so i love my grandparents. i love what religion means to them. that they love prayer. that they immerse themselves in the idea of something greater than any of us.
but this pentecostal church. it does not feel right at all.
we all went today, and of course - i was the only one wearing black.
at least on the girls side. oh yes. it's divided by gender.
and the tribal pounding of drums with the hymns - the speeding up near the end. the mass frenzy they whip them into it. it's amazing to watch. visceral and raw and disturbing - all at the same time.
the women. oh dear lord. they are in the throes of a climax. religious of course. it's very strange to see in a church setting. they've lost all control of movement, given in, letting go of all inhibition. thrashing about.
i'm familiar with this, but in a far different sort of biblical sense.
very odd. i like church - every once in awhile. and i love what prayer and religion mean to my grandparents. but this church, this particular vein of christianity. it reminded me of how early christian missionaries included native rituals into church practices to help the proselytizing along.
i will try to be more open minded. but it's really hard when the women are convulsing.
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