Spiritual suckitude.

Here’s my problem with trying to be a spiritual person. I’m not very good at it. Because for one thing, I have a full time job. In advertising. And they want me to work pretty much all the time coming up with clever ways to get people to buy more stuff. Stuff which takes time to buy and arrange and maintain. Which along with their regular jobs, probably leaves these unnamed people I do advertising to attract very little time to be spiritual either. So not only am I bad at being spiritual, I’m a un-spiritual pusher.

When I read (on the train sometimes on the way to work) and I find myself with yet another spiritual journey sort of book in my hands, I am always drawn in to the world the author is portraying–having a prayer rise in your throat as you watch a diligent bird make her nest, finding transcendence in the silence of a room full of monks face down on a cement floor, discovering the holy beauty of baking bread before dawn then sharing it with the homeless at a local soup kitchen–and it also pisses me off royally. When do these spiritual seeking/finding people work? And if they don’t work, don’t they have bills to pay? Don’t they have kids who need to get to play practice or need to be watched at their softball games or band concerts, don’t they have loads of laundry staring at them with contempt in the basement?

And I resent the hell out of them.

Which isn’t very spiritual of me, is it?