While I hadn’t been going to church with any regularity, the service in the Church of the Holy Mother felt alien and familiar at the same time. After entering the building, Tanja, as my companion finally introduced herself, guided me to the main-room where other members of the congregation were already waiting. Again, the room was a strange combination of the utilitarian, with rows of chairs set up for the people, and the somber, as the lighting made the ceiling vanish into darkness with only tiny specks of light hinting at it, giving the illusion of a starry sky above us.

Tanja greeted others, only introducing me as someone who needed time to think and maybe someone who listened to them and strangely everyone seemed to simply accept that. While they didn’t approach me, their body-language was open and inviting, making it clear that if I desired to talk, they would listen, letting me set the pace. Instead of approaching, I decided to watch and realised just how varied and diverse the people in the dimly lit room were.

Some of them were dressed in business-clothes, making me think that they had just left a meeting or something along those lines, a couple were dressed in well-fitting casual clothes but another group looked almost destitute. The few shreds of conversation that I picked up were just as mixed, two of the better-dressed people were discussing a recent paper regarding quantum-computing, exchanging technical terms that reminded me of university but shortly after, I saw one of them asking one of the worst dressed people about their partner.

But the chat didn’t last too long, after a couple of minutes, Tanja returned to my side and told me the what would happen next. The first part of the service, which we were in now, was a simple get-together, allowing the people of the congregation to talk to others, maybe share what burdened them, things like that. It was almost like a self-help group and, as Tanja described it, it was understood that what was shared in the church remained in confidence. Yet, despite that confidence, I had been accepted without hostility.

Next would be a shared, quiet drink followed by a moment of quiet introspection and silence. Curiously, Tanja didn’t exactly tell me what we would be drinking and continued on before I could ask. After the introspection, there would be a sermon followed by another round of silent introspection to think about the message and finally, a shared prayer to the Holy Mother. When I asked about hymns, I was told that the week-day services were for quiet introspection and reflection, singing and a celebration of community was on Saturdays. I had to smile at that, happy that I wouldn’t have to mumble my way through unfamiliar songs or simply sit them out.

Shortly after, everyone gathered at the front of the room and from a side-door another person emerged, dressed in clothes similar to what Tanja had on, a black coat or mantle, with a high collar that turned into a hood. Shadow hid the features of the woman, only the shape of the body giving away that it was one. She was carrying a decanter and Tanja took out simple cups from the altar around everyone, including me, had gathered.

I was a little sceptical but part of me had decided to go through with it, the feeling of acceptance and community helping me along. The people here didn’t seem as if they were a strange suicide-cult or anything along those lines, merely normal people who got together for one reason or the other.

I was handed a cup and it was filled from the decanter, the smell telling me that we were getting coffee and I had to suppress laughter, feeling that it would be inappropriate.

“We come together on this evening, to partake the divine nectar. May the Mother watch over us.” the woman who had brought the decanter intoned. Again, the solemness stopped me from laughing out loud at coffee being described as divine nectar but I drank in concert with everyone else.

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It was good coffee, the taste surprisingly mellow, taking away the idea that milk or sugar was needed. Not the jet-fuel level coffee I normally liked but the taste felt appropriate.

Without further words, everyone moved to the seats and I, too, found a spot. The only sound that was audible in the room was the soft breathing of the people, no sound from the outside intruded. For the first time, since hearing the news, I felt my mind calm as I listened to the simple sound of my breathing. Somehow, a prayer that I had heard long before floated to my mind, the Serenity Prayer. Change the things you can change, accept the things you can’t change and have the wisdom to know the difference. Maybe that was what I had to do.

It felt far too soon when a voice broke the silence. Looking up, the woman who had brought in the decanter was at the front of the room, looking over the congregation. It was time for the sermon. There was a small part of me that expected some sort of sales-pitch but what I got was anything but. The woman simply talked about acceptance, openness, honesty and humour, the importance of community and working together, whether with those in the congregation or outside of it. It seemed carefully crafted to remind people that everyone was the child of someone, not just those who accepted the Holy Mother.

Afterwards, there was something that felt almost like a ritualistic poem, speaking of the Holy Mother and how she had given birth to the Divine Daughter to ease her loneliness. Together, they had set about creating marvels and wonders only to have a spurned mighty being, it sounded almost like the Devil, try to kill the Holy Mother but as the Holy Mother lay dying, the Divine Daughter came, returning to her Mother and in doing so fusing with her. Together, they were able to survive and thrive, becoming the Serene Goddess, who was still the Holy Mother but also the Divine Daughter.

It was a curious part of poetry, beautiful in its imagery but also a little sad. When she finished, she told everyone that now was the time to silently pray to the Serene Goddess, to ask for her benediction.

While I was still sceptical, part of me wondered, why not, what do you have to lose.

And so I prayed.

In the privacy of my mind, I started to explain my worries to that strange Goddess, the diagnosis and how I felt that I hadn’t achieved anything. That I wondered what would become of me. That I didn’t want to die.

“And what is it that you want to do?” A soft, clearly female voice asked. My head shot up, eyes scanning to see who had talked, who had intruded. But there was nobody near, at least not to speak in such a soft voice. Bewildered, I wondered if I was turning insane, if the tumor in my head was taking my faculties faster than expected.

“No, you are not insane. But what do I know, I am merely a voice in your head.” the same voice commented, sounding rather amused.

“Goddess?!” I asked, just about ready to run out of the room, screaming.

“Please, do not disturb the others. You came here, asking for help, for someone who would listen, maybe even help. I would be a bad mother if I did not listen to my children, would I?” the voice asked with obvious compassion.

“But that’s impossible? There are no gods!” I insisted but a small part of my mind wasn’t so sure.

“Maybe it is impossible, but I would say it depends what you mean by ‘God’.” the voice stated, the previous amusement back.

“For now, why not simply say that there is a voice that answered your prayer. That asks you what you want to do. And once we have established what you want and how I can help you, we can go back to argue theology.” the voice continued.

“The cancer, can you help?” I asked, hoping, praying, that the answer would be yes.

“I can. But as I am not omnipotent, you should still go back to the hospital, just to give you peace of mind.” as the voice spoke, I felt my head become a little clearer, as if a fog I hadn’t known about had been lifted.

I didn’t know what to say, how to react, when the speaker from earlier raised her voice again and intoned a prayer. I didn’t know the words so I simply spoke my thanks to the Serene Goddess, hoping that I didn’t just turn a little insane.

But part of me wanted to believe.