For Christ’s Sake

Overheard at a Thai restaurant: “I’m not religious, but I am spiritual.”

I get that, I thought. Then I wondered at the difference.

According to my ancient Webster’s dictionary, the adjective religious is defined as: “1. one that believes in or supports a religion; devout; pious; 2. of or concerned with religion (eg., religious books); 3. belonging to a community of monks, nuns, etc; 4. conscientiously exact; scrupulous.”

The adjective spiritual is defined as: “1. of the spirit or soul as distinguished from the body or material matters; 2. of or consisting of spirit; not corporeal; 3. refined in thought or feeling; 4. of religion or the church; sacred; devotional etc. 5. spiritualistic or supernatural.”

Interesting. The word “spiritual” does not appear in the definition of “religious”, and the word “religion” only appears in one of five possibilities under “spiritual”.

I recently learned that the religion into which I was baptized at the age of eighteen is not accepted as a Christian religion by other Christian religions. This is alternately hilarious and disturbing. It doesn’t bother me a whole lot, as I’ve been long inactive due to my issues with the church rather than with anything Jesus taught, but when I do think about it, I am a little annoyed. No matter what other Christians think, I took my baptismal vows to confirm my faith in the teachings and divine mission of Jesus Christ ... so how could I not be considered a Christian? Especially by other Christians?

But you know, I’ve always been a goat among sheep. Even when I was an active churchgoer, I refused to accept that my deeds would be judged by anyone other than God Himself. When my father gently suggested the Almighty might be too busy to manage my exit interview personally, I replied: “I’ll have all Eternity. I can wait.”

I have known many religious people. Few of them are truly happy. They are hard on others and harder on themselves. They keep their gazes down rather than their gazes up, as if fearing to meet the eye of God—and given the god presented in the Bible, I can’t say I blame them. The Old Testament God is not a nice guy. In fact, in human form, he’d probably have had his children removed by social workers until he completed a course in anger management and could prove himself a worthy parent. Seriously. Love born from fear is not love at all. Even we ignorant mortals know that, so Dad Above shouldn’t be surprised that his kids have abandoned him. They deserve better.

I know a few spiritual people, too. Most of them are happier than the devoutly religious folks, but every soul that is or ever was is here to experience contrast and most of us have as many dark days as we do sunny ones. Jesus was a spiritual person. These days I am less assured of parts of his story than I am in others, but I will not deny he was a light being with an extraordinary connection to his divinity. It’s unfortunate that his darkness was not as well recorded; relating to him as a conflicted human is difficult when he’s only ever portrayed as the solemn master of his mortal state. Of course his death was horrible, but he wasn’t the only one crucified in those days. The Romans practically made a sport of it.

I know, I know—his story is really about the Resurrection.

Or is it? Well, maybe, in that it seems many of his present-day followers strive to be worthy of his sacrifice by behaving in complete opposition to his lessons about loving thy neighbour as thyself and judging not lest ye be judged. Since our sins have already been atoned for, why not transgress with gay abandon knowing he gave us a free pass back to Heaven?

Ironically, I may be more of a Christian now than I was in my churchgoing days. I focus more on what he taught while he was alive than what religion says we won by his death (and even then, it has to be the “right” religion, otherwise it’s “do not pass Go, do not collect $200”). I prefer to trust in his loving way, in his sound sense of his own divinity and his efforts to convince everyone he met that they were just as precious, just as special, just as beloved, just as deserving of blessings, as he was.

As I am.

As you are.

With love,

A Brief Word with God

I sat with God. Together we watched the moon rise over the ocean, splashing butter-coloured light over opalescent waves.

I asked him for nothing and he gave me no direction. Eventually, I told him that I’m happy. I love my life, but if I want to change anything, I trust him to help me.

The moon ducked behind some cloud and the sky was suddenly dappled, deep blue and pale gold. God said nothing, but I felt him beside me, close and comforting in a way that made me feel safe and loved and not alone.

