Adorations (2013 Edition)

I Adore You, sunlight on bare skin

I Adore You, stillness after a storm

I Adore You, susurrus of feathers

I Adore You, stirrings of uncertainty

I Adore You, riding on winds of change

I Adore You, ruins of war

I Adore You, exiled prince

I Adore You, as a bolt of lightning from above

I Adore You, glorious grace

I Adore You, of soft words and loud deeds

I Adore You, softly falling snow

I Adore You, breath-stealer

 I Adore You, thrill of the chase

I Adore You, endless pools of blue

I Adore You, strength in adversity

I Adore You, whisper of discontent

I Adore You, path-paver

I Adore You, veiled in shadow

I Adore You, life-song singer

I Adore You, of innocence lost

I Adore You, wearer of many masks

I Adore You, hymn of dissent

I Adore You, shaped by love and loss

I Adore You, heartbeat symphony

I Adore You, brutal honesty

I Adore You, exhilaration racing through my veins

I Adore You, who balks at thanks, for that which is given is only what has been earned

I Adore You, beauty in grief

I Adore You, splendor of the heavens

I Adore You, aching longing, reaching for that which is lost

I Adore You, all-consuming fire

I Adore You, echo of hope

I Adore You, on which heavy lies the crown

I Adore You, paradigm-shifter

I Adore You, divine judgment

I Adore You, tester of wills

I Adore You, breaker of chains

I Adore You, steely-eyed resolve

I Adore You, joy beyond comprehension

I Adore You, gentle nudge forward

I Adore You, contempt of permanence

I Adore You, torch-bearer for those who have strayed

I Adore You, burner of bridges

I Adore You, Firstborn Sun and Mourning Star

A note to those looking into using dance as a devotional activity

As someone who does this regularly, I didn’t realize how intense an offering this could be until today. Usually, I devote my dancing to Sarasvati. I’ll acknowledge her during stretches, offering up the energy and strength and pain that will be raised during practice. Every tensed muscle, every breathe of air, I offer to her.
But today, my devotional took a life of its own.
I had had an awful day—I was feeling worn down and depressed, and I just wanted dance to be an outlet. I began class as usual, acknowledging Sarasvati, but out of nowhere, Lucifer butted in.
Today’s dance was not an offering. It was a release.
I danced my pain and frustration. I danced his sorrow and heartache. I danced our fall from grace, our grief, our hope.
It was all I could do to keep from breaking down in the middle of class, but it was worth it. It was cathartic, and everything I needed.

Acts of Devotion

Even after more than 7 years of choosing to leave behind the religion I was born into (Catholicism), I find myself struggling not to revert back to some of the teachings—not because i’m losing faith in my beliefs, but rather because i’m growing stronger in them.

I bet that sounds kind of crazy, coming from someone whose patron god is Lucifer.

But I never really hated the catholic faith, or christianity for that matter. Although I didn’t appreciate being dragged to mass on sundays or being forced to take catechism classes for my first communion, I thought of it as more of a cultural thing rather than a religious duty (those of you that come from a typical hispanic family will know what i’m talking about).

So I went through all of it because my family thought it was necessary—not that I had much of a say in it anyways as a little kid. But looking back on my experiences now, I can appreciate a lot of what goes on in a typical mass.

I was taught that I should show proper reverence to god, to humble myself and kneel when praying. I don’t think I quite understood at the time why I had to kneel, other than it was I was told to do. There was no feeling connected to this act, it didn’t stem from a desire to please god, it was just a show of going through the motions.

Now, however, I understand the innate desire to kneel before one’s god. No longer is it an issue of what i’m told to do, but rather what I want to do. Although I understand that my patron and I are on equal footing, I admire him greatly and wish to pay him the highest respect and honor—and in my mind, that goes back to what I was taught as a child. Kneeling as an act of devotion, then, is what I feel compelled to do when in prayer (not only to him, but to any god who I have chosen to honor).

But in my patron’s eyes, kneeling is an act of subservience. No matter how much devotion and sincerity I put behind it, kneeling in prayer will only be a symbol of inferiority to him. He will not allow me to degrade myself as such, and so I no longer kneel in prayer.

But at least I can say that I understand and appreciate this act of devotion and faith now, and respect those who choose to do so