This morning I was a zombie. I had one of those moments in which I was completely blotto upstairs… mindless… not a thought in my head, but sleep.
I went to church on account I committed myself to doing so. Not because I particularly wanted to, but set in mind Sunday to go to the old church which is only limited to a few times of worship. It stands next to the more modern place of worship.
I’m strange when it comes to ritual. When I want to go to church it’s largely because I feel a need to spiritually. I look for inspiration in surmons and passages, but to me, it’s largely about the surroundings. If I’m going to be moved spiritually, I look to the structure, the wood of pews, the stained glass windows, the carvings, the marble- the aura.
I blame my English heritage for the desire to attend Gothic Cathedrals- places bound by historical tradition and have had a feeling of centuries of worship. I can’t really describe it, in any word except maybe “vibe”. Modern places must have a charasmatic leader- someone with passion about his/her faith and one who can convey that to their subjects. My enlightenment comes in the form of atmosphere which of course includes the people. For the modern church, that comes in the leader.
When I sat there listening, I thought about routine. I watched the practiced rituals, as I have done every Sunday I attend Mass. It’s a Catholic church, and I’m not Catholic. I thought to myself, many of these people may be here simply out of routine and not for a want to be there. I know people who find the routine of going to church more a hinderance than a desire. It’s not that they’re not passionate about their faith, but they’ve been “trained” into a routine which resembles the likes of a job and as any job becomes a job- people get lax. They don’t dress up, they think of other things they could be doing, they’re there physically, but not mentally.
When I make a commitment, I follow through. This morning was an example. I didn’t feel I should be there, but because it was an old church with the right aura (I’d gone there earlier in the week and felt it), I’d give it a chance today. As a result, I felt isolated, surrounded by the historical feeling, but not grouped with people of my own religion. I know it’s odd because I haven’t practiced my religion since I was a boy, but perhaps I’ve reached a point of exploration.
My father spent much of his adult life travelling. He spent probably the equivent to years in Asia and the Far East. To me, he’d always had a more spiritual presence, perhaps spread to him with in these areas he spent so much time. Like anyone who’s in a foreign environment, one tends to adapt to the ways of that country in more means that one. With that in mind, you might say that sense of spirituality came to me as a result. It’s as if I feel I’m only a small part of a much larger picture or wholality. Frankly, I could reason this or that, but I’m perfectly fine, happy and comfortable with my existance. I believe there should be places of worship and places to seek shelter to feel emotions and be guided however that may be. My opinion comes strongly with the urge that guides us there, whether it be from the hand of God, routine, or ritual- there’s a place where we find in ourselves to be one with the energies of the universe. Where ever that may be, when ever that may come, or what ever form it takes- it starts inside. Belief comes beneath the surface and blossoms with how it’s utilized. It’s there and shows itself when it needs and can show itself in the most unlikely places.
Writing is my solitude and my place to be one with the universe. I like to think it’s the reason I’ve come into existance, but what ever and where ever that path leads will always give me peace. I know from the depths inside, I’m a wheel and for this, I’ll always be thankful.