Seeing Deeper

I am not a religious person.  I don’t talk about that much, but when I do, I realize it surprises people.  I haven’t had a “place of worship” to call my own since I was a teenager really, and that has suited me just fine (though I must say, there is a certain church near me full of very like- minded people that always leaves me feeling peaceful and full of joy when I go, and I went to a Bat mitzvah in Chicago years ago that left me thinking I should have been born Jewish because I fit right in and liked the genuineness of it all…)

Anyway, I don’t find my “center”, my gratitude, or my “place” in a church, mosque, or synagogue.  I am a spiritual person.  I feel grounded.  I feel thankful (and take time each day to reflect on that which I am thankful for).  But I don’t feel the desire or need to follow an organized religion.

But oh – once a year – once a year the National Cathedral in Washington DC moves away all of the chairs.  They clear the space out, and it becomes a huge cavern of serenity.  Of safety.  Of love. 

National Cathedral - February 11, 2019

We first discovered this special week (called “Seeing Deeper”) last year.  Believe it or not I had never been inside the Cathedral all of the years we have lived here.  But last year we went and were so amazed at the first evening – they filled the whole, empty Cathedral with different colored lights and had music playing – we were in awe.  We stayed a very long time and ended up going back 3 more evenings that week to experience different events in the space.

Washington National Cathedral - no filters needed

This year only one night of “Seeing Deeper” fit into our schedule and it was tonight.  The theme was “Contemplative Peace & Prayer”, which if you read the first paragraph here you might not think I would be into.  But it was magnificent.  The space was empty – no chairs or pews.  The ceilings are amazingly high.  Music played.  It was almost empty – maybe because it is cold and rainy not many people ventured out.  And all around there were CANDLES.  Every once in a while a speaker would go to the front and read aloud a text or poem. 

I lit candles – one for my dad and one for my sister.  I cried and cried. 

The tears were needed.  They were hot, cleansing, and unstoppable. 

We brought a mat and a pillow with us and we laid right in the middle of the space – LAID ON THE FLOOR OF THE NATIONAL CATHEDRAL – and listened.  And smelled.  And looked.  And reflected and cried and thought and held hands and breathed.  And I walked.  I explored the space with my footsteps and my being. 

The Cathedral as seen from lying on the floor - magnificent

And before we left, I lit one more candle for my love. 

You see things differently when you are grieving.  Sometimes you cannot see anything for the fog, but then every once in a while, you truly do see things deeper.