The Old Faith

Over the summer, I had a dream. After cleaning my dresser, I found a red rosary I’d gotten in my freshman year of high school. It was a cherry red, with a silver crucifix and centerpiece with Joan of Arc on it. I put it on for fun, donning it like a necklace. My period was in full swing at the time. This is where the dream comes in. 

I was in my bedroom that really wasn’t my bedroom and I took down the crucifixes on the walls and instead set up figures and statues to venerate Mary and other spiritual stuff (I don’t quite remember the other things). But I do distinctly remember taking out a pink and white statue of the Virgin Mary. 

I don’t know what it means. I don’t know if my subconscious was reflecting my evolving faith or if she was calling out to me. Either way, it has reignited my interest in Catholicism. Not the doctrine, but the traditions. I still reject the religion, but it’s still so beautiful. The stained glass, the hymns, getting seafood on Fridays during Lent, and venerating Marian apparitions. I never want to go to Mass again, but visiting Notre Dame and the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe would touch my soul. 

Crystals alongside hymns. Venerating Mary as a gentle incarnation of the Great Mother. Lighting candles for loved ones. Reciting the Song of Songs while casting glamour magick. 

After a few days of absorption, I think I’m…wading through water? I haven’t come to a definitive conclusion just yet though. I like the idea of “God” as the Universe as opposed to a person (like a Father or Mother). It erases this idea of constant surveillance. I still get heavily triggered by Christianity—so again, baby steps—but I’m open to reimagine it through a Black, feminist lens. The Universe is feminine to me. Women are the givers of life. Sometimes I struggle with how to reorient this new framework and explore my relationship with Mary. 

Catholicism, for all its faults, is beautiful. The ring of the church bells to the cool touch of holy water is embedded into my DNA. I’ll be honest, I fuck with Jesus. His teachings were that YOU are divine. The healing and evolution you’re searching for can’t be found in the Church. It all lives in you. However, I still feel the residue of guilt and supernatural surveillance sticking to me. 

But I now have my own terms. 

My spirituality is rooted in freedom, the earth, my body, and relationships. Nothing and no one can strip me of my autonomy. I am a liberated woman. The Earth with all her flora, fauna, oceans, etc. sustains us. It is our duty to take care of her as she does for us. 

My body is stardust. A human expression of the universe, the echoes of women who’ve come before. She is beautiful and worthy in all her softness and strength. Love makes the world go round. My friends from all walks of life who leave their own unique imprints on my heart. They challenge, invigorate, inspire, and uplift me. 

When I revisit my old faith, it is not with my tail tucked between my legs. Not with a bowed head and heart full of guilt. It is with well-traveled eyes and a heart that holds space for many. I now know that my Blackness and womanhood are not things to fold away and hide. They are mine. Mine to cherish and celebrate. When I dig through the ruins of my old faith, I will take what lit the little girl in me up. I will scour through the ashes and pick up the pieces that withstood the flames, tucking them away for a better purpose. 

I will kiss the ruins of my old faith goodbye, and step into the stars.

XOXO, Michaela