Musings on the root of personal beliefs

You are a thirteen-year-old girl. You don't believe in God, but you believe in music. You believe in it because it soothes your pain. Your little teenage heart was broken because you were abandoned, stranded in emotional exile by those who professed nothing but love for you.

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How can I explain to you that all of the pain and beauty of existence begins and ends in every moment?

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I am a woman and I am a man.
Divinity exists within me and could not exist without me.

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My own path to spiritual awakening

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I found my spirit in the blanketing glow of moonlight in my middle school bedroom
In the rustling of leaves in the trees at a state park
In the warm flickering of a single votive

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I am a solitary practitioner

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Crying to the moon.
Listening to the leaves.
Reading the streaks of shooting stars under the skies of Napa Valley
Dwarfed by the fairy tale fjords of Norway

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When I think of my spirituality I think of tears and blood, moonlight and crashing waves, fjords and mountains and luminescent clouds in Norway, eating mushrooms and asking for rain to play in and getting it, synchronicity, dreams with foresight, shooting stars and the beating of bats wings, LSD on Long Island and the sky filling my mind, transcending space and time and life and death and worry, visions of a past life in the sediment of my cup of tea, chaos and freedom and purposeful puposelessness, no coincidences, understanding, compassion, silence, chemistry, wordless prayer.

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Lots and lots of tears have aroused the divine in me.

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Nothing has to be perfect but sometimes it is.