I’m a little crazy.
I pray. I know most people don’t know I am a spiritual
person. But I keep it fairly low key only because I don’t want to shove my
beliefs down your throat. I believe in a higher being that for lack of a better
word I call God. Its not the God that is preached about in the religion I was
raised with, it the one that I have come to find in my life over and over again.
I see this being in the birth of my children, in the power
of my body as a mother; I find this being in the sequences that occur right
before death, in the science that I study everyday.
My gut/intuition/inner voice leads me to this being for
whatever reason and I have no problem listening to it. I am absolutely okay
with the fact that it may turn out that this being is all in my head. For now
it keeps me peaceful, provides me an outlet; and yes carries me in times of
need.
So anyways I pray. Not always in the conventional way like
kneeling before bedtime or in church hands folded and eyes closed. I am a
mother to two boys that on most days run rapidly from one catastrophe to the
next. In my home a kneeling person is usually me searching for the missing item
that my oldest cannot be without. No, I usually have my prayers in my head,
almost always a quick prayer of thanks for these beautiful disaster children.
Even when they are hungry, sleepy, and screaming I find myself listening to
that intuitive feeling saying be grateful that you know how to handle them
while they are hungry, sleepy, and screaming. Be grateful that they only scream
when they are hungry and sleepy. Be grateful. Be kind. Be humble.
But while I was in a dark place in my life I found writing
out my prayers were the easiest way to deal with the emotions I was wrestling
with. I was glad when I read the book Eat.
Pray. Love that someone else was as crazy as I am and also wrote out their
darkest prayers. I was also glad to see that apparently God was writing back to
Elizabeth Gilbert as well as me. This is where my confession comes from.
I was reading back through my prayers and though at the time
I didn’t see the response it was there. Plain as the sun in the sky, a response
was scrawled across the page in my untidy writing. And goose bumps rose on my
skin while tears swam in my eyes.
Forgive.
Holy fuck. After a long prayer written out seeking anything
to make my darkest days turn to light I remember writing it out the last thing
on the page meaning to continue it with something else but stopped. It shook me
to my core to see there on the page the answer I had so desperately needed.
There are probably a good few of you out there thinking, “I
don’t get it, Dani has lost her marbles.” Maybe I have, but something in me
just clicked when I read that word, and it further opened my eyes to the world.
I will never be able to explain the feeling or connection I feel with the rest
of the world. I may never meet another person that physically aches for the
mistakes human kind isn’t learning from. But I will be able to take this
feeling and connection and use it.
I don’t care if this was just me writing, and my
subconscious’ neurons firing madly trying to pull me out of a deep rut for
self-preservation. My heart felt touched and my mind was blank except for the
fact that this was the God I knew, simple, loving, and guiding.
Even for a crazy lady.
