I grew up going to Catholic church every Sunday, staring at the crucifix on the altar every week. It was a little church but they had gone all out on that crucifix - a life-size sallow, yellowing Jesus in the process of his sacred death, ribs poking out and blood streaming down from the nails in his hands and the thorns in his forehead. I will never forget that image - always accompanied with a heady incense smell - but it was never a scary thing to me, even as a kid. By the time I made my First Holy Communion, all dressed up and already feeling that white just wasn’t my color...
Agnus ad sacrificium
I grew up going to Catholic church every Sunday, staring at the crucifix on the altar every week. It was a little church but they had gone all out on that crucifix - a life-size sallow, yellowing Jesus in the process of his sacred death, ribs poking out and blood streaming down from the nails in his hands and the thorns in his forehead. I will never forget that image - always accompanied with a heady incense smell - but it was never a scary thing to me, even as a kid. By the time I made my First Holy Communion, all dressed up and already feeling that white just wasn’t my color, the Jesus up there was the same as the Jesus or ‘God’ that walked in my head. He was a friend. And the blood, the thorns, the nails, well, it was something to aspire to. (And they were surprised when I became a tattoo artist…)
If you didn’t grow up religious, I know all the ‘blood of Christ’ and ‘sacrificial lamb’ stuff can seem a little unhinged. But if you grew up with any religious background, you know the power, fervor, and passion that a good old fashioned worship sesh can drum up. And no one does it quite like the Catholics on Easter - break out the fanciest aspergillum cause you about to be #blessed. All this to say that it was a powerful and meaningful part of my life into my 20s and the first bridge I found to the spiritual world.
It wasn’t until I started traveling in my 20s that I began to encounter so many more of these bridges. A Torii gate in Japan, a mosque in Turkey, a vortex in Sedona, a bonfire in the woods. I developed huge crushes on both a thoughtful Catholic seminarian I met in Rome and a ripped Buddhist monk in China (don’t worry we’ll share all the lore as we get to know each other). And while there was certainly some cognitive dissonance at first, it wasn’t too hard of a jump for me to make to realize that whatever practice one may have to bridge that spiritual world, it is important and valuable to try to do so. I also slowly discovered what may be the most powerful bridge of them all - art. Or daresay Creation.
What makes us human? At a time where it’s getting harder and harder to distinguish between man and machine, maybe the question we should be asking instead is what makes us divine? Perhaps it’s finding something infinite in something finite. Perhaps it exists in those unseen layers of reality we all live within in our own ways. Perhaps it can be expressed in the tangible world with the bridge that is art and make us all a little less lonely.
Anyway, I write this because I see you. I see you trying to make meaning from it all, struggling not to spiral down that existential toilet bowl, to find things worth getting up for in the morning when it all seems meaningless and a robot is being trained to do your job. Hell, when your job is to train the robot to take your job. Doom-scrolling, bed-rotting, longing for human connection but still a little pandemic-isolation shell-shocked. I write this because I am with you. I am sick of these boundaries, these abuses, and these absurdities that keep us disconnected from each other, from nature, and from our imaginations, inner worlds, and spirits.
If you are lost in those deep, dark places of the spirit world, I’ll come get you. We’ll take a few shots and get a few tattoos before we go, but baby we leaving. Come with me.
Love,
Lonely Angel
