Stišće me! Mozak mi pod pritiskom cijedi misli koje se žele napisati riječima na ekran. Ne puštaju me na miru dok se ne ispišu onako kako one same zamišljaju. Misliš da ja imam veze s pisanjem ovih tekstova? Varaš se grdno. Kontrole u ovome imam minimalno.

Rekao nam je Guruji nedavno: Sve što sada živimo projekcija je već snimljenog filma, kada gledaš iz jedne perspektive. Iz ove perspektive koju imaš, teško je razumjeti ovo o čemu govorim. A sada se snima ono što ćemo gledati kasnije kao novu projekciju. Duboko! I teško shvatljivo. Gdje je onda slobodna volja? Ultimativno je nema. Naš um i ego žele misliti da znaju da je ima. Sve što želim u životu je sloboda, i sada mi želiš reći da je već sve snimljeno? Hmmm.

To ti je za razmišljanje, a sada idemo na događaje. Sve je počelo tamo gdje sve priče počinju – jako davno. Kad sam bila malo dijete, živjeli smo u stanu preko puta kojeg je bio ulaz u dvorište crkve, u Splitu. Tamo je bio sada poznati pok. don Ivan Grubišić, i časne čijih se imena ne sjećam, ali lica jedne posebno nasmijane i vesele se sjećam. Te iste časne dovele su nam moju dadilju Jadranku na vrata jednog dana, ali to je druga priča koja je također započela davno. Kad sam ja bila mala, baka je već bila stara baka, i nedjeljom je gledala misu na televiziji, iako je crkva bila preko puta. Barem se toga moj dječji um sjeća. Išla sam često u dvorište crkve i u crkvu i tamo se igrala. I to je bilo to. Moj pravi, službeni crkveni život počeo je par godina kasnije.

Uglavnom, kako kasnije doznajem, prije dolaska u Zadar nisam bila krštena. Zašto sam sa šest godina krenula na vjeronauk i odlučila se krstiti i pričestiti, je po svoj prilici nesvjesna odluka. Zapravo je Jelena imala povezanost s crkvom, još iz Splita, Katina je htjela ono što je Jelena radila, i ja isto. Starije seke su uvijek primjeri, i njih treba oponašati dok si mlad.

Krštenja se uopće ne sjećam, ali prve pričesti se dooobro sjećam. Pjevala sam pred svima, morali smo naučiti protokol, morala sam obući tu neku plahtu vezanu konopom u kojoj se nisam osjećala ugodno, morala sam kupiti i nositi tu neku ogromnu svijeću, pa još i ispovijed. Sve mi je to predstavljalo teški stres. Priložena slika pokazuje dosta jasno u kojem sam stanju bila. Još se dogodio taj mali incident kada sam došla po «certifikat» za prvu pričest od svećenika. Očito je htio da pogledam u sliku posljednje večere koju mi je uručivao, a ja sam gledala kako da pobjegnem glavom bez obzira istog trena kada taj trenutak primopredaje obavim. Međutim svećenik je tvrdoglavo i čvrsto držao sliku, a ja sam je potezala u nerazumijevanju zašto me zadržava čitavu vječnost u tom grozno nelagodnom trenutku pred svima. Shvatila sam, sabrala se, pogledala sliku, pa me napokon pustio. To je bio slavni početak mog vjerskog obrazovanja.

Zatim velike knjige s puno teksta, prijetnje časni da moramo sve dobro naučiti i besprijekorno znati napamet ispred svećenika. Nije me plašila sama ispovijed, već činjenica da postoji mogućnost da ću zablokirati, zaboraviti, krivo reći. Časna se dobro pobrinula da mi to bude najveći strah pred bogom. Svećenik je bio blag i fin, i nisam pogriješila, pa sam se čudila kako je sve glatko prošlo.

Na vjeronauku nisam bila oduševljena gradivom, pogotovo ne katekizmom. Mnogo mi je to bilo nestvarno i komplicirano. Časna je govorila da je zaljubljena u Isusa, ali ja joj nisam vjerovala. Imala je neki nestvarno blagi šaputavi glas i djelovala mi je umjetno.

