We spit holy water, we rain scorching fire
Jerih Moh Yamah
I felt God amidst twisted bodies and jumping legs, white chairs somersaulted on tiled floors. Holy water and incense giving the atmosphere more depth and spirituality. Muted lips like mine praying to feel the weight of the Holy Ghost in my soul. Rabbi! Rabbi!! Rabbi Baba!!! The woman hurls herself in the celestial space, sharing her body with the spirit that consumes her, afterwards tears would run down her eyes as though God gave her some new sight commoners like me would never envision. People dance around me like they are stepping on hot coals, their hands gripping their stomach in unimaginable pain, lips speaking Hebrew and Latin alongside languages Babel caused to the world.
Like saints being welcomed into heaven, our gowns cleanse us of the things we leave behind to forget in God’s presence. Our heart submissive to the house of worship. Peace looks like white in order and uniformed. We are united by the problems that chase us, the witches that drag us, the families that tear us, the sins and curses we inherit. We are bounded by the hurt that only God can heal, the faith the candle instills in us carrying our prayers as the wax melts to meet our father in heaven.
Prophecy, Home and Joy
That’s what here means to millions.
Goodbye to the things that seep all the life in us.
Celestial Church of Christ, Olajuwon Parish.
