amen, eventually

on fleeting faith and searching for the divine.

june 2nd

This afternoon—or evening, seeing as I woke up at 5 pm, having overslept—I found myself scrolling mindlessly through Twitter, as one does. I stumbled across a post, an edited collage of sorts, much like something you'd find on Pinterest, showing five things; a trio of oranges above text displaying “seasonal fruit”, a bundle of used dishes with the words “sharing a meal with friends”, an MP3 player (or an iPod) with the words “playlists from your teenage years”, under an opened window (you could see a stock image-like tree against a blue sky through it) read “an open window with a slight breeze” underneath, and the words “your reflection” under an image of, what looked to be the inside of a tree. Atop and below these picturesque depictions were messages saying:

“Searching for the divine?”

“Here's some places you can look!”

to which I scoffed at almost immediately after reading. I quoted the tweet, lamenting about having no friends to share meals with, about how I would rather soon kill myself than—God forbid—stare at my own reflection for more than a minute, lamenting about how the windows of my house could not open because they were old and moldy. In general, just being my usual oft pessimistic and most bitter self, it's been so hard for me to take signs seriously these days. I'm being told to search for the divine in mundane objects, which in the past I loved doing, yet lately I can't even see the divine in myself.

I look at myself and my life and I wonder how there could possibly be anything good about me, anything holy, anything to love. I often thought at times and still do, how could my god love me? How could anyone? When I couldn't even love myself, when I couldn't even love my surroundings, or even see the small blessings anymore. I used to be able to appreciate the mundanity of life, I still wished for more, but after a very long period of unlearning and learning and loving, I really began to see it.

In the evenings, I would sit down on the floor of my bedroom using a cheap throw pillow from Five Below that I acquired in middle school, chamomile tea or some sort of night cap in tow, and open my journal to write with my Muji pen that I loved so much about the day’s happenings. I'd listen to something relaxing, meditate or do yoga, and end my ritual off with a solemn prayer and go to bed. In the mornings I would wake to the sound birds chirping through the speakers of my phone, there would be yoga or some form of movement, meditation and prayer, and I’d get ready for the day and make myself a cup of matcha or some sort of latte (with adaptogens, non-dairy milk, the whole nine). I would work and attend my lectures over Zoom, spend most of the day doing coursework or happily lazing around in an effort to give myself a “work and play” balance. At the time, if you would've asked me if I was happy, I likely would've said no or dodged the question altogether. I didn't like to believe I was capable of happiness, and whenever it so happened that I was, I didn't think I “deserved” it.

Now, looking back, I know I was happy. I felt so full and safe in my daily rituals and little habits, they had taken me so long to cultivate. I was feeling something wonderful for what felt like the first time since my blissfully unaware childhood, and I’ve now come to realize that finding stability for the first time in your life is a feeling that very little else comes close to.

I wish I cherished it more when I had it. After all, it wasn't long ago that I spent years under the depths of my bedsheets, at times moving through my day to day with little to no feeling whatsoever, so I worked to have those habits, and they came to me as coping mechanisms. I searched for the divine in my time of need and I found it in the warm embrace of a morning beverage, in the gentle voice of my favorite online yoga instructor, I found it during the winter sunrise—so much brighter than their warmer season counterparts because of their rarity and the blinding white snow—when I would jump out of bed and eagerly stand on my one chair (awfully close to the ceiling fan, I never minded hitting my head) just to stare at the small area of my window uncovered by a dusty old floral-printed curtain, the only area the sunlight could sneak through, the only area that allowed me a peek at the sky. I would smile, then jump down and go back to bed.

There was the divine when I made my lunch or dinner (I only ever eat two meals, induced by both slight undiagnosed disordered eating patterns, and mostly just stomach issues I've had since childhood), I’d put my head over the pot to watch the pasta boil, never mind that the steam fogged my glasses, it filled me with anticipation and contentment as I watched the bubbles of water dance and jolt around the pot. There was the divine when I made my bed in the morning, even though I hated doing it (really, who doesn’t?), always making sure to avoid getting too close to the right corner of my bedroom where the other side of the bed stopped, heeding the mold growth down there (very old house, my mother called someone once but he never really fixed it).

There was the divine, truly the divine, when after yoga I'd kneel and—abiding to my rule of, when having very little else to say, simply give thanks—I’d close my eyes and talk to God and say:

“Thank you, amen.”

Today, I cannot see the divine, I haven't seen it in a very long time. And that is partially due to depression, but also because I think at times I don't want to see it. Whether it's there or not—I don't want to see the divine—I don't want to be given a reason to be happy again, lest it be taken away. I've grown tired of that same old pattern.

“Romanticize your life!”

“Be the main character!” (When I was mostly the friendly extra, at best)

“Be thankful for the little things in life.”

I would do these things, floating on cloud nine, and two weeks later find myself back in bed debating on whether or not I should burn my wrists with the disposable lighter buried in my underwear drawer next to an empty pack of CBD cigarettes. I've grown exhausted, having let go, and I know I shouldn't have. I know I should try to get out of this six month long slump, I know I can't stay in bed forever, I know I can’t blame everything on grief, loneliness, nor my brain chemistry. I know.

So, lately I try to search for the divine in little things again, differently, this time. I search for it whenever I make my first and only meal of the day at 11:52 pm (to my mother’s annoyance), scrambled eggs with good quality butter I’m slowly running out of, costing too much money I'm not making in order to replace. I search for it in the neighbor’s dog aggressively barking at me as I write this outside, typing away on the Google docs app on my phone, sitting crouched on an old chair on the porch while fighting the urge to foolishly flip off the dog as I usually do (maybe this is God giving me a challenge, I think. Don't be deterred and afraid and resign yourself to going back inside because its too loud and you no longer want to focus). I search for it in my checking-in text messages to my best friend, my older sister living far away in another city, when I know she’s being protected and watched over—hoping and praying she understands why I've been distant, hoping and praying that she knows I still love and miss her and that we'll speak on the phone again for hours on end like we used to very soon.

I search for the divine and I don't find it, but I know that just because I haven't found it, doesn't mean it isn't there. I don't remember the last time I unfolded my yoga mat and stretched or meditated, or the last time I prayed and said to God:

“Thank you, amen.”

I can't bring myself to now, but I know I will, eventually.

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P.S. This was actually the first thing I wrote for this page, the kind of stream-of-consciousness writing that only happens once in a blue moon when even your anxiety doesn’t want to fuck it up, I don’t know why it took me so long to post it. I also don’t know if I like it, but does anyone like anything they write anyway? Either way, thank you so much for 60 subscribers, I know this isn’t youtube so I won’t be long here and pretend I’ve been granted one of those play button trophy things. But thank you, really, when I first started here, I didn’t think anyone would see or even connect with my words, so it really means so much to me.

P.P.S I’m always way too sappy so enough of that, here’s a share button. Feedback is always appreciated so please feel free to.

Thank you, and I hope you’re well.