The Church of Nicolas is now and forever shut down. Actually, I am not even sure whether anyone ever had any fun stepping inside the Church of Nicolas. I mean, it relentlessly preached to whoever had the masochist dedication to show-up all about Nicolas’ self-absorbed and righteous behaviors. Well that doesn’t make it any different from any other churches, does it? Nevertheless, it is freaky, isn’t it? Hey, it just gives you a pretty good idea of what was going on inside my mind for quite a few years, until I chose to excommunicate myself from what was fueling my own spiritual, emotional, and intellectual fucked-upness.
There was a lot of singing during services at the Church of Nicolas. Let’s face it; that made the experience quite entertaining… “Womanizer” by Britney Spears or “Nobody Does It Better” by Carly Simon played on a pipe organ and sung by Nicolas himself literally transported the devotees straight to the Nicolas planetary system, where the two Dysfunctional Moons orbit Planet Bullshit. The reading of the Gospel according to Bonnie Tyler never ceased to enlighten the crowds: “Where have all the good men gone, and where are all the gods? (…) I need a hero. I’m holding out for a hero ’til the end of the night. He’s gotta be strong. And he’s gotta be fast. And he’s gotta be fresh from the fight.” At the Church of Nicolas, followers were highly encouraged to believe that Nicolas was the “He” from the song. See, if delusion could kill, I would have been dead a very long time ago already. Charles and Eddie’s “Would I Lie To You?” was utterly prohibited, because it could irrevocably pervert the mind of the worshipers and mislead them. Who would have wanted that, right? Certainly not me!
John Bradshaw is on target when he writes, “Condemning others as bad or sinful is a way to feel righteous. Such a feeling is a powerful mood alteration and can become highly addictive.” How do I know? Simply because I was what he describes with such eloquence and pertinence. I had decided that I was the sole authority who had the right to judge and chastise all those I deemed bad and sinful, while forgetting in the process how bad and sinful I was myself. Ah… Good old double standard! The prerogative of those who can never get over themselves and whose righteousness distracts them from taking a good look in the mirror.
Until ten months ago, I hated what I saw in the mirror. And it had nothing to do with the occasional white pimple in the middle of the forehead that would bloom during the night, after having eaten way too many almond chocolates. This one, I could squeeze it, clean my mirror, and then forget about it. But since I hated the rest, I systematically elected to dismiss the feeling. At the end of the day, all it takes is to wake-up one morning, look at oneself in the mirror, and have the courage to say that the comedy is over. I could not end it just yet.
For someone like me who utterly despise all religions and don’t believe in God, I woke-up in quite a spiritual way. I ruptured my Achilles tendon while playing tennis. Sitting on the court, holding my injured leg, I saw a ray of light shine down on me and I heard a voice urging me to act immediately. For many years I had disregarded my inner voice, this voice of reason I was way too afraid to acknowledge. But not this time. Unless you are ready, you simply are not ready. And thank “God” (and Nicolas too) I was.