i write to believe.

Morning conversations with Adi about yesterday's Intercessory gathering allows me to breathe and affirm the spiritual movements happening in my life as of late.   I'm telling myself to succumb to this.  I have long resisted going in depth into writing about my spiritual experiences because it feels like it does not "cater" to a majority.  I didn't want my writing to just be perceived as a religious effort at conversion.  No.  This is not what it is about.   It is about walking a path that I have stumbled upon in the middle of life's complexities and how this path, the path of faith and the writing craft (art) has been helping me come to terms with everyday challenges and difficulties.  And so I continue and discover that as I capture the words the emerge inside my mind, I am actually unraveling a mystery. We were late for the gathering but it seemed as if we arrived on time for the actual intercession and prayer. They asked me if I can play some son...

In all my dealings with pain I should find myself more comfortable with it but no. I don’t. I should find myself more enthused at this opportunity to find cosmos in chaos but I am not. No. Not when the wounds are those I thought have already healed. The wounds lying so vulnerably in the shadows unattended. The wounds of my Mother and Father. Just thinking about them makes me stumped. I am lost in my own musings and trying to make sense why whenever the issues of their marriage come up, they somehow find a way to make me the issue. How far is this moment from the healing I thought I was already experiencing while dealing with Mom’s cancer diagnosis? I feel very alone today. Absent of all solace save for a small image of Padre Pio and a wooden Benedictine cross clutched tightly while I slept through the night and throughout the whole morning because I didn’t want to go out of my room and face even more discomfort. What makes parents not see their own actions and how they have pain...