number two, with a prayer
hail mary meditations, brad pitt blessings, and a pancake recipe everlasting
Hail Mary,
I start in the quiet of the night. Again, in the shower, at my desk as I hear yet another siren in the near distance, sitting here while I struggle to find the right words.
I have always prayed, just not always in a consistent or purposeful manner. Like many people I turn to it in times of fear or crisis or when I want to see good come to someone I love. I always do the sign of the cross before the plane takes off.
The Hail Mary is the first prayer I learned when I was young, and I remember being so proud of myself for how quickly I committed it to memory. Some time ago, though, I reached for the words and got stuck midway through. I panicked. I worried they were no longer there for me, that if I did not recommit to them then they would leave me forever. Now that I have them again sometimes it is as if I am saying another silent prayer alongside them, asking that I am able to remember the next line.
Lately I have pinned them to the front of my brain like you might an inspirational quote on your Instagram feed so I can find them when I need to. Which I seem to, all the time. Like a mantra, they are a rhythm that can steady my breath. Like magic, the words can transform anxiety into something closer to peace. I am overwhelmed and humbled when I consider what is happening outside of my walls, where those sirens are coming from and going to. When there is so little I can control a prayer is at once something I can do and an acceptance of all I cannot know. full of grace.
The lord is with thee.
For my thirtieth birthday we went to Mexico City. One of the days we were there we took a car just outside the city to the Villa de Guadalupe. As the story goes it was at this site that the Virgin Mary appeared multiple times an indigenous man, Juan Diego. On one of these apparitions she told Juan Diego he would find some roses on the top of the hillside and that he was to collect them. These roses were not native to Mexico, but he found them there anyway and gathered them in his cloak. When he unfurled it there was left behind an image of her, Our Lady of Guadalupe. The story is something of a national origin myth for Mexico. I thought by seeing that place I could better understand my own.
Being Catholic and of Mexican heritage, religion is much more than a spiritual practice to me, it’s a part of my culture and my history. I love the Catholicism of Mexico in its worship of saints and of the Virgin Mary and the way it accepts death into life so beautifully. When I began living on my own I found a rose scented Virgen de Guadalupe candle at a corner store in a Mexican neighborhood of Chicago. I bought it because it felt like home. I keep one now on my bookshelf.
At the Villa I felt like I understood Mexico a little more, but also felt further away from any sort of clarity regarding my faith. I feel much closer to grace at home, seeing her reproduced image glowing in the light of my two-dollar candle.
Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
In the back of Most Holy Trinity church my mother led us in a rosary before my grandma’s funeral began. Sitting in a circle of women in my family we used those words to allow us to be in the moment, to push back the inevitable tears by focusing on the task at hand. In a few months I would walk down that church’s same aisle in white, also pushing back tears. I shed one when my new husband and I walked over to the statue of the Virgin Mary to lay roses at her feet and said a prayer for those we had lost, those who were a part of our the journey to that day.
I look back at these rituals and how they have healed me and given me comfort. Rituals connect us to each other and keep us connected to ourselves. I have come to think much of it is just about the act of doing it than the benefits of the act itself, but that can be powerful too. My daily hot water with lemon is supposed to be good for my skin and digestion, I don’t have the data to prove that. What I can definitely tell you is I feel more centered when I do it, it is my morning ritual.
There is an interview with the Dalai Lama I read a long time ago that I reflect on often. I wish I could tell you where it was published but since I have seen him echo the same sentiment elsewhere I feel confident sharing my recollection. He was answering a question about Westerners who are interested in following his teachings and discouraged the idea of “converting” to Buddhism. Your purpose, he says, should be focused on learning Buddhist teachings and incorporating them into how you live. Beyond that, if all major religions are based on the same principles as he believes they are, then it is not necessary to reject the tradition you were raised with in order to move forward in your spiritual journey. We can arrive at truth through innumerable paths. His words gave me some kind of permission I must have been looking for to accept my own heritage as a meaningful place to continue searching from, to start with who I am.
In our current cultural moment people seem to talk about cutting things off and out of our lives like it doesn’t hurt. I have never set a person, place or version of myself aside without feeling its loss. You may stand by the choices you have made, but that doesn’t mean what you did not choose did not matter.
It is a different kind of challenge to sit and hold onto something, to put it together with the rest of yourself, to use it and to build upon it rather than throw it out. There are only so many things you can root out though before you start to feel rootless yourself. I think that is how I would feel, part of why I continue to pray.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners,
I’ve been joking with friends that things are feeling a little too existential right now – time to get out the eyeliner and teenage angst. The first time I read Camus in high school I was relieved to consider that maybe it all doesn’t have to mean so much. I wonder now if what I loved was being allowed to ask what it all means, not necessarily the answer that particular philosophy proposed. I think of the people for generations who have sat next to their bed hands clasped calling out, or still with their breath looking inward for truth. We have to create meaning for ourselves and to search for understanding somehow or another.
