At midnight, a twelve hours call for the Holy Spirit to rain down on those gathered in a tin-roofed church climaxed in a cacophony of singing, shouting, and crying–a collective, spiritual orgasm.

When those who believe the creator of the universe can hear their plea only with amplified voice finally succumb to sleep, this can be a quiet, peaceful place.

The rain did come, throughout the night and into the early morning. The rising sun warmed a cloud ladened landscape. The subtle bass rhythm of music rose from a distant flat. The voice of an infant oscillated from a low complaint to a full cry of discomfort in a world yet new. Two stories below our shared flat, the muddy streets were transformed into temporary streams which carry plastic bags, wrappers, and packaging through a muddy, gravitational descent.

I find my time in the cities perplexing.

While we move to a greater understanding of how our universe did unfold, deeper insight to what makes us whole, I see a world of increasing disconnection for who we are. A lack of understanding of the complex system of which we are a part. Fear of the environment outside of that which we have built.

Repeat attempts at replacing what makes us human with a technological revolution. Just one more upgrade, just one more download, and finally, we will have arrived to that place where our inherent biological tendency toward the path of least resistance is satisfied, our lives made more easy.

Yet, that place is never found.

Our youth know not what it means to be alone.