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Sunday Morning Worship.

Breadman's Daughter| Views: 943

I attend church on Sunday mornings. Some people wouldn’t call it church but I do. I understand the objection, the confusion or disagreement with my unorthodox belief, also in the place and manner in which I worship and exercise my faith. It’s different I suppose. Not everyone’s cup of tea or beverage of choice. But it’s mine.

I get it. There’s no structure – physical or metaphysical. No building. No preacher. No dogma. No holy book. No congregation. Two or more don’t gather here.

It’s just me, my dog and God.

My church is located in what I call “my thinking dreaming breathing praying loving peaceful spot.” The road leading to my spot ends here. It’s quiet. Except for the ocean sounds – musical, rhythmic, ancient and sacred. The cadence of the tide, tempo of the wind and modulation of God’s voice. It’s secluded and private. Except for the inhabitants of the sea – fish, kelp, gulls, geese, swans, otters and fishers.

There’s a bench. I think of it as a pew. This is where I sit. This is where I have an intimate one-on-one conversation with God. Just us. No bullshit. No holds barred. No agenda. No rules. No commandments. No judgment. We are close here. Very close.

It is here that the real me emerges.

I am a better person in this place. I think kinder, more loving, magnanimous, forgiving, charitable divine God-like thoughts. Crystal clear uncluttered contemplation. I am larger hearted here because I am reminded that I am but one minuscule fragment of this magnificent universe we all call home. That is astounding in its profundity. It is at once daunting and comforting. We are one.

My spirit expands in this holy place – this church of my choosing – so much so that I feel the breath of creation and the heartbeat of God. The one that beats in me. And you and you and you. And yes, even you.


Enjoy the swans meet otters video here: