I’m having a hard time with the lights, the cameras, and the action. I’m discovering, actually, that I need a little less of it all. Because, when the baptisms start, I want to hear the splash as a body meets water, and a sprinkle of release when it rises. I want to hear the cries of those whose stories have long awaited such a moment.
It’s not enough to see it happen on a big screen in front of me. The act itself still carries meaning, of course, but I can’t help but feel such an inauthentic experience as the lights flash overhead and drums beat loudly. I wonder: Doesn’t it drown out that excited/nervous/all-consuming heartbeat before the baptismal waters rush over?
I’m starting to crave that lone guitar and a few people singing into two microphones, trying to navigate the cord it’s attached to. I crave the liturgy in a well-lit room, with maybe daylight breaking in. I crave the warm gesture of an afternoon potluck or picnic invite.
I know so much of this is a spiritual evolution; my own internal baptism to discovering what my soul needs. So, I consider this a Goodbye to what I have known for over a decade. And, also, a Hello to a quieter space to bloom.