Sad mi je već nekih 12-13 godina, slušam Nirvanu i na vjeronauku učimo o Budizmu. To mi se više sviđa od nekih tema koje ne razumijem, u moru gradiva koje moraš bez razumijevanja znati nabrajati napamet. Nešto kasnije približava se vrijeme svetog sakramenta Krizme. Na vjeronauk idem nakon školskih obaveza. Mise se održavaju u atriju škole, oltar su dvije spojene učiteljske klupe. Ispovijed se održava u kabinetu starih materijala za tehnički. Nekako ne-sveto i meni osobno prilično mučno.

Sjećam se kako su dečki nekada sjedili u bočnim nišama atrija i kartali za vrijeme mise. Uvijek mi se spavalo za vrijeme tih dugačkih govora, te sam dolazila samo radi pluseva u imeniku. Kako je krizma bila bliže i uzbuđenje raslo, počela sam shvaćati što će to sve obuhvaćati. Prijatelji su se spremali na kupnju lijepe odjeće, na dobivanje novaca i nakita, slavlja i posjete rodbine – dok sam ja polako shvaćala da s mojom obitelji neće biti ništa od toga. Lijepu odjeću sigurno neću dobiti, na to sam već bila bolno spremna. Pogotovo kao pre-ogromna djevojka u pubertetu u vrijeme kada veličina odjeće koju nosim, malo veća od najveće ženske i nešto manja od najmanje muške, nije postojala. Novac ili nakit definitivno nije bio izgledan u obitelji djede i bake komunista i oca ateista, a slavlju i čestitanju rodbine se ne bih ni mogla veseliti, čak i da je bilo šanse da se dogodi. Plus sav onaj stres i sram prve pričesti koji nisam bila sigurna da bih još jednom preživjela. Pitala sam tatu da li mogu prestati ići na vjeronauk, pristao je bez problema.

Osjećala sam ogromno olakšanje i potvrdu da smijem nastaviti sa svojim buntom kontra Crkve i mučnog vjeronauka. Ali ipak sam se osjećala odvojeno od drugih, zakinuto za informacije o procesu krizme, lijepu odjeću i neko novo ime?

I to je prošlo. Došla je srednja škola, nakon punk faze došla je dark faza, čitanje poezije Antona LaVeya, vjera u ljudsku zločestoću (LIVE je naopako EVIL), naopaki križevi, kožne hlače i vjera da sam sam svoj Bog i da nema boga s bradom na nebu koji maše štapom. Vjerovala sam u kontrolu nad vlastitim životom i nije mi se sviđala ideja da postoji autoritet koji mi sudi, pored roditelja i starijih, te profesora u školi. Imala sam prijateljicu koja je dosta čisto i drugačije vjerovala u boga, i to mi se sviđalo. Nije mogla razumjeti kako mogu istovremeno obožavati Marilyna Mansona, i smatrati Malog Princa prekrasnim. Naizgled nespojivo, u meni vrlo jasno povezani pojmovi nevinosti princa i slobode postignute kroz mansonovski bunt. To sam bila ja, nevini Mali Princ iznutra, a izvana glasni Manson. Obično i jesu oni najglasniji najsjebaniji. Imaju tu neku potrebu izraziti puno toga, opravdati sve o čemu misle i što osjećaju, potvrditi sve što se događa iznutra, kako bi sebi potvrdili svoje vlastito postojanje i sigurnost u to da je ono stvarno i ispravno.

Kakva crkva? Crkva mi je tada predstavljala sve što je umjetno i lažno. Samo par godina kasnije, ulazim u organizaciju Zagreb Pride-a, postajem njegov član osnivač, i hodam ulicama ljubeći se sa svojom djevojkom, dok je crkva neprijatelj broj 1. Ljude, individue, političare, obitelj i prijatelje možeš donekle možda pokušati urazumiti, objasniti im što je to o čemu pričaš i za kakva se to «prava» boriš, ali Crkva… Crkva je nepokolebljivo homofobna, te pritom agresivna i ugnjetavački nastrojena. Istovremeno idem na tečaj gdje se prakticira meditacija i tišina, te nakon tečaja pitam svog učitelja što je s lezbijkama i gejevima unutar organizacije, a on mi govori kako imamo puno gej učitelja, te da je to «kod nas» normalno. Crkva dobiva još jedan minus nakon ovog iskustva. Znači, svatko koga znam mene i moje prijatelje i –ice i sve van i između toga može voljeti i prihvaćati i razumjeti, ali crkvica ne.

