I come from a Catholic religion, but I'm not Catholic.

“I come from a Catholic religion, but I’m not Catholic,” said Monica Bellucci, in words that shimmer with quiet rebellion and deep self-knowledge. Her statement is not one of defiance, but of awakening — a whisper from the soul that has learned to separate heritage from identity, tradition from belief, and inheritance from choice. In her voice, we hear the echo of all those who have stood at the crossroads of faith and freedom, who have looked upon the sacred walls of their upbringing and chosen to step beyond them, not in anger, but in truth.

In those few words, Bellucci captures a universal tension — the weight of the religion we are born into and the calling of the self we must become. To “come from” a faith is to be shaped by its stories, its symbols, its songs. It is to carry the rhythm of its prayers within one’s blood. But to say, “I am not Catholic,” is to claim the courage of the seeker — the one who loves the light but no longer confines it to the stained glass of a single temple. It is the eternal dance between belonging and becoming, between inheritance and independence.

So it was, long ago, with Siddhartha Gautama, who came from the palace of kings and the religion of his ancestors. Surrounded by luxury, he was told that truth lay in ritual and lineage. Yet his heart was restless. One night, beneath the silent gaze of the stars, he left it all behind — family, faith, comfort — and went forth seeking the essence of life itself. When he returned, he was no longer a prince, nor a man of his father’s faith, but the Buddha, the awakened one. Like Bellucci’s words, his journey teaches that to leave the religion of birth is not to reject it — it is to honor it by transcending it, by seeking its spirit beyond its form.

Religion, at its heart, is a vessel — a way by which humanity seeks the infinite. Yet many mistake the vessel for the ocean. To come from a religion is to inherit its vessel; to not be of it is to sail beyond it, into uncharted waters. Bellucci’s declaration is not a denial, but an expansion. It says: I carry the poetry of my faith, but I am not confined by its walls. Such freedom is not for the faithless, but for those whose faith has evolved — who have looked upon the divine and realized that it dwells not in doctrine, but in the quiet pulse of being.

There is a certain bravery in claiming one’s spiritual independence. Many fear that leaving the fold means losing belonging, but the wise know that truth can never be owned by a single creed. The mystics of every age — Rumi in the East, St. Francis in the West — have said the same: that love of the divine surpasses all names, that the heart is its true cathedral. Bellucci’s words echo this ancient truth — that one may be formed by the rituals of a religion, yet find the sacred elsewhere, in art, in love, in silence, in the simple act of being human.

Her statement reminds us that identity is not a static inheritance, but a living creation. Just as the river flows from its source but does not remain there, so too must the soul move beyond the riverbed of its origin. The wise man or woman honors their past not by clinging to it, but by allowing it to nourish new understanding. To “come from” a faith is to thank it for the soil; to “not be of it” is to bloom in one’s own light.

So, dear listener, let this be your lesson: walk with reverence for where you have come from, but do not let it bind where you are going. Seek your truth not in the echoes of others, but in the voice that speaks within you. Respect all faiths, for each is a doorway to the same vast mystery. Yet remember — you must pass through the doorway; you cannot live forever upon its threshold.

And when you stand at that threshold — between what was taught and what you have found — do not be afraid. For the divine does not dwell in temples of stone alone, but in the boundless expanse of a free and awakened heart. Like Monica Bellucci, you may say, “I come from,” yet stand unbound — rooted in history, but reaching for the infinite.