We were blindsided today by Mass. The theme was marriage, Judeo-Christian style.
Unable to plunge into the comforting routine, I thus found myself examining why I was there and what I was mouthing. Could I, any longer, say words I didn’t believe? Singing them was one thing, as I believe the universe understands these things, but saying them? I’ve only said the Oath aloud once, reading it to my mother.
I felt dirty. We left early, and when I got home, I dabbed myself with salted water from the palm of one hand. Cleansed.
I don’t think I can go next week. What can I do instead? Time to think about some kind of weekly ritual, and where to perform it. This time of year, outside isn’t certain. Space — if Dad’s in the house, where then? Upstairs, which is cramped? Maybe he should stay away until the afternoon all the time. Maybe something that doesn’t need space. Nearest UU church? Why is there nothing closer to me than half an hour? — There’s the Saturday afternoon UU on Winton, which wouldn’t get me up at the crack of dawn but, according to the website, lacks that high-church music tradition. I would miss that the most. So the 11:15? All food for thought.
Very muzzy today. Feel like a compass spinning, unable to settle on one direction.