Sad već možeš i vidjeti tu slojevitu tortu nagomilanog animoziteta prema crkvi. Još u osnovnoj školi zavjetovala sam se da u crkvu ne ulazim. Više nikada. Vrhunac odvojenosti doživljavam inicijacijom u Art of Living, kada postajem predstavnik nekog drugog znanja o svijetu i svemiru, te počinjem podučavati sve ono što crkva smatra đavoljim i vradžbinama. I tek tada nakon dugo godina prvi puta ulazim u crkvu.

Na Islandu, daleko od svega i svih, ulazim u crkvu kao turist. Crkva je pravoslavna, pa nije isti doživljaj kao kod kuće. Zatim slijedi period posjeta katedrali u Strasbourgu koja obiluje poganskim simbolima plus ima ogromnu sliku Isusa u narančastim haljama (iz onog perioda kad je bio u Indiji gdje se prosvijetlio i kasnije otišao ponovno nakon uskrsnuća). Tada sam prvi put meditirala u crkvi. Isuse, kako je to bilo predivno iskustvo. Vrlo brzo je i to postala tradicija, iz potrebe i jednostavnosti. Meditiranje u parku ispod stabla je opasno zbog trčećih pasa koji će te pronjuškati i par puta ošinuti repom. Sjedenje na klupi je preočito, pa ćeš osjećati hrpu pogleda tijekom meditacije. Osim u crkvi, ni trajekt nije loš. Sunčane naočale, slušalice u ušima i chillanje sa strane broda, nikom ne pada napamet da radiš nešto neobično. Ali crkva, o da. Sjediš zatvorenih očiju, sklopljenih ruku, kao i svi ostali. Mir je, tišina i atmosfera molitve, božjeg hrama. Tu je započelo polagano vraćanje tim većinom predivnim svetim mjestima, ovog puta bez otpora i gorčine, bez vezanosti za ono što «institucija» predstavlja.

Tako sam jednog lijepog vrućeg dana šetkala po gradu, čekajući da dođe vrijeme idućeg dogovora, i spontano ušla u crkvu Gospe od Zdravlja i tu odmorila od svijeta i uma na dvadesetak minuta kada mi je došla misao da bih se voljela ispovjediti. Tada još bez ideje o tome što bih to ispovjedila, jer redovno otvaram dušu i otpuštam sve što je otežava učitelju, prijateljima, obitelji, kolegama, sebi. U ovom trenutku ulaska u Gospu od Zdravlja započinje ta pomalo magična priča kojoj tada još ne znam sadržaj, ali osjećam da me navodi gdje treba.

Shvaćam da se želim ispovjediti, otvaram oči, ustajem i ugledam ispred sebe ispovjedaonicu. Pomislim, možda mi je energija prisutnosti ispovjedaonice šapnula da bih se mogla ispovjediti. Lagano prihvaćam tu ideju, i odlučujem da ću pogledati kada bih mogla na ispovijed. Ništa od ovih prije navedenih razvoja događanja sa mnom i crkvom mi nije u kadru, no priča se polako odmotava. Prolazi par dana, pričam malo sa sestrom o krštenju nećaka i padne mi napamet da se mogu na Lastovu ispovjediti. Svećenik na Lastovu je između ostalog i razlog zašto sestra i njen suputnik žele krstiti svog sina na tom čudesnom otoku.

