Rapture vs. rupture

 

"Everything in the universe is within you. Ask all from yourself" — Rumi

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What do you feel when you see religious images? For me, they are somewhat fascinating. The work of skilled human hands, attempting to capture the heavenly look of a deity. Often, these figures also represent regular people, whose faith took them on a miraculous path and immortalized their stories. The details that delight me the most are the eyes, the faces. Despite being carved in stone or wood, they are almost always full of life, of emotion, there for you to interpret.

Six days until the end of this year, and another cycle will begin. These past days, I've felt the world shifting, things slowly falling into place. Maybe soon I will be able to fully breathe. I started this journey two months ago, and I can barely recognize now the state I was in then. That's how far I've come. From here, I can look at the zillion miles ahead of me with hope and childish excitement. With love, too. Whatever happens, I'll face it, head-first. Wearing my heart on my sleeve and with my essence intact. Axe, sword, and shield never far from reach.

This past week, everything around me seemed to be on hold, waiting for my moves to unfold. Today, I'd like to tell you about a specific experience I wouldn't have had if I hadn't opened the door for it. You see, as I've mentioned before, my mother wasn't a very religious person when I was a kid. Something changed along the way, and now she is, and she's very insistent on bringing everyone to her world. Regardless of their views and likes. My mother had asked me to go to the church with her on Christmas Eve's dawn. She did it in front of my littlest brother, whom I absolutely adore and would do anything for, and so I had no choice but to say yes.

I guess I could have said no if I really wasn't comfortable with the idea, but I looked into my brother's eyes, innocent and full of expectation, and something inspired me to accept. I have to admit I was a bit worried about stepping into the building and being struck by lighting right then and there, an event that wouldn't exactly please my loved ones and certainly not myself, but it didn't happen. I entered a church for the first time in years, holding my brother's hand. As I did, I uttered some words to myself. To the universe. A wish.

Holding that thought, I walked the aisle. Interesting, huh? We, my little brother and I, sat on the front, to the right of the altar, in the third bench row. Both my mother and my 15 y/o brother went about their business as we waited for the mass to begin. I was a little restless and uncomfortable. For some reason, when I see people at church, I can't help but wonder if they are good people or not, and it makes me wary. Little brother noticed my mood and held my hand really tight. I leaned down and whispered to him that I would sit and observe during the entire ceremony and that he shouldn't be surprised or upset by it. Sometimes he can be very religious, as he is on his own path of self-discovery, and I wanted to give him a heads-up. He nodded in agreement, and we remained in silence.
 

 
Minutes later, the choir began to sing. You see, in our Latin culture, religious gatherings aren't exactly orthodox. Most devotees don't notice it, but the rituals often encompass an interesting array of elements, borrowed from other cultures, that could be considered as heathenish. Still, they are a normalized part of the ceremonies and no one gives the matter much thought. This pagan intrusion is particularly discernible in the traditional Christmas carols, our Venezuelan songs, and I'll explain to you why.

Whilst the lyrics of the songs speak of a European, catholic God (thy loving kingdom, and thy terrible hand), the rhythms sound like Africa. The words, they say nothing to me. But the beating of the drums, on the other hand, rumbles loudly inside of me, pulls my strings, and makes me want to dance. When I hear the drums, I think about the Calendas, the Bamboula, a timeless heritage I can't negate and a call I do listen to. By that moment, I was feeling in some kind of trance, as if being there was something I should pay the utmost attention to and cherish the memory forever.
 

 
After a while, I noticed a girl that appeared to be one of the leading voices of the choir. She looked about my age, maybe younger. Her semblance, roughened by life. A couple of tattoos here and there, a heavy frown, and a crouched posture denoted some troubles. But when she started to sing, her appearance transformed into something entirely different. She looked so focused on hitting the right notes, and she seemed to be enjoying the effort of her vocal cords. She was happy, right then, doing what she loves. That's the sense I got from watching her, and it was an amazing view.

At the same time, since the ceremony hadn't started yet, I began to observe the worshipers around me. A word came to my mind, sonder. Every single being around me, a whole world contained in each. Neither good nor bad, just people. With hopes and dreams, pains and struggles. Some were praying, on their knees, in front of an image of a Virgin, and the view struck me deeply. To watch their heavenly rapture, their beg for some peace, moved me to my core. The angst, almost palpable, and as I write this I still can feel the shock it produced in me. What kind of worries did they have? Could I help them in any way?

Sonder — noun. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.

 
Once the mass initiated, I realized that my little brother had chosen to follow my lead. I didn't intend that to happen, and I let him be. I believe in allowing children to explore their minds and hearts so they can find out who they really are. So, much to my mother's dislike, little brother remained seated with me, when everyone else stood up to greet the priest. I caught a few judging glances from the people around us, filled with disapproval and disgust, since we were the only ones sitting in the entire crowd. Still, I held on to my decision. And so did my little brother, his hand in mine, tightly gripped. At that moment, we were beholders. Curious souls, firm in our will to question and ponder.

To say that my mother didn't like my little brother's decision would be an understatement, but she sensed my protectiveness and said nothing. And I couldn't help to compare the obedience of the crowd with that of a herd of sheep. Stand, mutter, sit, stand, blame, persign. I couldn't find meaning in any of the robotic procedures. Then, it was time for the priest to preach his own thoughts as divine inspiration and to sermon his cattle into a path of good. I wasn't expecting what came next. The priest was talking about the spirit of Christmas in these difficult times, and he said something that made me open my eyes in disbelief and surprise. The message was spoken, and it was impossible not to hear it.

Those negative people, those who bring harm into your life, don't let them take away your peace, your Christmas. Find in yourself the strength to silence them. Revel in the contemplation of the beauty of life.

Right then, the ecstasy of my trance was complete. The words echoed in my soul, surrounding me from within. My lips started muttering my wish, and I closed my eyes, lost in the moment. I am not a religious person, but I do have beliefs. And I try to always listen to the world around me, looking for clues and confirmations of the road I travel. Rapture versus rupture. The choices yet to be made. The message was so powerful to me that it lingered in my ears the rest of the day. When the ceremony finished and we walked out of the church, I was ecstatically happy. My little brother was being his most awesome self, and I was there to enjoy that. The sky was incredibly beautiful. The air, clear. And I felt like letting go of all the dead weight I had been carrying.
 

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This year, my family got together for a Christmas dinner for the first time in ages, and I did everything I could to ensure that. This Saturday morning of December 25th, I was on the ride home, in an empty bus, alone at last after three hectic days. As I sat there, looking through the glass, I felt so small. Merely a particle of dust floating on space. And yet, there it was, the whole cosmos I am, swirling and storming within me. Never quiet, never still. Overwhelmingly immense. It's in moments like these where reality appears so beautifully wrecked to me, yet it's perfect. I'm beyond exhausted but at ease. Both heartbreakingly sad and incredibly happy. I've crashed face-first against the contradictions of life, once more. Seems to be happening a lot lately. Well, I've given everything I can. Everything I have, everything I am. It's up to the universe now.
 

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^{Sources of the images:
A religious figure from my mother's house. This image belongs to me.
📷 by Tom Robertson
📷 by fietzfotos
📷 by David Vives
El Ávila, view from my grandma's house. This image belongs to me.}

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^{I'd like to thank you for reading this. I hope my words resonated with you in some way. If they did, or even if they didn't, I'd like to further connect with you, so I invite you to drop a comment and I'll answer it as soon as I can.}