We all need something to believe in.
photo by Mo
We’re born into the chaos of humanity, taught that we need to believe in something and understand everything.
Experts in all white perfectly cleaned lab coats and telescopes
tell us of systems and natural phenomena
in fragments, trials, case studies, and findings,
so we can trust that we're enlightened,
our entire existence is sensible,
the planet explainable,
and the proof, easily replicable.
But a qualitative analysis and supported hypothesis
will never make us feel whole or complete on their own.
We are spiritual beings and metaphysical poets.
From the beginning of consciousness,
we were meant to grapple with our humanity
and the inexplicable limitlessness of our universe.
lost.
During my childhood, everything was told to me as fact.
God was introduced as a white man with a humble son
who wielded an unruly power over everything.
At some point, the organized belief became unorganized
and the rope that holds all things together began to fray at the ends
unraveling all the doubts and questions
and time-specific historical gaps.
I stumbled around the church
spilling holy wine all over my clothes
and all of a sudden felt allergic to the bread
as I'd move through the motions:
call and response,
bow to stand,
kneel to sit,
sit to stand,
chant and repeat,
for hours on end.
Skepticism filtered through my organs
and it became indigestible.
At night, when I was fast asleep, my ancestors
marked their territory in my mind as I dreamed vividly…
In the scorching hot sand, my bare feet burning,
I brushed my fingertips along dust-covered walls
where remnants of ancient spirits
whispered stories into my ears
of afterlives and cosmic alignment,
telling me of the specific points in history
when the sun and moon intersected
and light reflected to reveal
a fateful cosmic event
no conscious mind could comprehend.
I woke up with my eyes wide open.
found.
There are stories in dirt and sand
inscribed by my ancestors and mapped into my DNA,
as intangible and illusionary as the sunset,
infused deep in my bones and inherited muscle memory.
Sometimes I feel like spirituality is a distant memory,
a song that's repeated itself for a million years, and now,
sounds distorted through a busted speaker in my mind.
But still, I can hear it
as faint pieces of melody,
an accumulation of elements
kissed by the sun, which holds
the memory of infinite galaxies
that grew the plants that fed
my grandmothers
thousands of years before.
faith.
Prayer is more than a story we tell with our minds–
more than a plea or recitation…
It flows through our body,
in and then out,
with the ease of our breath,
like the way we experience a gust of wind,
it effortlessly moves through us
beyond words and feelings
and dissipates into the air.
Pressed between two palms
is the intention of our existence
the energy of all the elements
the stories of all our ancestors.
I meditate on my purpose
every morning
and my fate
in the evening
and I go to bed at night
trusting in something
resembling
spirit.
