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I have spent a lifetime in partnership with atheists, those who don’t believe and some who thought very little of those who do believe. Believe in what? Well, I could answer simply with the word – God – but that would not define the believers I know. Yes, some call their faith religious, and some call their creator God, but most of the people I surround myself with these days believe in spiritual connections, believe in mystery and majesty far greater than our conception, and they believe that we – human beings – are not at the center of this diorama, but instead we are only one part of a vast network of interfaces between a world so grand it is incomprehensible and a world so tiny and two-dimensional we often seek bandaids to cover our wounds.

A healer recently told me that my mother weighs heavy on my soul and that I needed to address her. Really? My mother? I thought I had opened that can of worms a long time ago and stared deep down into the abyss and I do believe I have come away more loving a daughter for having peered into her darkness. So why is she weighing me down? Well it could be a number of things – perhaps she wants to tell me not to worry, perhaps she wants to tell me to love myself more, perhaps she wants to say that I’m not a bad mother myself, or perhaps she wants me to write HER story, when I’m effectively writing my own.

I woke this morning hugging myself. I did it on purpose, not because I suddenly found myself in a half Nelson on waking. I hugged myself because another healer told me to do that, she said you need hugs and if you are not getting them from other people, then hug yourself. And so I did. I tell myself “I love you, Rachel” when my mind starts having some nasty conversations about what if and other parts of my narrative that simply cannot be changed. Every day, in every way, I am showing my belly to the world – I’m saying yes, here I am, vulnerable, and open. You could grab my belly meat and pinch hard or you could hug me, I’m going to roll with it either way, because my faith in my ability to withstand life – while remaining open to living – is unshaken.

This has not come from some rational accounting of what was and what will be, this has come from an audit – a spiritual one – where I strung together beads that were building blocks of my life – the thread is time, the beads were experiences, and strung together in a necklace they represent a bold piece of jewelry that is unquestionably gorgeous and magnificent and yes, remarkable. Parts of it are bullet proof and parts are soft like the flesh of my belly. Though you’d have to know me deep and dirty to know which is which.

I learned recently that Ta-Nehisi Coates is an atheist – something I guess I could have concluded myself by his mind, which is so lovely and versatile and strong. That was always my attraction – the mind – I leaned into brilliance whenever it flaunted itself in front of me. I was a sponge, a sucker, a vessel wanting to be filled by knowledge. And now I no longer crave that same platter. My soul cries out for kindness, for love, for hugs, for gentle evenings of hand holding and soft moonlights of awe. I am no longer hungry for what I might know, but instead am thirsty for those who make my heart purr.

My stream of consciousness uses a vocabulary of luck, the number 4, exits and entrances, I’ve passed through here with you before, and rungs on the spiral. I read tarot, I read Black Angel cards, I wish upon stars that I see outside my bedroom window at night, I give thanks when I wake up that I have all my toes, my fingers, my eyes, ears, and nose. I have a magic vibration inside. I’m a believer. Lady Luck favors the prepared.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 14th, 2015 at 3:24 pm and is filed under Main. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.