I have trouble with God. Nothing personal, I just don’t believe she exists. In fact, spirituality as a whole presents a problem, largely because the word is so triggering. ‘I’m a very spiritual person’ is somehow as bad as ‘I’m a very complicated person’.
Is spirituality simply about believing in something other than the physical? Subscribing to something unexplained? Something impossible to truly understand. Or is it, rather than being about belief, about hope? I’m going to rephrase that: can it be about hope? Because my soul, such as it is, is invested in a sense of possibility. That is as woo-woo as I get. That is my higher power. That is why, when I need solace, I look to the sky.
My default is dread. My comfort zone is worry. You’d never know – I’m about as bubbly (dear God isn’t that the worst?) as anyone could handle. But these two constant companions back me into a spiky, painful corner, close off all my options and leave me to – spiritually, I suppose – rot. UNLESS I connect with a sense of possibility. The likelihood of the universe sending good stuff my way as opposed to hard stuff.
Possibility can translate, if you choose to frame it this way, as freedom. Freedom to sit back and breathe and open your eyes rather than pant and squint. To wonder about the future rather than nonsensically resent it. If you worry, you just suffer twice; the outcome will be not be better and very likely worse. And the journey gets thoroughly twisted. Anything is possible. Amen.