art. Forget The Box provides a vital platform for artists whose work challenges conventions, provokes thought, and pushes boundaries. As a non-profit organization currently operating without external funding, Forget The Box relies on community support to continue its mission. By attending Sleazy Christmas III, you directly contribute to the sustainability of this essential publication, ensuring that diverse artistic voices continue to be heard.
WHAT: Andrew Jamieson’s Sleazy Christmas III
WHERE: La Poubelle Magnifique, 1189 Crescent St., Montreal, H3G 2B1
WHEN: Thursday, December 12 @ 8 PM
METRO: Lucien-L'Allier (Orange) & Guy-Concordia (Green)
TICKETS: Showpass
FEATURE FRIDAY
Forget The Box Presents: Feature Fridays - Your Spotlight Awaits!
Calling all Montreal artists! Forget The Box is proud to present "Feature Fridays," a new initiative dedicated to showcasing the incredible talent within our diverse artistic communities.
Every Friday, we'll be featuring a curated selection of local music, comedy, spoken word, and visual art. Our curators are active members of their respective communities, passionate about supporting and amplifying the diverse voices of Montreal's vibrant arts scene. This is your chance to shine and share your work with a wider audience.
How to Get Featured:
It's easy! Simply submit your work through the Forget The Box website. Our curators will review submissions and select artists on a first-come, first-served basis. Visit our Feature Friday section to find the submission forms!
Deadlines:
To be featured on a particular Friday, make sure to submit your work by Wednesday of that week. Any submissions received after Wednesday will be considered for the following Friday.
Ready to share your art with Montreal?! Submit your work today!
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