spirituality – Page 6 – One Woman's Quest

Day 209 “The Multiverse”

In innocence, I first encountered her;
I, a mere child of five:
wide-eyed, curious, and unafraid;
she a creature of Nature.

The woods where I wandered were hers,
densely populated, untamed.
She eyed me with bewilderment,
this unattended sapling in her path.

With feline instincts she stalked me,
considering her moves
I was hers, undefended –
and so she took her time,
waiting for me to ripen for the attack.

She followed me through the fields
of adolescence,
pacing the perimeters
patiently biding her time.
And I, with growing awareness
came to understand her threat.
And I picked up the pace.

Into adulthood I ran,
seeking safety in the concrete walls
of business life, and fast-paced living
and like a cat with a mouse
she toyed with me,
knowing I’d be hers in the end.

She shrank back into the shadows
when motherhood became my calling
no doubt a Mother herself,
and therefore compassionately courteous.
But she never gave up.

Into old age I run, but –
the cougar grows closer,
her senses fully alert;
she smells my fear, and
fully powered she leaps
towards me,
and even
though
I seek
the safety
of my home
she easily
penetrates
the ineffective
doorways
of my
mind
and
pounces…

The Tao says that we live in a universe
of multiple possibilities –
a multiverse –
but when your life is spent
in survival mode,
in constant flight,
always looking behind
It is difficult to see the vast horizon
that lies ahead,
or even dream of possibilities

Day 207 “Discovering Your Purpose”

Yesterday, my husband lost all of the contacts on his computer, frustrating him immensely as it represents decades of business contacts, all friends, family, and commonly accessed services. In their place was a list of contacts from someone in the New Orleans area. Late into the night, Thor worked to restore the list.

Then this morning, we were awoken by a phone call, checking to see if he was okay. An email had gone out to everyone, marked “Urgent” and asking for money as he was “stranded in Italy.”

By the time we figured out what was happening, the phone was ringing incessantly, and texts and emails were flooding both our cellphones. It was overwhelming to say the least.

In the midst of this calamity came an email from a former employee of Thor’s saying he had tried to get through to the number in Italy, but was having trouble. He sent his cell number so Thor could contact him. Our initial reaction was disbelief that people would fall for this sham. Especially John, who Thor had not seen for decades, but whom he described as extremely bright.

“Why would he even thing you would ask him for money?” I wanted to know.

Thor called John and thanked him for his concern. It had actually happened to his daughter, he explained. She had been stranded overseas and needed to put a call out for money, so he didn’t like to take chances. Then they caught up on life since the last time they’d talked.

“It’s been way too long,” Thor told him as they ended the conversation. “Let’s do lunch soon.”

“Isn’t that nice that he would go out of his way after all these years.” We both agreed it was. More than nice. Heartwarming.

More messages came and a neighbour even came to the door, all checking that Thor was safe at home.

I know this post is supposed to be about “Discovering Your Purpose”, but purpose is that elusive promise that keeps our hearts and minds focused on anything but the here and now. I prefer, instead, to ask how can I live purposefully? How can I make each day count?

John did that today. He reached out to someone who once gave him a hand up in life, and risked appearing foolish, or worse, being defrauded, and brightened our day. He made a difference in someone’s life: small, but noticeable.

What if we all made that our purpose? To dare to help another, to extend a hand, and just say, “Are you okay?” To forget about ourselves for a moment, and the make the world a better place.

Day 206 “Heavenly Music”

Suddenly, with great clarity, I realized that this was the end. I was about to die.

Summer holidays, when I was a kid, always started with swimming lessons. Looking back I must have been a sight on those early mornings, trudging up the hill to the public pool in my swim suit, my long unwieldy curls half tucked under a bathing cap, my towel dragging behind me, and I skipping or chasing a stone, oblivious to the world around me. We had a pool in our backyard, so our mother insisted that we be trained in technique and safety.