Na otoku smo. Prvi razgovor roditelja sa svećenikom je obavljen, ali zaboravljaju ga pitati kada bih se mogla ispovjediti. Sve to mi postaje pre stvarno i tu se prvi puta nakon dugo vremena prisjećam cjelovito detalja priče između mene i crkve. I dalje ne znam što ću svećeniku sve reći i zašto uopće idem na ispovijed, ali osjećam da treba i da će biti super. Ima neke naznake da se želim ispričati «bogu» što sam gajila animozitet prema ustanovi, zanemarujući Njegovo postojanje u svemu Živom i Neživom.

Dobivam poziv: idi sada na ispovijed. Počinje me grčiti neki čudni čvor u želucu svi strahovi iz djetinjstva dolaze na površinu, ali ne odustajem. Rekla sam da idem, i sada idem (zmija u Malom Princu kaže mu: Odlučio si da ideš i sada idi!). Mama me prati dio puta do crkve da se ne izgubim u velebnom mjestu Lastova, i u tih par koraka ipak mi daje neku emotivnu podršku i sigurnost koja mi je sada prijeko potrebna.

Dolazim do crkve, ulazim unutra, gledam oko sebe i ne vidim nikoga. Vidim ispovjedaonicu sa strane, no ne shvaćam baš što točno treba, jer sam se ispovjedala u kabinetu od tehničkog. Sjednem na klupicu, i nalazim mali molitvenik, prelistavam, spajam se s idejom crkve, katekizma, priča, molitvi, katoličkog znanja. Nailazim na osnovne molitve i shvaćam da ih dobro znam, bez greške. Znoje mi se dlanovi, i dolaze mi jasno sve stvari koje želim ispovjediti u crkvi. Nabrajam ih da ne zaboravim koju. I tako čekam. Čekam. Čekam već predugo. Taman kad sam pomislila da trebam vidjeti što se događa, jer možda čekam bezveze, počinju zvoniti zvona, jer je podne. Taj neki polu-umjetni, relativno loš, i ne toliko zvonak, zvon zvona smiruje me, vraća u tijelo i sadašnji trenutak. Sva drama i nemir iz tijela me napušta i ja se potpuno opuštam. Nazvala sam sestru da vidim što sad, ona me uputila na župni dvor, jer je očito svećenik već otišao iz crkve. Sve je to blizu i sada sam spremna. Sama biram trenutak susreta, stojim pred vratima, čekam tren ili dva i zvonim. Dolazi svećenik, kažem mu tko sam, dolazi odmah.

Ispovjedaonica je mala drvena kućica u koju svećenik sjeda unutra i pokazuje mi da kleknem na malu drvenu stepenicu sa strane te kućice i čujem ga kroz rupice ispred sebe. Ne bole me koljena i nije mi fizički nelagodno, malo se bojim što će biti, ali već je krenulo, pa nemam više vremena za razmišljanje. Nije puno na početku rekao, već vrlo brzo, prebrzo, razumijevam da je vrijeme da kažem što me muči. Kako sam rekla svećeniku ono što me mučilo, mogu reći i vama, kao da nemamo iste ili slične «grijehe». Redom službeno:

– da nisam poštovala majku, i da još uvijek, iako kažem da ću je odsad poštovati, iznova napravim nešto što nije pravedno prema njoj

– da se još uvijek nađem u društvu ljudi koji nisu dobri za mene, i da ne znam kako da to prestanem raditi ponovno i ponovno

– da sam tužna što sam crkvu i vjeru odbijala sustavno i godinama

– da želim raditi više dobroga za druge, i da koliko god puno radim za druge, uvijek imam osjećaj da sam ipak malo sebična i da bih mogla puno više

Cijelo vrijeme dok sam to govorila, pa i kasnije, dok je svećenik kanalizirao iz prostora i svemira svaku riječ koju je moje uho žudilo da čuje, upravo tako i upravo tim redoslijedom, plakala sam od tuge, od nakupljene ljutnje i godina života u otporu koji me iscrpljivao. Rođena sam u katoličkoj Hrvatskoj, i moja obitelj su djelomice vjernici, ako ne samo zbog tradicije kojoj pripadamo. Napokon sam osjećala da i ja sada imam pravo biti dio toga i voljeti one lijepe stvari i ljude koje želim voljeti, unatoč tome što su vezani uz crkvu. Shvatila sam za vrijeme mise koja je ujedno bila i misa krštenja mog malog anđelka nećaka, da se puno toga što je tamo izgovoreno, obučeno u specifični profilirani govor crkve, slaže s onim u što vjerujem i što vjerujem da je istina i za mene. Čula sam sve ono što je vrijedilo čuti, a ono s čim se ne slažem me nije uznemiravalo, već sam prihvaćala da svaki um kreira svoju istinu i svoja pravila života u čistoći.

