I sometimes cannot help but wandering through people’s lives as they are being unravelled more or less accidentally before my (virtual) eyes.
I found that out there, unsurprisingly, men and women go through hard times about the same way. What makes this show called life interesting is the unpredictability of the reactions, the answers given back to its unruly, vicious even instances. One way to cope with them is to pre-live them through our neighbour anonimous confession.
Here is a peek into one confession worth listening to:
So, please to be sitting down when you read the next sentence:
My pro-choice/ atheist/ feminist/ queer self is currently applying to live in a convent for a year. Yes, in order to spend a good 12 months living in an intentional community, working for social justice, and cracking “The Real World: Motherhouse” jokes–I’m officially attempting to get me to a nunnery. The memoir that will undoubtedly come of this risk remains to be written, but my application essay — (in which I grapple with the question, “How do you define spirituality?” as someone who doesn’t do “spirituality” or “definitions”) — is now available beneath the cut for your perusing. Enjoy.
Somehow, I too have managed not to break—or not to break entirely. And in the broken spaces in myself, I have found room to write, to plant, to build. I have found fuses into which others can extend, connect. I believe in that connection with all sincerity. I am not a nonbeliever; I just put deep faith in human beings. I put deep faith and words and actions, in the sentences we build to make stories from our separate lives.
I find new ways to practice my beliefs, new sounds to decipher, new meanings to make. I still collect words, curl into other’s voices, practice raising my own. I still attempt to make good from the raw material of panic, pain, and suffering. Informed by nature and culture, I reach outward and inward for truth.