My attraction to The Church has

meandered a bit.

As a youth, it was a curiosity:  people go inside of a building to hear words and play music and they call this holy or meaningful or special?

All I knew was the joy of the wind in my hair, the sand under my feet and the natural sense of awe at the setting sun.

As a teenager, it was an anchor:  I will cling to the church, its beliefs-rituals-assurances and thus take a moral high ground.

My family, as I had known it, imploded and scattered to the wind.

In my twenties, it didn’t exist:  f*ck yoU-there-is-no-god-for-me-but-me-and-I’ll-do-as-I-please-thank-you-not:

I wanted experience, and I wanted it hard and fast – until I didn’t.

In my thirties,  it provided useful contrast: I want peace, not promises built on the words of others.  What am I?  what is knowable and what is unknowable? What is freedom?

Am I coming full circle?  Are we as a species coming full circle?

All I can know is my experience.  Experience such as the wind in my hair, the sand under my feet and the joy of the setting sun.