As far as I can remember, those lessons involved a lot of time shivering outside the pool awaiting my turn to demonstrate a particular stroke or technique. The instructors were young, and often not very patient, especially as some of my peers protested at each step. What I do recall was watching the more experienced swimmers in the diving well next door. I was fascinated by their lack of fear as they twisted and flipped their way into the deep water below. Even after the lesson was over, I would stop and watch through the chain link fence enclosure, studying each move so that I could go home and practice.

At nine-years of age, I was a fish. Diving into the cool, refreshing water cleared my head and made me feel fully alive. I imagined myself as a dolphin, or seal, and was forever challenging myself to break new records: how long I could hold my breath under water, how many somersaults I could do, and so on. Sundays, when my father was home, he would goad us into racing him, which he always won, making me even more determined to improve. My younger sister and I had tea parties on the bottom of the pool and practiced talking to one another, emerging with great gulps of laughter.

Summer was my favourite time of the year, and water my element. It was only fitting that I should die here.

I didn’t have many friends in the neighbourhood, as the school I attended was on the other side of town, but occasionally a girl from across the road would accept my invitation to come for a swim. I only asked her when no one else was around, because my mother wouldn’t let us swim alone. One particularly hot summer day, I called her over. She obliged happlily.

Full of myself, and my newly practiced diving tricks, I decided to show off.

“Let’s dive!” I suggested, knowing full well I was breaking family rules. No diving without an adult present!

“I don’t know how.” Her mother had not forced her to take swimming lessons, it was obvious.

“I’ll show you!”

I demonstrated a simple stance and thrust into the dive, assuring her it was easy. She tried but didn’t tuck in enough and landed on her belly. Near tears, she stated that she wanted to go home.

“Just one more dive!” I insisted. “Watch this one!”

I turned my back to the pool and eased myself backwards, toes perched on the edge, then bending my knees slightly, I launched myself, but in that last second something went wrong and I didn’t have time to pull out of the plunge before hitting my head on the bottom of the pool and feeling my neck snap back.

The paralysis was instant and my body sunk, lifeless, and there I was lying on the bottom of the pool looking up towards and the surface and realizing that I wasn’t going to make it. This was it.

And, yet, I felt no panic. Instead, my eyes were drawn to a blinding white light that shone on me from above. Wow the sun looks really cool from here! my nine-year-old mind thought, and at the same instant I realized that this was not the sun, and a profound sense of peace filled me. I was not alone. In the stillness of the moment, I was surrounded by the most angelic music and the sudden awareness of voices that spoke as one: a heavenly chorus.

“You can stay or you can go” was the invitation offered, “but know that if you stay, you will have to be strong; it will not be easy.”

I am strong, I thought. I can do this.

“Remember that you are never alone,” was the parting message, and then the next thing I knew I was on the ladder, dragging myself out of the pool, with no one in sight. My “friend” had bolted when she thought I was dead.

Dripping wet, and smarting from the aftershock, I traipsed through the house to my parents’ bedroom where my mother had been bedridden for months.

“I need to go to the hospital,” I told her. “I think I just broke my neck.”

I couldn’t see my mother’s response, because she had the curtains drawn as usual, but she did fumble for the light and tell me to get dressed, and we did go to emergency and I had x-rays, and then she sent me with my older sister to the movies to get my mind off of it, and when I got home she was all in a panic because the doctor had called with the results, and I was not to be moving around, and it was a miracle I hadn’t drowned.

I just smiled calmly and said, “It’s okay, Mom. Today wasn’t my day to die, the angels told me so.”

Self-Delusion

I am driven,
a woman obsessed.
feet digging in,
body pressed forward,
the sweat on my brow
blackened by the relentless dust
whipping around me
in the prairie heat.
I drive on,
fatherless,
husbandless,
solely responsible
for my cargo
the horses heeding my commands,
everything, everyone
I treasure
on board.
I am a pioneer
delivering us
to the promised land.

