I am not particularly prayerful. In fact, I am not religious at all -- if you define that as somebody who faithfully goes to mass and who abides by the teachings of the Catholic Church. In fact I cannot even remember the last time I went to Church as part of a community.
I am also wary of people who say they are "cerrado Catolico", I don't mean to speak for everyone, but among those I've known, the staunchest believers are also the most judgmental and the most hypocritical. The most concerned about appearances and about being right.
I do however feel a strong oneness with the world around me, and believe that some superior being -- I just don't know how he or she or it is called -- runs the show and knows all things about all of us at the same time.
Which brings me back to my house, here at the 6th floor of this building.
At the common area of the second level, just before you enter the upstairs bedrooms, is a place for introspection. There are books and there is a chair, and little else.
You can't do much else, either, except to gape at the view of the south-west in front of you.
Like tonight. It's 10:30 pm and I am sitting here typing away, the wind on my face as I behold a view of the city. There are streets and lights and houses and buildings. Beyond that, the sky.
How can one not utter a prayer to whoever it is that has been here before all this?
How can one not feel, and strongly, that a force is in control of everything -- so great and encompassing, yet also privy to the littlest details of your life -- so familiar, so intimate?
And so I find myself talking to God. Thanking him for being able to provide this kind of shelter to the children. Asking for help that I may sustain this ability, and do more.
Asking for the grace to do what I was put in here to do. Seeking help to be more comfortable in my skin. Sending out a message that I may just be ready, this time, but only if this is the right time.
I can just sit here for hours and behold the city as far as the eyes can see. And then I see less, and feel more.