Let us rise

I am a typical, twenty first century lapsed Christian. I have no time for the mumbo-jumbo, unless it suits whatever loop of the psychological roller coaster I am on at a particular time.

The last time I prayed was July past, when I was panicking about finding a nice place to live. I was walking around Halifax in the sun, and nipped into the Catholic church on Spring Garden Rd. for a bit of shade. And to see what it was like - to add it to the list of temples, ghats, shrines, churches, chapels and cathedrals I’ve seen over the years, so to speak, even though it wasn’t terribly old or architecturally significant.

Then I saw the candles down near the altar. I dropped a loonie in the slot, lit one and all of a sudden found myself on my knees.

Kneeling

John Kinsella

It's a sultry afternoon and the inverted gothic
of the chapel draws all to its ecumenical centre,
as if prayer might help reduce your troubles,
or take you far away, or make you cooler -
air-conditioning for the soul - a guilty conscience
like an attack of Legionnaire's disease.
So the hazy reddish light is doubly altered
through the coloured glass and you tell yourself
nothing is to be trusted. And yet here you are -
tacky icon from the bedroom wall - kneeling
as if the air's so heavy you can barely hold it up,
as if the tricks of the light are too much,
as if you're being watched and won't look up.

Please, please, help me find somewhere to live. And let this job go well, and let me fall in love with Nova Scotia.

I don’t know if it worked for Kinsella, who was praying for a friend who was ill, but the very next day I found the house in which I now live. The job is still paying the rent and I am well past the infatuation stage with this province.

Of course, I got psycho Bruce as part of the deal.

Which could prove there’s a divine being that is half-scorpion.

Anyway, after eight months, this evening found me on my knees again, by the side of my bed this time. I have no idea why it happened. One minute I'm rooting through my chest of drawers looking for the bar of chocolate I know I have stashed in here somewhere, the next minute I turn, look at the bed, and suddenly I am leaning my elbows on it, eyes raised to heaven exactly as I was taught during childhood.

Hilarious.

Please, please, can you sort out this issue for this person, because it would just make my life better too. Thanks.

I have no doubt but that my wish will be met – it always is. I don’t think there is a divine being listening to me, although if there is then he/she/it rocks in terms of giving me pretty much what I ask for (with all the caveats about being careful what you wish for). But no, I don’t think there is, unfortunately.

Just as I don’t think that a partner can save you from yourself, unfortunately.

What I think happens is that at the moment when the search for resolution to some issue becomes too much to bear for me, I drop to my knees in a symbolic gesture of the load I am carrying and it gets lifted off me by the small act of that gesture.

And as I have found out again and again and again and still haven’t internalised; it is only when I stop trying too hard to sort out something that it miraculously sorts itself out.

I should spend more time on my knees, I suppose!!

I had a priest teach me religion once who told me that. If he thought I was finally agreeing with me, he’d fall off his chair. But he ran off with a woman and some parish funds a long time ago, so I doubt he cares anymore.

Anyways, whenever I do kneel down to ask for resolution, the first thing that always happens is that Larkin quote runs through my head:

The great only appear great because we are on our knees. Let us rise.

Sometimes it's nice to stay put for a bit though. And ask nicely if he/she/it could sort it all out to my satisfaction again.

And see what happens.

Just because a girl don't believe in God doesn't mean she don't believe in the divine.