Puzzled…?

Well, there is a lot to be puzzled about with Ian, but one thing is fairly obvious. It’s not a great idea to try and fit Ian into any one specific box

warning

lots of words

Don’t try reading this if you’re in a hurry…

BornTwice?

Now that is a puzzle that would be difficult to put in a box

At the very beginning of Ian’s recovery from the 2011 KaBoom incident, his Psychotherapist commented/observed that when he experienced being 'born again' at the age of 4, he had hardly finished being born the first time - IE., Ian was still a baby (a state which Ian often re-enters as an adult when he becomes distressed)

This article/reflection was written in 2013 during Ian’s recovery process from KaBoom.

I'm becoming ever more aware, that the phrase I often use to describe my early life - "I led a double life", not only describes a conscious 'secretiveness' in the form of hiding different types of behaviour from various people, but also may describe a deeper sub-conscious psychological split within me. 

Q: If you've been born twice… does that make 2 people?

The 'normal' term used within the Evangelical, Reformed, Protestant, Christian, Judeo 'tradition' is of course not born twice…, but Born Again. The 'old' self, 'dies' and you are re-born as a new person. Not in a physical sense, since you still have the same body, but in a spiritual sense, you now have a clean slate, before God. You've been made anew through the redeeming work of his son Jesus - that redemption having been achieved through Jesus 'unjustified' death on a cross. 

As a member of the human race who in God's 'eyes' are all tainted by 'original sin', you have been condemned to death - which not only covers death of the physical body, but also seems to involve a spiritual 'death' taking the form of eternal separation from God… Rather unpleasantly, not only are you separated from God who lives in rather a nice place, but the place that you'll eternally continue to live or die (which ever one it is?) will continually burn you and comes with the tormenting twist of being aware of what a nice time all the redeemed people are having with their loving kind-hearted heavenly father - God.

Without an autopsy having been performed we can assume Jesus death occurred from a combination of asphyxiation and blood loss - although, the cause of his death seems to be less important/relevant because the method of death - i.e., his public execution was apparently witnessed by many people. 

Greater emphasis seems to be placed upon the reason(s) for his death. In human terms, it would appear to have occurred because he seems to have 'pissed off' a lot of people in authority - as a result of unjustified and false allegations, a clandestine, semi-legal process took place, which in today's terms would probably be considered a miscarriage of justice - there might even be calls for a public enquiry.

However, in the greater scheme of things, most of those details don't seem terribly important, because there was a 'higher' plan in operation. God had figured out a kind-hearted plan to redeem some/all of his little creatures who had got contaminated by the toxic effects of sin. Sin doesn't seem to be a substance, like crude oil or a pesticide, sin is 'simply' disobeying God and the rules he made up. Apparently the only creatures who had got contaminated were humans… the other creatures didn't seem to matter so much, no matter what bad things they did. Kittens, cats, rabbits, lambs, hamsters, birds, turkeys, couldn't really disobey because they don't really understand God's rules. 

Anyhow, God didn't need to condemn the other creatures, but here's where the justified/unjustified thing gets a bit confusing… I think it must be because we're mistaken about the whole "you're innocent until you're proved guilty" idea, because God seems to be pretty sure that we're all guilty - even before we get born once and have the chance to do any disobeying, mmmm? …but lets not worry about that, God's smarter than us, and I'm sure he knows what he's doing.

So, he figures out a plan to get some of his little creatures redeemed - some of the human ones - 'redeemed' is like being decontaminated. He reckoned the best way was to wash the creatures using blood, but he needed 'good' blood. He had already tried goats, sheep, pigeon and bulls blood, but that hadn't worked very well. Rumour has it that he started off trying to use human blood, but I think that's just crazy talk, because who would try to decontaminate a small creature with it's own contaminated blood? That would just be nuts! …then it dawned on him... "my son always does what I say - and doesn't ever disobey me - so he's perfect and not contaminated, and not condemned."

That's a perfect solution - I could use my son's blood to decontaminate some of my small creatures - especially some of the cute ones - some of the ones I really like. …Now, I don't think we're talking blood transfusion here… lot of blood needed and with the justified/unjustified perfection thing, I think he's going to have to die. Sadface :-( ...but then I could just decide to make him alive again… because I'm God - and not just any 'god', but I'm 'GOD', the GoodGOD and kind-hearted Father.

Mmmmm? It could all be very unpleasant and messy, so what if I organise to get the lad done in - down there? On earth? By some of the creatures I don't like? They're condemned anyway and they might as well be hung for a sheep as lamb… or is it the other way round in this case! HaHaHa! :-)

Anyhow… you know the rest of the story, angels, star in the east, virgin birth, (mmmm?) wise men… then John the Baptist, dove from on high, beloved son, (in whom I am well pleased?) miracles, disciples, blessed are the cheesemakers, 5 loaves, 2 small fish, (no Tesco), meets Nick O'Demus, (from Cork?) throws bankers out of the temple, has a big supper, gets kissed in a garden, (by a bloke) gets arrested, (people don't like blokes kissing in gardens) while in custody 'falls' over and gets a few cuts and bruises, goes to court, (denied legal-aid) gets stitched up by the fuzz, judge nobbled, …100 hours community service…? No way… it's crucify the bastard! …and does his Da stand up for him…? Does his Da appeal on his behalf? Does his Da mount a campaign? Does he F**k?

