My life is always intense, but the past few weeks have felt like a culmination of a spiritual pressure cooker I have been in for a long, long time. Many times, it hurt like a mo fo. I won’t lie. But finally, the often-present pain and fear and confusion are giving way to an all-consuming clarity and peace I have never known. Yesterday, I told my mom, I feel like I have been a seeker for many, many years, and finally, I am becoming a finder. In the last throes of my “I want something more than the lie I have chosen to live” years long prayer, I wrote this poem, having bought a bottle of wine for the picture on the label of God and man’s hands touching, Sistine Chapel style. I poured half of it into the sink as a prayer and drank the rest. Then I wrote this.
I wrote this essay as a lark while sitting on a friend’s couch in Minnesota eating Pringles. It has been reprinted more than any article I’ve ever written, I think. Here is the link to Literacy Daily’s version of the essay.