Nov
03
What faith feels like
Marissa Kubinyak 11/03/08
Though I grew up without a title to place on my spiritual beliefs, I always knew what faith meant, and certainly what it felt like. As a child, faith was in the cool summer evening, as I ran barefoot across the lawn to cup my hands about a flickering firefly. It was feeling the sharp winds of autumn as my feet crunched through vibrantly colored leaves, and my neck snuggled deeper into my scarf. Faith was listening to the furnace creak on in the silent chill of my bedroom, knowing that just outside my window sparkly flakes fell softly. And it was the smell of spring, when the wet earth gave way to a fresh season of life. I recognized my spirit simply as a feeling; a fiery tingling deep in my gut that told me when I was experiencing a moment of greatness.
This became more developed through my teen years, as I struggled with questions beyond my ability to answer. Who was I really? Why am I here? What am I meant to do? What does my future hold? As I rejoiced in my imagination, love of adventure and close friends, that feeling would return often to tell me I had a place among the world’s beauty, even when I felt it least.
The gardens, which filled my backyard and mind with life and wonder, seemed to be where I would spend time when I needed to be raised out of a downward emotional spiral. For me they brought a sense of simple peace and happiness like nowhere else I knew. In particular, I became attached to a small apple tree that grew alone in the local green area behind the neighborhood I grew up in. Notebook and pen in hand, I would walk to the tree and sit beneath it, discovering myself inside-out on a blank page, sometimes for hours. I would watch the seasonal growth, and celebrate the array of wild birds and bunnies that also visited in silent wonder. In winter, when I could not stay, I would walk the length of the field to simply lie down and make a snow angel for company in my absence.
My spirit has always been a bit wild. But that intense emotion has only further allowed me to feel my soul’s capacity. I am spiritual in a unique way. Just as each of us are faithful differently, on a personal level, from our companions. For that is the irony behind faith. Though we may share its’ hope and congregate in its’ comfort, we may dedicate buildings, books or and artwork to it; we may rejoice in beliefs both alike and not; none of us can really feel it as another does. Faith is experienced both worldwide and personally, whole and separated. Just as a tree is branched and each leaf grows differently, so do our souls. Yet it is still one tree, still one community and still one faith.
CATEGORY: Religion and Spirituality