The best version of myself

One time, when I was in Ghana, we all went to a church service one Sunday underneath a grass canopy. I remember it so clearly, and when I write it, it's as though I'm back there again. Earlier that week, we had gone to town (Was it in Adidome?) where I bought a journal, and started writing in it. My very first entry was simply that I would be more aware of God's presence in my life. After writing that, we left for the service.

Never pray dangerous prayers. Or always pray dangerous prayers? I opt for the always, but it still manages to move me to fear and awe sometimes.

I have a strange memory, and I can easily be transported back by feeling something, or smelling something. This morning I woke up, convinced I was in my old room from last year at EBC, because the sheets felt the same, I was in the top bunk again, and my alarm clock sounded the same. I even walked out the door, completely confused about the location of the bathroom, and the exit, for that matter. When I think of Africa, I still feel sweat running down my legs, a permanent stickiness about everything I do, and a salty layer that felt natural, comfortable, and dirty, dusty feet. Sitting on the warm ceramic outside the guest house, reading a book, writing, thinking, or talking with someone. I honestly felt like the best version of myself.

That service, I slowed down myself, and made myself aware of my breathing. Many eastern religions talk about this practice, especially Hinduism with Yogic practices, and mantras, which makes me more reassured of it's value. Strangely enough, to me, Hinduism proves the existence and awesomeness of God. (but I'll save that for another post, or just ask me if you're curious.)And each breath was holy and sacred and intricate. I felt the way it filled me out, and it left me, and the taste of it, the smell of it. And it was all holy and sacred and intricate.

And I slowed down, and felt the way my hands felt when they were rubbing together, fingerprint upon fingerprint. The smoothness of my nails, the muscles and bones and the way they moved and worked together. My blood rushing, the wind moving the hairs on my arms, and the way my clothes felt against my body. And it was all so profoundly holy and sacred and intricate.

Not a single thing changed in the world. I remember later Matt Lockhart saying he was irritated at the way the grass was making his head itchy. People continued to sing, but I was suddenly aware of everything and how it was infused with... holiness. How better can I describe it? The ground I was standing on was special. My heart beating, and each pulse it made was a gift. And there was this rushing, this constant, in everything, and all over.

The most amazing thing, to me, was that all of the menial things that distract me, all the little sins and stupid things I worry about and think about, and the little lies and evil thoughts, all felt just meaningless, like fluff that just floated off of me, and I was completely FREE from that... muck.

Hinduism, Buddhism, and Catholicism talk about this. In Hinduism, the belief is that we are constantly spinning on a wheel of Samsara, in life, and muck and mire. We are incarnated into this wheel, and continue to spin on it, and through Dharma, Karma, good thoughts, good deeds, we are free and attain Moksha, a state of purity, or "heaven" essentially, where we are no longer reincarnated. Buddhism calls it "Enlightenment", or other school of Buddhism, such as Mahayana or Pureland Buddhism talk of a similar striving to a state of holiness. In Catholicism, the best way I have heard it described is by my favorite, Saint Teresa of Avila, who spoke of an "Interior Castle" - where the soul is akin to a castle, where our whole spiritual life is a journey towards the center, toward union with God. She spoke of different stages or mansions, and different spiritual challenges one faces on each journey as they grow closer to themselves, and closer to God. I like how the journey towards God is inner in her analogy, towards ourselves.

Maybe it was Moksha, or Enlightenment, or the Divine Union. If it is, then it is something that must constantly be worked at and striven towards. I asked if I could stay here forever, and it's certainly possible. Not a mountaintop experience as much as a way of being. There is so much I could say about that hour. I could talk forever about how I suddenly grew insanely in love with all of the people I was surrounded by, the strangers and the ones I already loved, with this deep feeling like I saw them all as holy, wonderful beings beyond my limited comprehension to even begin to figure out, and it moved me to awe. And I could talk about how the colors seemed to leak out of the grasses and the trees, and seemed to pulse and be saturated with something deep and wonderful. Or I could talk about how the very sound of sound itself felt holy, and I knew not how I was blessed to hear everything.

The service did end though, and people started talking about what's for lunch, and what we're doing today. I tried to keep breathing, and I tried to remember my heartbeat, but bit by bit, I floated back down, and the world quieted, and I was back to before, drifting once again in muck and mire. But for one thing: awareness. That it's attainable, there, and always there, whether I will see it again or not.

Every day since then, I have tried to go back, or be there once again. And I haven't been able to. This world is just too noisy and clogged with everything it feels like, to float away...