I am wounded,
bleeding,
my prone body
curled on a mat of straw
back towards the others
teeth clenched
in silent pain
determined
not to show my need.
I will not be a burden.
so I feign sleep
and brace myself
against the jolts
and try not to gasp.
Lie still,
Be brave,
the journey is necessary
and soon we will arrive
and all will be well
and I will stop,
bleeding.

We children
are both afraid and
joyous
The ride is bumpy
and never-ending
and we try to be good
and not complain
but our spirits long
to play
to get out of this wagon
and find cool water to
splash in
or play hopscotch
in the sand.
But we are obedient
and so instead
find laughter
in the moments
in our own company.
Believing,
trusting,
that all is for a reason,
and the end is near.

I am a young man,
and I have goals,
and dreams
beyond the confines of these wagon walls.
I have a vision
of a life fulfilling,
of purpose,
and gold,
and I am ready
and able
to fight
I am willing
to strive,
fearless
into the unknown
yet I am trapped
held captive
by my elders.
overlooked.

I am the faithful,
God-inspired
all-believing,
hopeful,
prayerful,
trusting in higher power
caught in a web
of pleading, asking, forgiving,
accepting, and wondering.
What can I give of myself?
What does God need?
Am I not good enough?
Have we sinned?
Are we being punished?
Are our needs only trite,
and we selfish?
Must we bear this cross
to be received
in Heaven?
Is there a reason
I pray for strength
so that I may be more worthy,
more deserving,
when the judgment day comes.

I am a mother,
worried,
caring,
hoping for the best
catering to all,
barely a child myself,
bearing each experience
with borrowed strength,
selflessly focused
outward
drawing, drawing,
from a well
seldom replenished.
Tired,
oh so, tired.

I am an old woman,
frail yet wise,
enduring the rough ride,
surrendering to the knocks
knowing that as in all things
this too shall pass.
I am silent,
guarding my wisdom
for the imploring only,
acknowledging the value
in each journey
in each interpretation,
knowing that in the end
we are all deluded
and that the destination
is in the here and now
not tomorrow
not at the end of some dusty trail.
In each moment we have arrived
and so have I.
Patient and accepting.
Life is as it is.
Amen.

Day 197 “You Have To Be There”

Some people can walk into a group and immediately immerse themselves as if they have always belonged. I cannot. So when I arrived at the retreat late on Friday evening, and things were well under way, I decided to simply make myself a cup of tea and retire with a good book to my room.

The tea station was set up in the basement of the conference center, across the room from the stairway. I hesitated to cross as a group of women had gathered for a drumming circle and I would have to cut through their gathering.

“Go ahead.” The leader nodded at me. “Don’t mind us.”

Apologetically, I made my way, not daring to look at anyone, feeling like the intruder I was. I selected a nice chamomile and while waiting for the water to boil, I kept my back to the group. Their drumming had somehow synchronized and the intensity was building. I found myself becoming very sleepy. So sleepy that I never made it back across the room, having to stop instead to sit on a vacant chair.

“I’m so sorry,” I slurred. “I don’t know what is happening to me.”

“That’s alright. Just go with it. We are here to help.”

My eyes were suddenly so heavy that I struggled to keep them open, but I did manage to see the lead woman nod to the people beside me, encouraging them to take my hands.

“What is happening?” I managed.

“You tell me,” the woman coaxed. I knew this woman from other retreats. A Native American versed in rituals and ceremonies, she frequently offered to share her learning. Until now, I had stayed away – the eternal outsider.

“I feel like I am falling……as if the earth has opened up and I am dropping….down….down.”

“Let yourself go. You are safe. You will be able to tell us what you need.”

The drums continued and somehow trusting, I let myself go, deeper and deeper into the blackness, less and less conscious of the room around me, until I landed.

“Where are you?” Her voice sounded far away, at the other end of a tunnel. “Describe what you see.”

“The ground is cushiony, green, like moss. I am in a forest. It is quite dark, but there is some light in the distance. I follow it and come to an opening. It is beautiful here, and so serene.” I feel myself breath, and relax. In my mind, I am thinking that this is something out of a fairy tale: little girl lost deep in the woods, finds herself surrounded by flowers and friendly forest creatures. “This is crazy,” I try to open my eyes again, but the room is dark and filled with shadowy figures – animals, not people. I start to hyperventilate.

