I wish that my words were a song. I wish that the characters I am typing could sing with each press.
There is something so alluring about worship. It seems utterly inhuman, yet it is the most instinctual part of me. Spiritual reverence, in its widest, most inclusive form, is the closest thing we have to touching the unknowing that surrounds us. In the unknowing lies our dreams, the feelings we can't articulate; the moments that can only be described as "mmm." It beautifully transcends human knowledge, and this transcendence creates a feeling in the pit of my stomach, which is like a glowing, pulsating burden.
One of my life goals is to be able to articulate the experience of worship, the feeling of open wonderment, from beginning to end. I want to put into words the gasps and shivers that I remember as a child, when the music would play and I would hear people begin to whisper their prayers; then the music would slowly rise with the cries of the craving, and we would all get caught up in feelings that flowed like waves of oil. I felt immersed in worship then. I felt like I was enclosed in a warm cocoon, with the heartbeat of God pressed against my body. These memories captivate me because everything around me now is so tactile. Everything is so firm and present, and I sometimes want to be swallowed up in a mouth of warm tears. I want to breathe Hallelujah, and drift in it.
Pale light, pale light: illuminate my soul.
*In the photographs I am wearing a thrifted shirt, a handmade necklace (with beads from a thrifted seat cushion), pants from Levi's (also seen here), my brother's socks and vintage shoes from Meeps.