“I know you’re there,” I said, my gaze yet on the water. “I’m glad you’re there and always will be.”

Though he said not a word, I felt him smile.

Problem Solving

The late Wayne Dyer had an affirmation on his desk. Paraphrasing, it went something like this:

“Good morning! This is God speaking. Today, I am working on solving all your problems, and I don’t need your help. Have a spectacular day!”

It was a cue for him to live the moment and trust in a loving, friendly and generous Universe to work on the larger issues. When his action was required, he would be told.

“Surrender to Source,” advises the daily calendar in our kitchen. Yeah, right. Only “surrender” doesn’t mean “give up”. It means “get out of the way.” Meddling in the Universe’s process creates resistance, hinders the flow, and frustrates me into the bargain.

Problem is, I spend eight hours a day solving problems. Math problems, Sharepoint problems, policy problems, formatting problems, problems, problems, problems. It’s what I get paid to do. It often drives me crazy, but it’s my job. I’m also a Virgo, analytical to a fault and naturally inclined to solving puzzles. So how, after a day of solving other people’s problems, do I stop trying to solve my own? How do I let go of the wheel and trust all will be well without me figuring out some way to make it so?

The problem isn’t the problem. My attitude toward the problem is the problem. In fact, the problem may not even be a problem, it’s just that I perceive it as a problem. And, because I am already (constantly) in problem-solving mode, I feel responsible to, well, solve it.

But some problems are simply too big for me to solve. There are too many moving parts, or the solution will involve more people, or more information may be required before I can act. It may not even be my problem; it might only look like it because it belongs to someone I love.

I must develop an attitude similar to that of the work folks who trust me to have the answers. I must trust my loving, friendly and generous Universe to have all the answers, and to pass them along in the proper time (rather than when I think it’s time). I know life unfolds according to a plan that doesn’t always align with mine, but if I can “let go and let God”, as Dr Wayne liked to say, all will be well. I don’t need to get a grip. I need to relax my grip while the Universe does its thing without me interfering.

All is well now.

Problem solved.

Our Lady

I am the spire that stood for 850 years. A beacon of hope, a symbol of faith, a call to God. A steadfast, enduring testament to a greater, unconditional, universal love.

A billion lives have been lived around me. I am a marker from all sides, a destination for some, a sanctuary for others, never changing and ever present to all. I have survived rebellion, revolution, conquest and occupation. I have witnessed violence against the innocents and man’s inhumanity to man.

I bear my own scars, evidence of repair and recovery over decades of existence.

I am beautiful. Magical. Wondrous. Beloved. Admired. Appreciated for my age, my art, and the comfort in my presence. You may not share my faith, yet you’ve known me all your life. I have always been and always will be.

So you thought.

When the flames came too close, when the fire burned too hot, I was consumed. I toppled.

I fell through the roof and disappeared from sight.

Am I no more?

With love, with time, with compassion and support, with my gods’ help, I will stand once more.

Not as I was. I will be changed for the better. I will be stronger. Brighter. Built to code for a world bent on grinding me to dust.

My purpose remains though my remains be gone.

Avec plus d’amour,

Heavenward

Why do we look up at Heaven?

When we address the Almighty, we are taught to bow our heads in a show of submission to a higher authority, but I no longer consider myself subordinate to God. I am born of Divinity; not exactly on equal terms, but most definitely worthy of eye contact with the Creator.

Assuming the Creator has eyes. I am unsure of the form one takes outside this physical dimension. It seems likelier that man has made God in his image rather than the other way around, and though I can’t say for sure what God looks like, I recognize without question that he exists in some form or other.

I also digress.

Despite my preference for face to face conversation, one day I found myself looking at the ceiling while speaking to (insert iconic nomenclature here), and the question occurred: Why?

Well, I thought, the heavens are above, aren’t they?

Are they?