“You are okay,” she soothes me. “Tell me what is happening.” All the while the drums beat.

“I can’t see anyone…in the room… only…..animals. Not real animals….more like…spirits.”

“What do you see?”

“You are a Raven, and someone over here a Bear, and Helen….it doesn’t make sense.” Helen is an artist, gentle by nature and frail. “She is a Thunderbird.” Is there such a thing? My mind tries to make sense of what is happening. “Her animal is so strong!”

I lapse again into the darkness, falling back into the woods scene. “Someone is here,” I manage to whisper. “A woman. Ohhhh…..” I am struck with a profound feeling of well-being and harmony as the woman seemingly merges with me. I know her! My heart is racing. I have seen her before in dreams and visions. Ten years she has appeared, mysteriously, leaving an impression, but I have never understood. Now the pieces are falling together and I am one with the numinous being, and an ecstatic bliss fills my soul and I surrender.

“Yes!” the leader exclaims. “Yes.”

I remained in that suspended state of awe while the rest of the evening unfolded around me. Words emerged from my mouth, but I’m not sure that I spoke them. The drummers kept up the beat, and the women responded to the commands, and a healing energy moved amongst the gathering, the ecstasy spreading until I could hold the space no longer, and the leader called me back to consciousness.

“We will not speak of what has happened here further,” she said. “We have stood in the presence of the sacred, let us keep it that way.” But as I opened my eyes I turned to the woman beside me and realized for the first time who it was – a Judas – and I knew that our beautiful moment would be spilled, and that others would not understand.

“You had to be there,” I would respond when the questions came the next day.

The Drive Behind the Quest

I was nine, when I first asked God to let me die: I’d had enough of life. By the time I was fifteen, I was pleading: “Really, God. I am happy with all the experiences I’ve had. You can bring me home now.”

Once I realized that my mortality (suicide aside) was not negotiable, and convinced that God had forsaken me, I was determined to control my own destiny. Intolerance and judgment became my life maps. I went into overdrive to “get there”, wherever “there” was. I worked long hours, partied hard, and grasped at opportunities. I forgot to pack an emergency kit, so when life broke down, I was not prepared.

One thing I did know: my life wasn’t working for me.

That is when my quest began. I hungered for a deeper sense of purpose and an inner peace. I wanted to feel bliss and live from gratitude.

I first encountered the Tao through Tai Chi. “Tao means ‘how'” the instructor told me. “It seeks to explain the Universe.”

“Yes!” I thought. “This is what I need.”

I embraced spirituality with a great hunger, consuming philosophies and teachings with unbridled enthusiasm. My mind thrilled to the challenge of cryptic codes believing that I could find meaning and order in everything, and everyone, I encountered. My compulsive need to fix thrived under the poorly masked guise of “love and light”. I really hadn’t changed; I’d just chosen a different vehicle to drive.

Until it all blew up and those I felt closest to walked away.

I still quest, but now it is for simplicity and contentment. I am tired of complication and drama. I have seen too much. I am focusing now on letting go; and supporting others in their choices, allowing for the beauty of life’s natural order (and disorder) to unfold before me.

Truth is, whatever control we think we think we have is an illusion for the most part. Self-control, maybe, but never where others are concerned. For me, my mishmash spirituality helps me hang up that hat: my chauffeur’s cap. I am not driving anyone anywhere these days. Instead, I hope that others invite me along because I am me, and that me spreads love, acceptance and support.

As I learned long ago, some choices in life our not our own, but how we live is.
I still have a lot to learn. Guess I’ll be around for a while.

(Feature image: thejesuschick.com)(Other: www.inquisitr.com)

Bathroom Inspirations

“Meditation will open whole new worlds for you,” the psychic proclaimed.