Svećenik me nije osuđivao, niti me kudio, niti mi je zaželio dobrodošlicu nazad u katolički život, već me saslušao i rekao mi da mi je oprošteno i sve ono što nisam ispovjedila i sve ono čega se ne sjećam i čega nisam svjesna, a možda je grijeh. Da se sjetim i da osjećam da je bog sa mnom u svakodnevnom životu. Da ono što mogu dati drugima mi je od boga dano, i ono za što nemam kapaciteta da dam, da znam da mi nije dano da dam. Rekao je još puno lijepih riječi utjehe i shvaćanja da je sve što radimo okupano u prisustvu boga. Sve što je govorio, bilo mi je razumljivo i utješno i prelijepo. Imala sam tu sreću, tu božansku podršku da se sve ovo dogodi kao vođeno nevidljivom rukom. Sada znam da mi je bilo potrebno čuti od onog kojeg sam odbijala i čak mrzila, da mi oprašta. Kao da je crkva kakav prijatelj kojem sam se zamjerila i napokon odlučila pružiti ruku pomirenja, koja drugome nije bila potrebna, već samo meni, kako bih lakše sebi oprostila.

Shvatila sam da iza institucije crkve, kao i iza institucije organizacije postoje ljudi koji kolo vode. Ljudi koji nisu bezgrešni, koji nisu uvijek čistih namjera, koji često manipuliraju i muljaju. Isto tako postoje i ljudi koji su čista srca i iskrenih namjera, bilo u crkvi, udruzi ili bilo kakvoj organizaciji. S te neke racionalne strane, svi mi jesmo grješni, jer smo nesavršeni, jer smo ljudi. Ljudi vrlina i mana koje se manifestiraju svakodnevno, nekada i istovremeno.

S jedne druge strane, sve je ovo snimljeno i treba biti upravo kako je, i sve je uistinu savršeno u svojoj naizglednoj nesavršenosti. Sve što nam se događa, pruža nam priliku da naučimo, da sebe vidimo bolje, da volimo, da se ljutimo, da opraštamo i suosjećamo. Da nikada nismo pogriješili, ne bismo poznavali slatkoću oprosta. Da nismo mrzili, ne bi znali ljepotu suosjećanja. Prihvaćamo i spremamo u srce tek nakon što ranije nismo mogli prihvatiti.

Hvala na čitanju, te doskora, stojte mi dobro i oprostite sebi, počupajte male mržnje koje ste posadili i zalijevate. Jako je fino živjeti u čišćem vrtu.

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I am being squeezed! My entire brain is under pressure of the words that wish to write themselves on the screen. They do not let me go until they write themselves in the way they imagine to be written. Do you really think I have anything to do with writing all this? You are quite mistaken. Control is least present in all this.

Guruji recently said: What we live now is a projection of a film that has been recorded, when you see things from one perspective. It is difficult to understand what I am saying from the perspective you now have. And what is currently being recorded is what we will be seeing in the future. Deep, dude! Difficult to grasp. What about free will? Ultimately there is no free will. Our mind and ego wish to think they know it exists. Everything I wish for in this life is freedom, and now you wish to tell me it is all pre-recorded? Hmmm.

This is something for you to think about, let us move on to concrete events. Everything began where all stories begin – a long, long time ago. When I was a kid, our house was across a church yard. There lived and worked a well-known leftist Croatian priest, don Ivan Grubišić, and nuns whose names I do not remember, but I do remember one that smiled a lot. The same nuns brought my nanny Jadranka to my family’s door one day, but that is another story.