We tragically will have no Met Ball this year but I have been thinking back to the “First Monday in May” two years ago and how delightful it was to see our Pope Rihanna, our Mary Magdalene Kim Kardashian in glittering Versace, and all these heavenly bodies draped in the drama of Catholicism. Last week Stassi Schroeder, miss “I am the devil” herself was in Vegas in a cute little nun outfit (maybe the only good thing about that episode). No less so than ever are we grappling with what religion and spirituality mean to us, and toying with the subversive pleasure of playing with these ideas to make something new. And sometimes, like Fleabag we just want somebody to “tell me how to live my life.” It is certainly hard enough to figure it out on our own.
The iconography of the Virgen de Guadalupe and a particular Latina brand of Catholicism has been folded into a feminine pseudo-spiritual witchy aesthetic that can be found on kitschy prayer candles and wall murals with arches of roses. I do not argue that visions of Dolly Parton, too, can give us hope. I can also tell you I am a Scorpio with an Aries moon and Leo rising, and why that means I can be moody sometimes. I wear a moonstone necklace that was blessed with the good wishes and love of my dearest girlfriends and it gives me strength. Each day in my journal I write down three items of gratitude. That too, is a prayer.
When it comes down to it, matters like these are personal but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t talk about them more. It is important to look honestly at the things we hold close to our hearts. That examination breeds empathy and brings us much closer to understanding others and the reasons why they may make decisions we disagree with. Whether it is politics or religion or who we love, our lines of reasoning are not often straight. I am a sucker for sentiment, I have to admit.
We are doing a lot of asking one another “how are you?”, not in the typical way but in a way where it feels the other person is actually curious about the answer. Yet, I still rarely feel we are getting to the heart and soul of it all. It isn’t anyone’s fault, it is difficult to get beyond the what you are doing to keep busy and to what it is you are contemplating when still. I want to know though. Perhaps it is science that gives you comfort in the middle of the night, perhaps it is your horoscope or your own belief system or your faith in humanity. Your building blocks for understanding probably look much different than mine.
For me, there is still room for magic. Maybe they are just words. Words that we have made into something more. I do know for sure that in that space between what I do and do not know, there is possibility, and that gives me hope. now and at the hour of our death.
Amen
crush corner
This past Saturday I did something kind of wild: I looked up when a show was airing on live television, set an alarm to remember and then at the appointed time sat down to turn on the tv. How quaint! When you have all the time in the world 12:00 pm on Saturday is as good as any time for appointment viewing. What I needed desperately to watch was an episode of a new HGTV show, Celebrity IOU, featuring none other than Brad Pitt. I like Brad Pitt to an inappropriate degree and I am grateful for this gift he has bestowed upon us. Tune in to see him in three versions of the same outfit, to hear him wax poetic on the feel of building materials, and to imagine him taking a nap on his makeup artists couch when he is waiting out traffic on the Westside. “If I’m not building I’m dying”, Brad says, so I hope he keeps building forever.
recommended for…
grrrl vibes: Fiona Apple’s new album “Fetch the Bolt Cutters” has come out to rave reviews, like this wonderful piece in the New Yorker, and I too must rave about it! I am certainly no music critic so I can’t say much other than it inspires me. Her commitment to herself and to creating something honest is the kind of thing that pushes art forward, and helps us to see more clearly.
something to read: My book this week was American Spy by Lauren Wilkinson. I do love a spy novel or a mystery so here the surprise was more in how much I enjoyed discovering the narrator. It is much more personal and reflective than most stories about international intrigue. The plot moves things forward quickly but the heart of the novel is exploring how we live out our values, where we draw our lines, and the complexity of identity.
a beauty moment: You know when you go to a hotel or a spa or to get a facial and there are all these clean towels and you just feel so comforted and clean and taken care of? Well I am here to tell you, you can give yourself this same feeling of excess. I have a stack of cheap white washcloths that I use to wash my face, a fresh one every day if I want. They lightly exfoliate, assure me my face is really getting clean, and make me feel like I really have it together.
sunday mornings: I don’t have kids yet but sometimes I stumble upon a recipe where I just know this is something I will make for them when I do. I love the sweet feeling of traditions being created in real time. This pancake recipe is one of those things that has begun to feel like one of ours, maybe you will love it too.
1 cup buckwheat flour (I use Bob’s Red Mill, should be very easy to find)
1 tbsp sugar (alt. 1 tbsp maple syrup, honey, or agave)
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
1 egg (alt: make a flax egg with 1 tbsp ground flax + 2.5 tbsp water, whisk and let set for 5 minutes)
1 1/4 cup buttermilk (alt: 1 tbsp lemon juice + 1 cup of non-dairy milk, whisk and let set for 5 minutes)
1/2 tsp vanilla
Mix together dry ingredients in medium bowl. Mix together wet ingredients. Pour wet into dry to combine and make pancakes! Top with fresh fruit for extra joy.
with love,
caitlin rose