My attraction to The Church has
meandered a bit.
As a youth, it was a curiosity: people go inside of a building to hear words and play music and they call this holy or meaningful or special?
All I knew was the joy of the wind in my hair, the sand under my feet and the natural sense of awe at the setting sun.
As a teenager, it was an anchor: I will cling to the church, its beliefs-rituals-assurances and thus take a moral high ground.
My family, as I had known it, imploded and scattered to the wind.
In my twenties, it didn’t exist: f*ck yoU-there-is-no-god-for-me-but-me-and-I’ll-do-as-I-please-thank-you-not:
I wanted experience, and I wanted it hard and fast – until I didn’t.
In my thirties, it provided useful contrast: I want peace, not promises built on the words of others. What am I? what is knowable and what is unknowable? What is freedom?
Am I coming full circle? Are we as a species coming full circle?