When I was a child, my grandmother was already an old woman to me, she used to watch the Sunday service on TV, even though the church was just across the street. At least this is how my child’s mind remembers. I often went into the church yard and played there. My true, official church-related life, began a few years later.

I later became aware that before coming to Zadar, I was not christened. The main reason why I was later christened and received first communion is simply because my sisters were doing it. Jelena had a stronger connection to the church, from the time we lived in Split, then Katina wanted to do what Jelena was doing, and so did I. Older sisters are a role model, and they need to be copied while we are still young. I really remember nothing of the christening, but I do remember the first communion very well. I was singing something in front of everyone, there was a protocol we needed to follow, I also had to wear a sheet tied around me with a rope which did not feel comfortable. I also had to acquire and carry a big candle, and then the confession thing – it all made me quite uneasy, or rather: really stressed.

The pic shows clearly the kind of state I was in. Then there was an incident when I was receiving the ‘certificate’ from the priest. He was offering it, expecting me to look at the picture of the last supper, but I was in a hurry to disappear instantly. However, the priest was obstinately holding the image, while I was pulling it, and could not understand, it was lasting too long for my taste, it was too embarrassing to stand in front of everyone. I finally got it, pulled myself together and looked at the picture, as he let it go. Thus, began my religious education.

Large books with lots of text came next, then the nun’s threats how we have to study well and be flawless in front of the priest/the authority. I was not scared of confessing sins, rather the possibility of not getting the correct wording or forget a part I needed to recite. The nun made sure this would be my greatest fear in front of god. The priest was kind and nice, I did not make any mistakes. It was a big surprise to me how smooth it all went.

At school, I did not like what we were learning, specially not the books. It was unreal and too complicated. Our nun kept saying how she was in love with Jesus, but I did not trust her. She had a soft and whispery, forcefully calm voice, and her entire being seemed artificial.

At this point, I was 12 or 13 years old, listening to the band Nirvana, while learning about Buddhism in religion class. This seemed to be something I could appreciate, opposed to all the stuff that was hard to get, and all the stuff you need to be able to enumerate.The holy sacrament of confirmation was approaching. I kept taking the class after school, the holy mass took place in the school atrium, the altar being two school desks put together, and the confession held in a materials storage cabinet room.

Quite unholy, and all a bit too much for me. I remember boys used to sit in the side niches playing cards during mass. I was always so sleepy during the long talks. I would come only to have attendance. As the confirmation thingy was coming closer, excitement grew and I started to understand what it meant to me. Friends spoke of buying new clothes, expecting fancy jewellery and/or money from family members, celebration etc. I was slowly realising all this would not happen in my family. I was painfully aware there will surely be no new clothes, especially for an overgrown girl in puberty, at a time where my size is a bit larger than the biggest girl’s clothes, and only slightly smaller than the biggest men’s sizes. Money and jewellery were out of the picture, between communist grandparents and an atheist father, celebrating with the family could not be a lovely event. Add the stress and shame of first communion, I am not sure I could have made it twice. I asked my dad if I could skip religion class and he simply said yes.

That was a great relief and a confirmation that I can continue with my resistance to Church and the horrible religion school classes. I did feel separate from others, cut off from knowing the confirmation process, wearing pretty clothes and getting a new name, they were saying..

That also passed. High school came. After the punk phase, the dark phase dawned, I read Anton LaVey’s poetry, believed in human evilness (LIVE read from the back is EVIL), wore upside down crosses, leather trousers and cherished the belief that I am my own God. There is no bearded god in the sky waving a stick.

I believed to have control over my own life and did not like the idea of an authority judging me, next to parents and elders, and professors. I had a friend who had a pure faith in God, and that was something I could appreciate. She could not understand how I can adore Marilyn Manson and consider The Little Prince beautiful. Seemingly difficult to put together, but for me the notion of innocence of the prince and the freedom gained through the Manson-like resistance easily connected into one. It is who I was: the innocent prince on the inside and the loud Manson on the outside. Usually the loudest are the ones who are the most screwed up, because they have the desire to express a lot and to justify everything they feel and think, to confirm all that takes place on the inside, in order to confirm their own existence and security, while being real and right.