“I know nothing about it. How do I start?” I was really just being polite. Dragged to this session unwittingly – I thought we were going to be playing euchre – I didn’t want to burst my friends’ bubbles by telling them how skeptical I was.

“It’s really very simple. Find a place and time where you know you won’t be interrupted, clear your mind, and focus on the center of your being.”

Really simple. I decided to try it, since the woman had said a few things that hit home. Maybe she was right about this too.

Step one turned out to be a problem. I was twenty-eight years old, and pregnant with baby number three. Finding a consistent time and place to practice meditation was a challenge. If and when the girls did nap at the same time, I would use those moments to do laundry, prepare a meal, or try to catch a few winks myself.

“Make time,” she had insisted when I told her about my busy schedule. “It is up to you.”

I felt so inadequate as a spiritual being, and at the same time driven to prove I could do it. I grabbed every minute of solitude that I could find. I would learn to practice the art at the drop of a hat. I would become super meditator.

The psychic was right. I had profound revelations, and discovered a new source of wisdom from within. It was amazing.

“Doing it in the same place, and at the same time, communicates your intent to the subconscious, unleashing the inner wisdom,” she had explained.

It was true. With practice, every time I went to my meditation place I would experience that connection, and sometimes even without seeking it, insights would flow.

Then one day, an amazing thing happened. I was out for lunch with a business associate and we were trying to figure out a mutual problem. Neither one of us could find a solution, until I excused myself and went to the Ladies’ room.

Clarity overcame me before I could even flush the toilet, and as I excitedly revealed the answer to my colleague, I marveled at how easily the idea came to me……in the bathroom…..the same place where I practiced meditation at home.

It seems that my subconscious mind is not particular about which bathroom I use. Now I experience inspiration when nature calls.

Day 158 “The Meditative Walk”

Just steps away from the car park there is a big old oak tree whose branches extend over the river. I start here, releasing any stress from the day, and saying a prayer of invocation.

When I am ready I start my walk, first along the path through the woods and then circling back by the river, and eventually stopping at a bench overlooking the flowing water where I can contemplate further.

On this day, I have brought my ten-year-old son.

I explain my ritual and invite him to join in my initial clearing and prayer. As we walk, I advise him to be open to whatever thoughts, emotions, or sensations present themselves, but caution him to keep his mind clear, grounding himself by concentrating on his feet on the earth if he has to.

“Could we see signs along the way, Mom?”

“Like what?”

“Like that hawk sitting in that tree over there?”

“Possibly. It could also just be a hawk sitting in a tree. I don’t usually pay too much attention, unless the sign recurs. But it is definitely okay to appreciate nature; he is a beauty.”

We walk on in silence. The woods offer a plethora of wildlife and I can see that John is alert and on the outlook. So serious for such a young man.

We reach a fork in the path, and I point us towards the river. This is my favourite part of the walk, where the graceful old trees line the riverbank, and magnificent homes stand guard across the way. It is a hot day, with little breeze, and the river is peaceful.

John points at two more hawks resting in the treetops.

“A good sign?” I ask him.

“I think so.”

It has been six months since our family was torn apart by separation, and while John seems to be doing well, I often wonder. He is an old soul; to worried about his mother for his own good. I am happy that he came along with me today, on what he calls my ‘finding inner peace’ walks.

I steer us off the path and across a grassy patch to a bench. “I like to sit here at the end,” I explain, “and just think about the walk, and anything else I might need to experience for healing today.”

I direct him to sit up straight with his feet touching the earth. He has to sit forward. Then I suggest he closes his eyes, and breaths deeply, releasing each breath slowly and fully.

“Feel the earth beneath your feet and around you, and as you breath, let go of your separateness.”

“What does that mean?”

“Try to experience yourself as a part of the surroundings. When you breath, for instance, imagine your awareness expanding beyond your physical self and becoming just part of the flow, so that the river feels like it is moving through you, and that bird’s song is inside you. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I think so.” Then after a few minutes. “Why doesn’t everyone do this, Mom?”

“It would be good. What are you feeling?”

