Enter the Shadowlands

Here I am, at the gates to the shadowland, and it's my time to step in. I'm sick of covering up the pain with impulses, the busyness, a reaching for dreams, and the noise. It's time to heal and to heal I must rip off the band-aid and let the air meet the wound. Wounds can only heal with oxygen and now is the time to let the throbbing pain breathe a little.

Noise in the name of God is the headache of my soul. There are so many of us that are treading the trail away from church- church services in particular- because we are tired of the ordained noise...

The ruckus in the production, the immortal theology seductive to the mind of the weak, the worshipping of the gifted by the self deprecating, the manipulation brought on with charm and brilliant metaphors through podcast worthy sermons, the meaningless music with preconceived emotion, and the routine of doing over and over again every week. Much of it is authentic in intention, yet much of it is just more band-aids over the wound. Why is there so much fear of silence? Could silence in fact be the reflection of our shadowlands that we are scared to glimpse at?

And so I turn to the cosmic God as a mystic trying to find answers instead of giving them, trying to ask questions instead of answering them, and finally admitting that I may not know as much as I thought I knew. My skin is afflicted and I have afflicted many others. My sins are of many and many have sinned against me. And the shadowlands are somehow dimly lit- enough to find my way in.

I have twelve steps ahead to find whatever may meet me at my arrival.