Church? I don’t think so. Church, at that time, presented everything that was artificial and fake. A few years later I joined Zagreb Pride, becoming a founding member of the official association, I walked the streets kissing my girlfriend, while the church was Personal Enemy No. 1. People, individuals, politicians, family and friends could be convinced up to a point, what rights you fight for represent, but the church? The church is resolutely homophobic, aggressive and oppressive. In that period, I did a course where we meditated and spent a few days in silence. After the course I asked my teacher about the policy with the lesbian and gay population. The teacher said how there are lots of gay teachers, and that “all that” is normal in our organisation. Almost everyone I know had some ability to understand and love and accept in some way who we are, but the lil’ ol’ church – no.

Now, one can see the layer upon layer of built up animosity towards church. In primary school I vowed not to enter a church, ever again.

The peak of separateness was felt when I got fully initiated in Art of Living, becoming a representative of another knowledge about the world and universe and I started to teach what the church considers to be evil and voodoo. Only then, after probably 10 years and more, I entered a church. A church in Iceland, that was far from everything and everyone. I entered as a tourist. The church is protestant, so it did not feel like any of the ones I visited at home. Then there was a period of regular visits to the cathedral in Strasbourg that is rich with pagan symbolism, as well as an enormous depiction of Jesus. He is fully dressed in orange robes (from the time he was in India, got enlightened and where he went to after resurrection). Then was the first time I meditated in a church. Jesus, that was beautiful. Soon enough it became a tradition, out of need and convenience.

Meditating in the park under a tree is dangerous: the running dogs jump at you just to sniff you out and slash you with their tails. Sitting on a bench is too obvious: you might feel too many eyes on you. Except churches, the ferry is great. Sunglasses, headphones and chilling on the side of the ferry, no one seems to notice you are doing something out of the ordinary. But churches, oh yeah. You sit with your eyes closed, hands together, like everyone else. It is peaceful, silent and there is a prayerful atmosphere, in god’s temple. This is where going back to those beautiful holy places began again, but this time without resistance and bitterness, without being attached to what the ‘institution’ represented.

On a beautiful hot day, I was walking around town, waiting for friends to arrive, and just went into a church in Split, to rest from the world and mind for twenty minutes or so. A thought struck me how I would like to confess. I had no idea what it was that I wanted to confess, as I regularly open up my soul for what feels heavy to my master, friends, family, colleagues, myself. From the moment I entered that church, a somewhat magic story began. I still did not know where it would lead, but felt like I was being lead.

I suddenly got the idea I should do confession, I opened my eyes, got up and saw the confession booth in front of me. I thought that it might have been the energy of the presence of the confession booth that whispered I could confess. I picked up the idea in a light manner and decide I will see what time I could come for confession. At this particular moment, everything I just told you about my christian life development is just not something I even thought about. It started coming later, little by little.

A few days later, I was chatting with my sister about my nephew getting christened and it occured to me I could do it on the island Lastovo. The priest there is one of the reasons why my sister and her partner wished to have their son christened on that magical island. We are now on the island already. The preliminary conversation with the priest is done, but they forgot to ask him when I could come for confession. It all starts becoming too real and I keep going back to the details from the church-and-me story. I still had no idea what it is I will tell the priest, and why it is that I am even going to do this, but I felt that this is it and that it has to be done, and that it would be great. One thing that kept popping up is how I wanted to “apologise” to god for keeping up the animosity towards the institution, ignoring His existence in All Living and Non-Living Beings.

A phone call came in: go now, the priest is waiting. A strange knot started to grow in my stomach, as all my childhood fears became so real again, but I would not give up. I said I would go, and so I am going (the snake in the Little Prince says to him: you decided to leave, now leave!). My mom walked me off part of the way, not to get lost in the vast town of Lastovo. In those few steps we took together, I felt her support and security that only comes from mothers. I felt it was quite necessary in that moment. Facing my fear.