“Like I totally let go of anger. I can’t hold onto it when I’m in this place.”

“Now you know why I come here.”

From the corner of my eye, I can see that others were approaching, so I suggest we move on. As we walk back towards the car, John, who had fallen quiet again, says: “You know how they say seeing is believing?”

“Yes?”

“Well I think it is actually the other way around. If you believe it, you can see it, but you have to believe it first.”

“You may be right.”

I don’t often share my meditative walks with another person, but it occurs to me as I write this that John and I are due for another.

Synchronicity

Daylight had just begun to creep into the night sky when an insistent tapping woke me. Fighting against the fog of sleep, my mind struggled to identify the source of the sound. It was coming from a window, across the room. A small bird was tapping frantically on the windowsill. Silly bird, I thought. You don’t want in here.

Awake now, I decided to start my day. In two weeks I would be going away on a much anticipated retreat. I had things to do. As it was a Sunday, I would have several hours to myself before the kids awoke and the day got underway. Thanks, little bird, I thought.

The next day, I was already waking up by the time my little friend arrived, tapping once again on the same window. He flew into a nearby bush as I made my way to my car a little later, and when I started the engine, he flew onto my side mirror and cocked his head at me. I laughed out loud. “You can’t stay there,” I scolded. “I have to drive to work.” Stubbornly, he rode down the driveway with me and then flew away as I turned onto the street.

We were to become best buddies for the next two weeks, he greeting me every morning, then riding with me on the car. When I’d return in the late afternoon, he’d be back to greet me again. Mom’s friend, the kids called him. “Why is he doing that?” they’d ask. “I have no idea.” I’d respond, but I had a feeling I’d find out soon enough.

* * * * *

Time came to set out for the retreat. Three of us were traveling together and stopping for the night on the way. We chose a cute little town with a promising looking little restaurant where we could get a gourmet meal. I chose the Duck. Never having had duck before, I didn’t know what to expect. The grease from the bird kept me up all night with stomach pains, and prompted a number of jokes about sitting ducks, and Duck! and so on, all night.

We arrived at the retreat center just before dinner the next day. The cabins were rustic, but the setting was idyllic. Our cabin was set back in the woods, not far from a stream with a waterfall. The beauty and serenity of the setting instantly filled me with calm.

The bell for dinner sounded, and my friends and I made our way to the dining hall. A line had formed along the entrance way, which doubled as a book store. “Oh good,” my friend Sandy exclaimed. “I want to shop for books.”

I was not as interested. I’d spent all my money getting here, so I would practice some restraint. I turned my back on the books to avoid temptation, but just as I did, someone tried to pass, and I knocked a shelf. I caught a book mid tumble. It was open, and as I glanced at the page, I was startled to see the picture of my little bird looking back up at me. I gasped.

“Remember the bird I told you about?” I exclaimed to my friends. “This is it.”

“What does it say?”

The caption read: “If this bird has shown up in your life, it is bringing you the message of…….”

Shaken, I put the book back. The message I just read was no coincidence. I couldn’t concentrate all through dinner. I had to know the rest.

The book, Animal Speak, by Ted Andrews, said that the bird that had been following me was a cowbird, and that cowbirds speak to the issue of abandonment in childhood. Andrews said if this bird had shown up in your life, it was time to deal with those issues. I was dumbfounded, and trembling, but at the same time, there was no better place for healing.

* * *

I awoke the next morning before sunrise, and slipped out of the cabin quietly. There was just enough light to see the outline of a path. A movement in the brush alarmed me, until I saw that it was a bird that flew just ahead of me. I followed. The bird flew ahead a bit further. I continued on the same route. The bird settled on a branch of a tree, and I approached it as if being beckoned. The tree stood on the bank of a stream. Without daylight, everything was imbued with an eerie light, almost other worldly. I decided this was as a good a place as any to meditate on my findings from the day before.

Taking a few deep cleansing breaths, I opened my awareness to the beauty of my surroundings. Immediately, I became aware of another presence; a presence I had not felt for many years: the divine feminine. My heart filled with deep longing, and sorrow, as tears rushed down my cheeks. My issue of abandonment.