Right… well, anyway, problem solved… plenty of blood to go around - enough for everyone (at least enough for the chosen ones!) 

…and so it makes perfect sense …perfect sense for a 4 year old to get in there early, before anyone changes their mind and just decides to condemn everyone and not redeem anybody. It makes perfect sense to get washed in the blood of the lamb as quickly as possible, so you won't have to die and go to hell… at least I didn't actually have to get into a bath full of blood, that would have been very yucky and a bit scary to be honest. I don't think it stops me from dying, but I think that dying mightn't be too bad because you get to go to heaven and it seems to be a really nice place with lots of friends and things to play with and its all free… so long as Jesus' heart was broken and I'm covered in his blood and I've asked him to come into my heart… it's all free.

Perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect sense… and so as a 4 year old boy - Ian… that's William Ian Fleming, who lived in Trinity Presbyterian Church Manse, Ahoghill, near Ballymena where he was born for the first time, got born again by kneeling down with his father on a Sunday afternoon after Sunday lunch and praying that Jesus would save Ian from his sins and that Jesus would come into his heart to live, to help Ian to be a good boy and not do any more sinning. 

Ian can still remember the slightly harsh ridges of the grey flecked fabric which covered the couch at which he kneeled with his father. The course weave of the upholstery fabric would leave a ridged line impression on your skin when you pressed your arms or legs into it. The body weight of a small 4 year old wouldn't create enough pressure to leave the marks; it needed added tension, pressure and force for the marks to appear on your skin. When you lifted your arms the indentation and slight redness of the lines would usually disappear within a few seconds. Very different from the slap marks on your hands, legs or rear-end, they were much redder and took much longer to fade… if your senses are keen enough you can still see and feel their impact 50 years later.

At this time in my life my sense of smell is very poor, but… at that time when I was in Ahoghill, aged 4 even my sense of smell was switched up full … that couch gave up it's secrets, molecules and atoms trapped within the fibres of it's warp and weft… traces of substances wiped away, sponged and brushed off. Traces of vomit, orange juice, blood, urine, strawberry jam, sweat, chocolate, the deoxyribonucleic acid of being human - being reprocessed by the digestive enzymes of 'dermatophagoides pteronyssinus' - dust mites consuming, defecating and reproducing during their short life cycle - little creatures unaware of any condemnation. Life seems short to us, but dust mites have a life span of between 2 and 10 weeks - not much time to remove the traces of strawberry jam or blood or anything else from the couch.

I've tried to describe to others the 'qualities' of that couch, but my grasp on the English language has been insufficient. I've explained its multiple purposes, its dimensions, its structure and material properties, but understanding its significance has eluded those who've heard my description. How can another understand the significance of someone else's birthplace…? It was on that couch that I was born for a second time… of course my body remained the same, my feet, legs and knees were on the floor, but that patch of carpet didn't seem to gain the same significance. My chest and my heart and my head were on the couch… it was those parts of me in which the new birth took place… it was in my heart that Jesus, the saviour, the son of God came to live… he was in there now, in my heart, the heart that was in my chest that was touching the couch. So that's it, the point, the co-ordinate, that point on that couch was 0:0:0:0.

The beginning, 0.00 in time, at that second in time I was born again - that was really my 'proper' birthday - strange that I don't have a birth certificate to consult to check the date - I don't know the date - sometime during 1965 according to the Gregorian calendar we currently refer to. At least at that time I was sure that my name had been written in the Lamb's Book of Life, in Heaven, there was a book, with a page, with my name on it, William Ian Fleming. I'm sure some time record was entered using whatever recording system they use. I'm sure it equates to our records of the earth rotating around the sun and the angle of it's tilt causing seasons that we record as years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds, and the periods of lightness and darkness we experience as night and day.

Yes - zero in time, but also zero in X, zero in Y and zero in Z according to the popularly used Cartesian co-ordinate system we use - that couch was 0:0:0:0 the centre of the new universe that Born Again Ian would now have to learn to acclimatise to… and the atlas and instruction book given to us by God would tell me exactly how to do that - the Bible. That very morning, my Sunday School Teacher's Bible stories had opened my eyes to see my need to be washed in the blood of the lamb. If my hazy recollections can be trusted, the teacher illustrated stories of how in the Old Testament Abraham had proved his faith in God by taking his beloved son up Mount Moriah and building an altar, then tying his child Isaac up, placing him on the altar and being ready to sacrifice him by plunging a big knife into him. 