I arrived in front of the church and looked inside, but there was no one there. I saw the confession booth on the side, but was not quite sure what it is I needed to do now, as my confessions were usually in the school storage room. I took a seat and saw a small prayer book, went through it for a while, connecting to the idea of church. I came across the main prayers realising I still know them by heart. My palms started sweating, and all the things I wanted to confess kept coming in as clear as a shopping list. I kept repeating them so I don’t forget any. I kept waiting. For too long already.

As soon as I wanted to find out what is going on, the church bells started to ring. It was noon. The bad quality, artificially sounding bells calmed me down, and I easily returned to the present moment, back to my body. All the drama and agitation in the body just disappeared. I called my sister, to find out I should go to the office nearby, as it seemed the priest had already left. Now, I was fully prepared, it could choose the moment to meet him. I was standing in front of the door, I took my time before ringing the bell. The priest opened the door, and as I informed him of who I was, he assured me he would come shortly.

The confession booth is a small wooden box, where the priest sits inside, and you stay outside and kneel on the side, but can still hear him through the little holes on the side. I was not at all physically uncomfortable, just a little scared of what will happen. It already started, so no more time to ponder. He did not say much at the beginning, but was already giving me the opportunity to say what was bothering me. As the priest knows my sins, so can you. Like we do not all have similar “sins”. Here goes:

– that I have not respected my mother, and that still, even though I tell myself I will respect her more, I do things that are not completely fair towards her

– how I still find myself in the company of people who are not so good for me, and that I do not know how to stop this from happening again and again

– how sad I am to have systematically rejected church and faith for years

– and last but not least, how I feel the need to do more good for others, and as much as I do for others, I always have this feeling of being selfish and how I could do much more

The entire time, while I was saying the above, and later as the priest was channelling the space and the universe into exactly what my ear longed to hear, exactly in that order and in that particular way, I cried. Out of sadness, accumulated anger and resistance I was building up for years, that kept me exhausted.

I was born in catholic Croatia, and my family are somewhat believers, if only for keeping to the tradition we belong to. I finally had the feeling I have the right to be a part of all this and love the beautiful things and people I wish to love, in spite of them being bound to church.

What I got during the mass, that was at the same time mass held for the christening of my little angel nephew, is how a lot of things that were said then, dressed in a specific, profiled church speech, actually went hand in hand with what I believe in and what I believe is the truth for me as well. I heard everything what was worth hearing, and what I did not really agree with did not disturb me, as I accepted that each mind creates its own truth and creates its own rules for a life in purity.

The priest did not judge me, nor did he welcome me back to my Christian life. He heard me out, and told me I was forgiven for all the things I had not confessed, and all those I did not remember, and the ones I was not aware of, but might be sinful. He also said I should remember and feel that god is with me in my daily life. Whatever I can give others, I should know I was given by god, and for what I have no capacity to give, I was not given. He spoke many comforting words and the understanding that all we do is encompassed in god. Everything he said, I could understand, and I felt consoled and light. I had the luck, the divine support to experience all this as if I was lead every step of the way. Now I understand, I needed to hear from the one I rejected and even hated, I am forgiven. As if the church was a friend I resented and finally decided to stretch my hand out first, that was not needed for anyone except myself, in order to forgive myself.

I also understood that behind the institution of church, as behind the institution of the organisation, there are always people. The same people who are not without sin, who do not always come across as having the purest intentions, whether in church or any other organisation. From the rational side, we are all sinful, because we are imperfect. People are bundles of virtues and faults that exist and manifest, sometimes even at the same time.  

On one hand, all this has been recorded already, and therefor is exactly as it should be, and everything is truly perfect in its seeming imperfection. Everything that occurs is giving us an opportunity to learn, to see ourselves more clearly, to love, to be angry, to forgive and to feel compassion. If we had never made a mistake, we would not know the sweetness of forgiveness. If we had never hated, we would not know the beauty of compassion. We accept and store in our heart after not being able to do so.

Thank you for reading, and until very soon again, stay well and forgive yourselves, by pulling out those little hatreds you planted and keep watering. It is very beautiful to live in a clearer garden.