No Sex During Church Sessions

I have been wailing all day enclosed by walls and windows of a tour bus. I had my mothers note tucked in my headdress and mine shoved even further. A prayer to god. A letter filled with desires to the almighty with a higher chance of them coming true should be the easiest to write. Shit --it's like asking a genii. Yet, I polished the lamp from a hundred years of tarnish with tears on my paper. I am not religious, I am not selfish enough to write a letter with aspirations.
Dear god, don't give me anything. Let me deserve you.
I have been practicing all day as to what I would say to someone that has been watching me rehearse.
I pray I can believe in you.
There was a bus of Russians who near all want to visit a shrine and religious place to get closer to god. I wanted to stumble off the beaten path and pet kitty cats. I want to crawl into a catacomb and dance with the deceased.
People kept asking me if I'm lost and needed religious guidance in a religious affiliated store. No, I am currently in Israel --I know enough of where I am to leave my tour group and walk past the herd taking photos to find unmarked ruins. Yes, I'm lost in sentiment but god will not help me if I have not found him yet. Admitting to a monk in said store that I am Buddhist and having him redirect me to the cheap section stung on a pride level.
I am proud to say I am a Buddhist and no where near cheap. Others happiness determines my own. I am numb but breathing, I am weak but training. I am a sinner but holy.
Somewhere in old Jerusalem, our tour guide announced that "God tests your patience". I call bullshit --commercialism and the herd mentality was glorified. The daintiest of women and the most reserved of men crawled from under my skirt and around my shoulders to snag a photo of "de lawd arr sahvour". For what? To say they were there? To hang the blasted photo on their wall? "Land of da Heebrus".
We stood in line for an hour to crawl into a cave where Jesus was buried. Mind you, I am not religious. Mind you, I stared in line at the walls and ceiling fixtures. Nonetheless, I wore a headdress and let my body cup the ass of a Belorussian woman in a teal shirt that smelled like a fabricated meadow.I didn't really mind. I let Pakistani men nip my breasts when piling out. I listened to our Russian, I-swear-on-my-life gay tour guide argue in Hebrew that a Chinese woman wasn't giving him room to talk while she screamed in English that he pushed her. I watched another Russian woman swear at a tourist that she, no way in hell, will cut her in line.
I went through the seven sins in a claustrophobia's nightmare. Sloth --fucking lord standing breathing on someone's neck while someone's body sweat drips down your own neck really makes you unwilling to move anymore. Pride --for calling out the Russian woman and letting a group of Brits separate me from my tour group as well as providing a body support to the most religious and elderly woman on my tour, I got one of the most spacious corners all to myself. Wrath --I kept repeating in my head the ways I could kill someone with only stair railing and had to be reminded by the shriek of an even more distressed monk that actions like so aren't morally sane. Lust --I moved my hips so wide in the market place I cut off three sellers from offering their products. Gluttony --I indulged on their heavily accented "wow"s and widened eyes. Envy --I watched the candles light and the women fall to their knees over Jesus's stone near tears as they have just been blessed by their savior and I just touched a rock.
Maybe this was God's test. "Anastasia, are you worth it? Can you wear the Star of David under your blouse and deliver notes to the wailing wall?"

Dear god, I've been struggling to figure that out myself.

I am not a Christian. I predicted an accident that occurred at the doors of my grandmother's church. If my mother asks what I saw, I'll say a lot of Byzantine and medieval architecture. I mean I kept taking photos of Jesus but shit, I kept getting lost in the story.
But I still wailed at the wall. Two notes in hand and I was balling like a baby. Mind you, I don't pray but god, I'm worthy of your attention. I am weak --I fall into the hands of sin --but I'm in training as I clutched my fists, closed my eyes, and counted to ten as the man in front of me climbed the steps. I am broken --my hip had spasms at the door of Jesus's grave --but I don't need fixing as it is the strength in my soul to allow an elderly woman passage before my aching body.
God, are you listening?
I hate to add more symbolism to a world I still can't believe in but at the West wall, I felt the strongest connection to something divine compared to the whole day.I hope this isn't like blowing out candles because I'm about to tell you my prayers.

"Dear god, I have been rehearsing this all day but you probably know that. Uhm. I have no idea what I'm doing. Why am I here? 

Uhm. Baruch Ada edonay shalomalenu mazel tov! 

I'm not asking for you to show yourself or prove to me your here. I want to believe in you I just need something. 

Don't give me anything. Let me earn it. Let my mother not pray for me anymore --I still haven't fucked up. She deserves more than I give her. She doesn't deserve my years of trouble --give her peace since I am too stupid to be better. Let my father be happy since everyone deserves their sunshine and I just so happen to not always be there. Give him the love he missed as a child and the love we struggle to give each other. Everyone deserves love and I'm sorry I can't provide it. 

Dear god, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I don't pray, I'm sorry I don't believe in you, I'm sorry I am worthless. I'm sorry I'm still figuring this out. I'm sorry I put my family through this --they didn't leave home for my mess up. I'm sorry I'm lying that I will change because I won't --not yet. I'm sorry I'm not enough but give me the strength to prove them wrong.  Let them know I will be better one day."

And then the tears came. They ran down my cheeks loud enough to have a woman rest her hand on my shoulder and tisk tisk me to silence. They fell down my face, into my mouth, and onto someone else's letter. I don't cry, I am not religious, but I sat at the wall of prayers and cried. I cried for the troubles of my family, for the separation of the wall and it's people. I prayed for ten minutes under the sun with my hair wrapped in a scarf because I "didn't need" a religious headdress. I cried.
 God, I hope you heard me.

This was a gift from a nation that no longer exists to the city of David's shrine for Mother Mary. Most unique --made from elephant bone --and my favorite.