Why I became A “Non”

Gazing lovingly into my spouses eyes, we exchanged promissory vows in front of our family, friends,  also our lesbian wedding officiant. I felt complete and undoubtedly secure in entering this matrimonial journey. Regrettably, the year we took our vows, same-sex marriages were considered illegal and immoral by California State laws.

Check out the Divorce rate in USA.

We married knowing very well that the State we lived in would not recognize our marriage and would definitely not issue a marriage license to us. Yet, with our undying attraction for one another and the fact that we loved the shit out of each other, we were more concerned about our commitment to love, honor and build each other up rather than making other people feel comfortable at our expense.

After marriage, I would lovingly force my family to attend church services and partake in church events.  My spouse came from a Catholic upbringing and I was Pentecostal. It became a little problematic for her when sitting through a sermon and the pastor repeatedly mentions  Jesus and promotes Him as being God’s equal. For my spouse, Jesus was not higher than God so why all emphasis and praises? Trying to root my family the best way I knew how, the first two years of our marriage I became a stickler for praying in the morning time, bedtime and all the time.

The cracking of my  early-layered indoctrinations started when I learned about secret societies such as the Illuminati, The North Star, Skull and Bones and various conspiracy theories. I spent innumarable nights researching and reading library books on Freemasons and other related topics. YouTube seemed to have barrels of videos accusing  every rich, successful celebrity to be a devil worshiper who sold their souls in exchange for wealth and fame. I started seeing triangles and symbolisms everywhere and so my heart would palpitate as a result of fear. Paranoia set in at the likeliness of The Rapture being around the corner and how “they” were coming to take my bible away and implant microchips in order to control and lead me away from my Jesus Christ. In order for me to understand Christianity I had to learn Catholicism and pageantry. The translations of scriptural text became important and equally intriguing . How will I ever be able to read Hebrew or Aramaic? It finally registered that I had been taught a bootleg version of bible scriptures and possibly the entire God of Abraham religion.  

I recognized that most of my judgements and opinion on things were steered by fear and the promise of living eternally joyful in a far away  galactic place.  As an adult woman who reads the bible, I noticed its  insetiable obsession with a woman’s purity and virginity–that was disconcerting to me. But of course, with the bible encouraging  men to always seek young, pure, untouched girls, this explained why most religious men are insensitive and intolerant to “feminism.”  Indeed it was God himself who impregnated  an underage girl without her consent and convinced her that she would  be carrying the most important embryo in history–kinda like that time a grown man tried to tell me at the tender age of 14 that him penetrating me would bring us closer and would expedite my womanhood.

Thousands of questions flooded my head in frustration. Sleepless nights turned into sleepless months of exasperation, confusion and uncertainty.  Being female, black and gay gave me a taste of what discrimination and being considered a fourth class citizen was like. I knew  I was not a bad human being. I knew I had zero intentions of destroying or causing harm to the human race yet, according to scripture,  I may not even make it to heaven.

Something had to give, but I just could not let go of God still. I started researching the bible because I realized that I had never read the bible in its entirety though the first twenty years of my life were devoted to going to church. I had attended church but never retained or even learned scripture. I started to read the bible story by story and not just the ever popular, cherry picked, regurgitated scriptures. 

Thanks to the internet, I could research each bible story online in layman’s simple language. It was at this juncture that my brain switched and started questioning everything I had ever been taught.

Netflix’s science documentaries and the History channel opened up a new world of demonstrable scientific facts. At this point there was no coming back to my old views, my mind had been opened, Pandora’s box had been pried opened.  My religious friends thought they could scare me by saying: ” Wouldn’t you rather live and praise God now and find out he doesn’t exist rather than to die and find out he does exist? “

It become increasingly clear that my moral standards and respect of human life far exceeded what God had displayed in scripture. I found out that I was morally superior to religious deities. 

When I started to identify  as a non-believer, it felt like a heavy burden had been removed from my shoulders. I have found peace and clarity by living an authentic lifestyle and living for me–not live in fear and the hope that I’ll get a cushiony seat in heaven. I choose to live in the now, be a decent and useful individual in my community and the world at large. I’m excited about the future and no longer fear the “end times.”

What this has done for me is relearning the ability to understand fully what human rights are and often times make solid secular decisions and opinions. I am a proud and happy NON-beliver, NON-conformist and Non-O-Ya-Damn business. I have never been more at peace with myself.

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Started a Business 

Nide Z Stannard 
started a business 

overwhelmed, overspending, no result 

no credentials in this field 

I have to do it

I have to try.

Many nights juicing social media sites 

meta tags, keywords, rss syndication

i’m out of my element 

disconnects computer, I need air.

  

Old addictions – Computer Solitaire

 

 

It all began with an interest in the MS DOS computer system. It was my mother who would hold my hand and take me to her place of employment and introduced me to a computer. The concept of computers went over my head and even as a younger child back then I knew my patience for them would defeat me. That intimidated me. Familiarity to a computer system for me began with my acquaintance of computer games. Though I no longer remember my favorite game from back then I do remember it as being a trivia game on history, politics and just things I knew I had to be an adult to understand. Fast forward to the mid nineties. The Windows software was mind blowing and so much easier to catch on but most importantly it had this wonderful computer game named Solitaire.