“Parallel dimension” means side by side, not above or below, so doesn’t it make sense that our otherworldly ancestors, angels, spirit guides, deities, etc. occupy the same space with us albeit in a different realm? Why else do I look at the empty chair by the fireplace when tossing off a comment aimed at the other side? I must sense my guardian angel seated there, otherwise my gaze would go elsewhere.

Like “up”.

If you believe Heaven lies on the far side of the sky, by all means, look up when you seek it … but what about the folks in the southern hemisphere? Our Up is their Down, so where the heck is Heaven?

I think it might be here.

It’s in the taste of chocolate. It’s reflected in a stranger’s smile. It rings in a child’s laughter. It warms the hug of a friend. It smells of sun on hot pavement. It chimes in birdsong. It lingers in silence.

Why do we seek Heaven above when it’s present with us? Look around instead of up—and you just might catch an angel’s eye.

With love,

Cruising Altitude

How do you feel today, Ru?

Almost immediately, I answered. Misaligned.

Maybe it’s the encroaching full moon. Maybe it’s the mittful of black currant jelly babies I ate yesterday afternoon. Maybe I’m exhausted from slogging through last week’s work and weather. Maybe I’m preoccupied by The Blooding of Jack Absolute. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve been lazy about my practice.

Instead of maintaining my nightly prayer and daily meditation, I let it slip to every other day and every second night. From there, it was easy to drop to a couple of times a week, and then to whenever I remember. It’s hard to be diligent for an extended period, not because I believe any less in the greater power of universal consciousness (or God, to keep it simple), but because I fall prey to the pitfalls of this mortal coil. I’m tired. I’m stressed. I’ve consumed too much sugar. Whatever the case, having achieved cruising altitude with prior due diligence, I coast while the coasting is clear.

Life, however, is meant to be turbulent. It sucks, but it’s true. Smooth sailing is a state of mind, certainly attainable but not sustainable without course correction when things get rough. The waves don’t have to be of epic proportion, either. Little ripples wear me down as easily as resuming my practice builds me up; it takes a few days for the cracks to show, but here’s the miracle:

I can regain my altitude almost immediately.

My mind is a terrible child. She lies in the weeds and waits to pounce when my back is turned. I can’t silence her completely, but I can, as one Middle Eastern sage suggests, know myself to be “the changeless witness of a changeful mind”.

Have you ever watched yourself flip out? You know it’s you pitching that fit, yet you’re remotely surprised at the same time. You may ask yourself later what that was all about – but do you ever answer the question? I confess to being mystified by my own behaviour, and there are often valid reasons for it, but my preferred state is to be that changeless witness, that objective observer who understands what’s happening but who also has the antidote.

This morning, I recognized my dip toward the cloud and caught myself before descent into mental chaos. I knew exactly what to do. Yoga, meditation, gratitude, in that order. My mind is still working, but she doesn’t own me as she tried to do on waking. In fact, she’s almost dopey, thus freeing me up to write this post and perhaps finish another story this afternoon. I wish I could say I nail it every time (even better if I remained at 30,000 feet without effort), but I’m only human ... some of the time.

With love,

The Year of Being Human

Twelve months ago, Ter and I stood in our kitchen and proclaimed 2018 “the Year of Transition and Change”. She was on the cusp of committing to retire from the public service, my job had settled down after a major shift in program staff, my wee sis and I were planning to visit our brother on Prince Edward Island. There was some concern over a nodule in Mum’s forearm, but the experts were confident—as was she—that it would amount to naught. In all, the new year seemed full of promise and adventure, and we were ready to tackle all the good things we envisioned.

Perhaps we should have been more specific. Perhaps we should have proclaimed 2018 as a year of positive transition and change.

