If you’ve ever opened one of my life letters and felt seen, if you related to my words in the past and they made you think, smile, cry or breathe deeply - would you support my writing by upgrading your subscription?
If you can’t afford a subscription, would you support my writing by sharing it with others?
I don’t pray. I wrote extensively about the why in this piece that I recommend reading. I cannot go back to prayer. The practice, as well as the word, have an ugly stain that I cannot erase.
People like to say that prayer can just be ‘contemplation’, not intervention - however, the word precari as well as the word orare (latin) literally mean “to ask, beg, or entreat”.
When I left Christianity, prayer became a bizarre and sick thing. Once, I used to draw strength from it, it used to comfort me, make me feel better, feel less alone. Now it strikes me as odd to have to ask someone who supposedly knows everything I need and loves me for help.
Talking to someone who not only does not reply, but doesn’t care enough to help, but wants to be worshipped is a textbook red flag.
A god who apparently would answer prayers about getting a house or finding a job but could not save dying children? Could not stop wars? A god that conveniently can only act through the hand of humans? A god that may or may not accept my prayers based on an arbitrary system he made up and therefore could change if he wanted to?
Imagine having a friend like that. Imagine being in a relationship with someone who never answers the phone, never shows up for you. And despite them not being there for you when you need them, that person wants your undying devotion.
There is a word for that in our human relationships…
Imagine you breaking your leg and being in pain in front of your mum or dad and having to ask them to take you to hospital.
Your own parents would do that without you having to ask them, right? Because they have eyeballs and they love you.
Hell, even a stranger who doesn’t love you would call the ambulance because, said eyeballs.
Imagine having to beg for intervention and still getting none. The twisted toxicity of it makes me sick now.
When I realised humans have better morals than the gods they pray to, I stopped praying.
For over three decades I prayed to a deaf, silent and powerless god (that of course now I don’t believe exists in case that isn’t clear). I felt betrayed and in deep grief.
People talk about ‘reclaiming’ things, fill them with a new meaning - however I do not have the desire to reclaim old words, holidays or rituals.
Instead I want to find new words, words that have no wounds. Rituals that have no blood on them. Making something from nothing. Something entirely mine. And I found that is a lot harder to do than following a template.