My initial introduction to computers Solitaire had to have been in the eighth grade in Butterworth South Africa; one of two schools in town. A school where most ‘firsts’ began. A gorgeous school with  well-kept landscaping  with a school pool that glistened– blinding our eyes. A  multiracial school with teachers who understood their purpose and could not wait to liven our juvenile minds. My school kept us busy with sports varieties like field hockey and tennis, netball and rugby, swimming and choir. Once a week we had a library period to either pick up books but most times we watched international–mostly American–classic movies. I am surprised I retained some memory of the Lucy episodes among the many while all we would do is giggle and pass notes around instead of paying attention to the movie. The school librarian, who fits the stereotypical definition of a librarian, everything but the young sexy. She made it no secret when she was displeased with our fidgeting and chit chatter. Every Tuesday after school we also had a life skills class where girls could learn non-gender bias Life kills that included the identification engine parts and woodwork. The first time I realized a girl can be what she wants in life was when they allowed girls to do woodwork. For a school that was in a town small with no movie theater it was my school teachers who took us to the movies and the  very first movie I saw on a big screen was Titanic. School buses lined up to take us to sports events town to town.

 ‘Seize The Day’ a motto this great school desperately tried to  instill in me and each student. My first understanding of what it felt to be patriotic has definitely pointed me in the direction of worthy people are worthy of my loyalty on or not.

 

 

 

Of course in my childhood days  Butterworth felt majestic.

 

 

 

11:23pm

I am on my cellphone playing what seems to be a game from a time so far away. I do once in a while download a game on my fancy phone and play it tireless resulting lose interest.  Solitaire has however been my secretly the one I go to bed with. captured me from the get go and here we are thwenty years later we have found each other again.

Nina Simone has defined freedom as “To have no fear”. As deep and intense as this may be, I was actually flawed by my hersband’s response.

Nina Simone’s definition of “Freedom” is weak and a common thought by many people…I do not agree with her at all. I will go as far as to say that she and those who believe that freedom means “to have no fear” are completely wrong and misled. Freedom is a mental, spiritual, and physical state of independence self-assurance that is lived without having to think about or ask “what is the definition of freedom?” If a person has to ponder the definition of freedom then they are not free. You need to have some fear to maintain your “freedom.” -Shannon Stannard

In my early thirties, I have been able to be friends with women more astute, more wise and more worldly resulting in this wealth of knowledge that with hearing their experiences gives me confidence that I too could make it through this life journey. The dynamics of their circumstances has this magical turn that is clear to see that they are all beautiful different yet uncannily similar.

As you can see, I take my Solitaire very seriously.

 

Maybe it is a Generation X thing.  I play solitaire because it is such a comfort game and my heart doesn’t palpitate when I play it. It does not rush me but it holds me accountable by moves. as a comfort space when I find my self in a state of confusion.

 

1:38am

My best score in twenty something years is still one hundred and thirteen and only at this hour now I am now have finding out the real way to play it. It’s not about the less moves it takes to complete but if you can complete it in thirty seconds or less…how did I miss that?

Ten Different types of people 

Nide Z Stannard

July 20th, 2015

ones who maintain the vehicle check-engine light immediately; ones that will drive that vehicle to the ground  serving any malfunction

ones who hate the sin but not the sinner; ones who hate the belief and not the believer

ones are square or round; the ones who are round and square

the aware and the not-so-aware the orange-juice carton has been depleted…three days to be exact

ones who sleep; the ones who no longer know the meaning.

 

 

In a box suffocating  and surprisingly loving it.

Nide Z. Stannard    

July 20, 2015 

My intention–also my New Year ‘s resolution– was to blog weekly for the entire year. Three months in, sadly, I really got bored and uninspired. My blog topics seemed heavily encompassed by my own personal opinions and perceptions, that started to bore me. I value my opinions of course  but I would rather write content that is thoroughly researched even if it’s presented as fictional.  I journal daily and have gathered various material however, with all this material I have, I can’t seem to commit to a medium I’m comfortable with.

History, a lack-luster subject to me in high school and college, made an unforeseen return and I have found a new appreciation of it as an adult. Every story should have a little historical truth to it, at least I think so. It has also been a struggle to delve deep within me and release the inner writer.

 Aware of the insecurities that bullied me, I constructed a plan to avoid any and all desires to start my “book” project. I acquired new skills and knowledge in photography and animation, illustrated some artwork, painted, attempted to draw and even tried a new outlook on life. Yet every night, when I place that final period at the end of my journal entry, I feel unfulfilled. I feel stuck, yet the insistent desire burrowing my “soul” whispers sweetly: “You can do it Nide!”  I believe that sweet fucker too!