Isaac's life got spared when God stopped Abraham and then God provided a sheep to sacrifice instead. Apparently this was exactly the same as God has done for us, except he actually did have his son killed so we could get washed in his blood - and then we would be saved from sin. Sunday School was better than church, because it was only for children and we got to see pictures as well. Each week the Sunday School Teacher would tell different Bible stories and she would put lovely colourful drawings and pictures onto a board that was on a wooden easel. The board had 2 sides, one was a blackboard on which she would write Bible verses for us to learn - that was a nightmare for me, but the other side was covered with green felt material and the pictures she had were covered with felt on the back and so they stuck on the board. As the story unfolded, she would put up and take down pictures relevant to the story.

Sometimes the pictures fell off the board, but if all the dust mites in the world were inside my head chomping away they couldn't remove the traces in my memory of the pictures with Isaac tied up on top of the stone altar and beside him his Father with a big knife raised up ready to kill him… They couldn't remove the memory or the smell of urine from the cushions on the couch… some of the urine came out of me and some of it came out of the kittens that had I tried to hide inside our house. I hid newly born kittens behind the couch, behind curtains, in the cupboard under the stairs, but on most occasions they were unceremoniously returned to the loft of the stone outbuildings. My fears for them were real, and over the years I learned that the Tomcats from the village would come around and would kill the offspring of other rival males. Many questions were left unanswered, but no amount of chomping dust mites could remove the knowledge of these male cats killing kittens and the sound of kittens meowing.

The couch didn't come with an instruction manual or atlas, but since it was simple, it probably didn't need one. What was most fascinating about it was how the 2 backrest panels could be removed and then the couch could be lengthened by inserting their wooden frames into holes on the sides of the couch and it could be doubled in length, effectively changing it's function to become a single bed. The end extensions could either be flat or angled slightly upwards like a pillow depending upon how the wooden frames were inserted. When used as backrests they were angled backwards, due to the angled construction of the wooden frame. By rotating the frames 180 degrees prior to insertion in the side holes the frames could be either flat or angled. 

The winning 'variable' in the construction was that the cushions easily slipped off the frames to facilitate a 180 degree rotation and then the cushions would slip back over the frames as required. My favourite was it's single bed function, because I recall with pleasure occasions when during illness I lay on the couch, aware of the ridged lines forming on the side of my face, but feeling an ecstasy of belonging. As I lay dozing, I could hear domestic sounds of pots, pans, plates, knives and forks colliding, being set down, stirred, scraped and those sounds mingled with water pouring, cupboards opening, drawers closing. I was at 0:0:0:0, I wasn't the centre of attention, but I felt peaceful, Jesus was in my heart, the dust mites didn't cause any allergic reactions and because I was laying still and not moving, the radio signals quietly beamed their messages about the outside the world without much static or distortion.

On that Sunday afternoon my Father calmly led his offspring through the spiritual realms into the promised land… guiding my prayers and wiping away my tears. This was the fulfilment of promises kept - through the 'sign' of my Baptism as an infant my parents had made covenant promises with God, and now at this point in time, since my Father had kept his side of the bargain, God was keeping his promises… I can't be sure of the exact form of words, which I repeated after my Father as he prompted me, but they would have roughly followed this pattern:  Dear Heavenly Father, I know I'm a sinner and I have disobeyed you, I'm sorry for my sins and now I want to ask for your forgiveness and to invite the Lord Jesus into my heart to stay, and to have all my sins washed away in the blood of the Lamb. In Jesus name. Amen.

Now I was saved, Born Again, my sins had been forgiven, if I died I would go to Heaven and be with God. I would still have to eat cabbage, cauliflower, turnip, potatoes and all the other food on my plate. I couldn't leave anything on my plate because there were other people in the world who didn't have enough food to eat. When I was 4, I'm not sure if I was aware whether that was one of the rules that my Heavenly Father had made up or if it was one or the rules my earthly Father had made up, but in practice there would have been no difference, I would still have been sitting at the table for 2 or 3 hours until my plate had been cleared. I don't remember if there had been any tears during Sunday lunch on the day I got born again, I'm not sure if I had to swallow cabbage or cauliflower that day. However, I do know that it was several decades before my taste buds and olfactory senses began to accept either the flavour or scent of those vegetable choices.

note from Ian

I’m really aware that my ideas are not shared by lots of other people… I know that some will find those ideas to be ‘irreverent’ and perhaps even to be ‘offensive’. I do mean to challenge the way we all think - but I really don’t want to give offence. I respect that there are 8 billion ways to BeHuman, and that mine is only one way.

I’ve been deeply impacted by growing up in an intolerant society that had drifted into communal violence, with daily tit-for-tat murders - where bombing and maiming was an every day occurrence for 30yrs.

That negatively impacted my well-being and so I’m driven by my life hashtags #WellBeingForEVERYone #WageAWarAgainstViolence and #ObstructTheAbuseOfPower. I ask your forgiveness if my childish enthusiasm is a bit much…