One concept that dominates my mind is that of spirituality. Spirituality is one of those things that no one can distinctly identify, but everyone knows is there. The very definition of spirituality is personal, and so there can be no solidified definition. In my opinion, it is the acknowledgement of the condition of the soul or spirit. There may or may not be one or more venerated beings in control of this condition, but it is the soul's condition nonetheless. Tying oneself to a religion makes this condition precarious, because the soul now becomes one's sole means of bartering with the gatekeepers of paradise and purgatory, Elysium and Tartarus. And, for the truly nefarious, eternally scorching molten torment.
There is no Rosetta Stone that can translate the workings of the human soul. Our spirits are all stained by the ink of our fraudulent words, scarred by the jagged rocks of our misfortune, and poisoned by our noxious misdeeds. We have all, at some point in our lives, seen a spark of glory struggling for breath and snuffed it out without a second thought. It all makes me wonder, how does the mind cope when the human soul has gone beyond glory?
I have complete respect for those whose faith is the spark that brightens any dark room. Their spirits are cheerful in public and in private. Each sip of water is a blessing God wanted them to have and each stubbed toe is a lesson God wanted them to learn. These are not the figures with whom I have always identified. They have determined that they are headed for paradise and they have the pearly gates in sight. I have always been drawn to the tortured souls. For a time, I had a notion that Dan Brown was my favourite author. Put simply, he is off his rocker and his writing is not the glorious work of art I thought it was at the time. He caught me with a common fascination, self-inflicted penance. Many religions, not just Roman Catholics, use self-inflicted pain to show that they acknowledge their sin and want to suffer as, in the case of Christians, our Messiah suffered.
This is not to say that mortification of the flesh should be a widespread practice or that I have a flagellum by my bedside for use between brushing my teeth and going to bed. However, I do think quite a bit about sin and redemption. My mind is often preoccupied with this stain I constantly feel the need to scrub from my spirit through acts of mental penance. I feel pain shooting through my body as I type and I wonder if this is my purgatory, if a trickle of glory has left me because of my inherent evil.
When I was young, I wanted to become a nun. I called my mother crying one day when I was 16, because I had decided I could not wait a day longer and I was going to find the nearest convent. My soul was writhing. I cannot explain that feeling. I cannot explain the feeling of knowing with your entire being that you want to serve God and that the only way you can do that is to forsake all else and focus solely on Him and His work. Well, I suppose those who have actually taken that path know better than I do what that feels like. I had my reasons for ultimately choosing not to- first and foremost being that I am not Catholic (that may have been important). Sometimes, I wonder if that trickle of glory is a leak, a leak from the crack that has formed from all these years of trying to contain my thrashing soul.
Cuban Nun (Old Havana), Howard Moo Young
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