Welcome to my world.

So there is something about me and movies.  I almost can't help it.  They enthrall me, always have.  Good movie, Bad movie... sometimes it just doesn't matter.  That visual representation of words has always amazed me.  The angles and the images.  The lines and the emotion. Exotic places, familiar places all of them as close as a finger tip on a play button. And today's movie was no exception to the "Bad Movie.... sometimes it just doesn't matter" idea.

Now I should say, I am in no way illiterate.  I am as passionate about books as I am movies. My current books being the Canterbury tales in old English cause it's fascinating, and Brigid of Killdare because it's the fictionalized telling of the life of St. Brigid and come on... Brigid! who wouldn't? 

What brings this post on you ask?  Why should you care?  Well in reality you probably shouldn't.  You should be off living your life instead of reading about mine.  On the other hand, I'm honored to have you here. As my favorite poem says:

How dull it must be, reading of me. 
I have no adventures, 
No fun in the clouds, 
I'm simply, quite barely, even being.
And yet, if what they say is true
You're reading of me
While I read of you. 

Today I was watching a silly movie.  Not one of Christian Slater's best... Called "The Confessor."  Slator as a priest... cause yeah, I can totally see that.  Ahh to have an image of me rolling my eyes set here.  At now being 16 years away from my Christian upbringing (save the occasional Christmas eve mass to appease the "She's still trying to find herself" denial of my parents) I am reminded by this movie of what I miss about Christianity.

My Gods and Goddesses do not ask me to kneel before them.  They wish me to stand on my two feet, strong and true to myself.  To push forward, to live a life worthy of my own passions and truths.  They ask more of me and less of me than any other in my life.   And they have never asked me to kneel.   On the other, there is something to be said for that moment when you kneel, your hands folded before you, head bowed in piety that moves me.  That ritual of mass is moving in it's own way.  The solemnity of the moment when the bread and wine is transformed to the body and blood of Christ.  It's a moment no doubt.

I had a priest once who brought joy to every mass.  He brought music, real music to every mass and encouraged even the worst of us to sing out as loud and true as we could.  A mass lead by that man was a joy to attend.  It was a time where you truly reveled in the goodness of God.  You actually for a moment believed that his was a joyful religion.  I admit I miss that feeling.

Please don't get me wrong.  I have no interest in returning to my Christian roots.  Simply acknowledging them on occasion.  They are as important to me as the path I follow now.  For they are what brought me to this path, and set my feet a moving. To honor them, and my current feelings is to honor my current path.