Music is subjective. A song that hits you at the core of your being could just be fingernails on a chalkboard to another. Disco was fingernails on the chalkboard for me. I couldn’t change the station on the radio quick enough. When punk music hit the scene I was hoping it would be the death of disco. I didn’t care for the antics that went along with punk music but I loved the raw energy it delivered.
After everyone slowly made their way out, in silence, I sat alone in the reconciliation chapel of the Cathedral unable to move. Sitting in that uncomfortable wooden chair, the back of my head leaning against the thick cement wall, I felt isolated and removed from all existence.
If you’ve read my reversion story you know I was searching everywhere for meaning in my life. Searching for myself. I finally succumbed to the longing in my heart and made a concerted effort to attend Mass on a regular basis and would ask myself the same question over and over. “There has got to be something more to this (Mass) than just this (what I am seeing).”
A few months ago I began developing chest pain. Nothing serious but noticeable. Over the next few days, this pain intensified so I gave it a bit more attention. There is history of heart issues in my family so I thought that might be a possibility. I practice martial arts on a regular basis so I thought maybe I just pulled a muscle. I didn’t panic but kept an open mind as to what might be going on. But “what could it be” was a persistent thought in the back of my mind?