Why did you abandon me? my heart cried.

I did not abandon you, the voice was gentle, loving. It was you who abandoned me.

It was true. I had become so entrenched in the pursuit of material happiness, I had neglected my spiritual roots.

I never left you. I felt myself surrounded in a warm embrace, and sobbed. I cried for all the years lived in a vacuum, striving to please others, and be good enough, yet lonely, incomplete. I cried for the arrogance that made me think I didn’t need this connection, and for the ingratitude that I had shown.

Mother, I had called her as a child. She was a loving, patient presence that was always there for me: her voice the subtle changes of the wind, her essence a sudden release of fragrance. She spoke to me through signs and omens, but mostly through birds.

Birds. Birds had brought me back to her.

Hope, renewal, rejuvenation, and love filled me. My feet barely touched the ground as I skipped back to the cabin, daylight just starting to greet the day.

“Tell your bird friend we don’t need the wake up call,” one roommate grumbled at me as I opened the door. “She’s been tapping at the window since 6.”

Sure enough, she was there again as we made our way to breakfast, following along and finding a perch just outside our window. Then, as if she had waited, she followed us across the grounds to the gathering place, where we would be studying for the day with Delores Krieger.

Synchronicity is the Universe’s way of telling you, you are on the right track, Delores offered.

At lunch, I looked up the species of bird: catbird.

” The presence of a catbird as a totem indicates you will be encountering a wider range of people than you are normally in contact with …..With the catbird as a totem, look for new people coming into your life that will teach you lessons in your ability to communicate.”

It made sense. The focus of the retreat was how to teach therapeutic touch, and it appeared that I was renewing old forms of communication as extracurricular.

I was feeling the synchronicity.

(Image: abundanthope.net)

Questioning

Every Sunday, dressed in our church clothes (matching dresses that mom had sewn herself) we girls were ushered off to service. Dad rushed us so that he could get a decent parking spot – one that would permit a hasty exit when it was all over. He didn’t want to waste his day hanging around that place any longer than he had to.

At eight years of age, I marvelled at how different everyone was on this day. The crabby old lady from next door, who spent all week terrorizing the children of the neighbourhood, arrived in formal attire, with her little pillbox hat and matching gloves, and sweetness plastered across her face. Another neighbour, who everyone knew drank too much and beat his children, was greeted as if he himself was free of sin. On Sundays, I observed, we all became new people.

I chose to sit in the main church for the sermon as I never quite got the concept of Sunday School. Seemed to me we never learned anything, and most days we just coloured pictures related to some story that made no sense. That’s not to say I understood the sermon either. The minister kept referring to God as He, which would set my mind to wondering. My experience of God existed right back to my earliest memories, and that being was more feminine than masculine. I could not relate to the He the minister kept talking about. Could I have been so wrong? Is it possible that the minister had it wrong?

“What is the point of church, anyway?” I asked my parents one day. “Seems to me it is hypocritical.”

“Sunday is the day that we worship our Lord,” my mother said. “We dress up and show respect in His name.”

“Well, what about the rest of the week? Is it okay to be nasty the rest of the week? Doesn’t God watch us then? Shouldn’t we be living in respect of God all week long?” I didn’t mention the gender thing.

“She makes a good point,” my father added.

“That’s the way it’s always been done,” my mother shrugged.

We stopped going to church, but my quest for spiritual understanding didn’t stop there. I invited myself to my friend’s churches, and discovered stricter creeds, and attitudes of superiority and exclusiveness.

Organized religion, from my perspective, tells one what to believe, rather than encouraging one’s own relationship with the divine. As a child, I had a deep and very real connection with something that was beyond the ordinary – a loving, yet omnipotent power.

Now, I seek a return to the sense of wonder of life, to the simplicity of knowing that there is a presence or meaning that transcends the mundane, and the security of believing in that force. I crave goodness, and a harmonious state of being. I want to know inner peace.