The firm pressure of the pew against the back of your thighs – a welcome place to rest your frame, you do not doubt that it will be there, structure. The deep voices singing in a tongue you don’t understand, and yet those reverberations penetrate into your bones with the weight of time behind them. Unheard but felt, the voices of many others who have said these words throughout the ages ring in your blood.
You may not believe that this is home, but the words start to roll off your tongue easier. You may not agree with all of the rules, but you ease into the motions and rituals with a relief from craving. Not all rules, structure, established groups are bad. Mainstream does not equal repression in every situation, and growth can be found in delineated areas where others have blazed a trail. It may take time, but even here, you can walk your own path.
That new group of dead I brought up as 2015 ended has apparently decided to drop by. I appreciate the reassurance and comfort that They bring, and I think a certain part of me needed to hear this (to help with the guilt of missing the established structure of a mainstream religion that’s been rearing up). I think I can understand the desire by some for covens / kindreds / groups and set rituals a bit better now.