Ter’s intention to cruise into retirement went south when she was called to be shop steward in an ugly harassment case. I lost my office and was moved into a shared space when branch staff expanded beyond the eighth floor’s capacity. Though Mum’s radiation treatment appeared to be a success in February, after a couple of months of normal, she fell ill and died four weeks after Ter’s last day at work. Wee sis and I cancelled our trip to PEI—she had injured her back while helping Dad care for Mum, and quite frankly, the shock was so overwhelming that we reeled through the summer and well into the fall. That’s when our landlord let us know she was thinking to sell the suite. Ter tweaked a muscle in her neck at Thanksgiving and was laid up into November. The Tiguan went into the shop for an expensive overnight service—twice. The postal dispute threatened Christmas delivery of cards and parcels ... and I’m sure I’ve forgotten something in the continuous monsoon of WTF? we endured throughout 2018, but that’s the gist of our Year of Transition and Change.

Keeping the faith was pretty darned challenging during the past twelve months. It’s easy to believe in a loving friendly and generous Universe when all is going smoothly. The tricky part is seeing the light in darkness. The majority of 2018 was, for me, a battle against a pervading sense of loss. Every night, I struggled to maintain my belief in being loved by a higher power, to trust that things happen for a reason, when they are meant to happen, and to know the rest of my life will not be spent gaping into a black hole. The gauge on my power of positivity has hovered perilously close to empty at times. I have cried more in the past months than I have in past years. I have raged at the heavens and thrown up my hands. I have stormed and begged and dug deep to get through the past turbulent, tumultuous, unexpectedly tragic fifty-two weeks.

And yet I have seen miracles. Small ones, to be sure, but miracles nonetheless. I will always remember the preternatural brilliance of the day after my mother died; how sharply defined and brilliantly hued the world appeared through the Ocean Room window. I will cherish forever the kindness and support I was shown by my friends and co-workers, people who rarely see me vulnerable yet rose to the occasion when I could not help myself. Christmas presents appeared from nowhere at the last minute, as did emails from loved ones after long silences. And others, too numerous to name. Feeling my mother’s presence in the room. Ter’s parking karma. Being able to pay cash for Tiggy’s repairs. Having a beautiful place to call home. Laughing with my office roomie, then going for tea with her because we like each other enough to be more than workmates. Hugging my little sister. The list goes on.

Though I almost lost it more than once, I managed to keep my grip on the thread that binds me to divinity. I still believe in something greater than myself, that all-encompassing presence that some call God. In truth, I’m no longer sure what to call it. I just know it’s there, that I am part of it and it is part of me—and of everyone else who is, who was, and who will be. For me, 2018 was all about the human experience and it truly sucked ... but I survived. I’m not through it yet, of course. The calendar doesn’t control time, it merely marks it. By all counts, I am only halfway through the process of reconciling myself to the tectonic changes that occurred in the past twelve months, so the drama ain’t over yet. I am relieved to say, however, that the light is more evident now than it was even three months ago.

It occurred to me on Christmas Eve, the most magical night of the year, that miracles are like stars strewn across a midnight sky:

The longer you spend staring up at them, the more begin to appear, and soon the entire night is bright with light.

Isn’t that wonderful?

Happy New Year.

With love,

Jesus is My Guy

When you collect spiritual teachers as if they’re butterflies or stamps, it’s easy to be considered a bit of an addict. Take Wayne Dyer. Add Eckhart Tolle. Discover Thich Nhat Hanh. Around and in between are Denise Linn, Brian Weiss, Deepak Chopra, Gregg Braden, Louise Hay, and a heavenly host of others, including – believe it or not – Albert Einstein. There are others whose names are lost to me now, though what nuggets of wisdom they dispensed at the time have likely become part of my present day vernacular. But it started with Jesus.

He was the first of my spiritual teachers, though what I learned in church wasn’t so much about him as it was about following the rules in order to be worthy of his sacrifice. He was not presented as a teacher. He was the Son of God and I was the sinning scum whose hopeless imperfection doomed me to eternal darkness, except he gave his life to ensure my ticket to heaven. He was a remote figure, an icon used to keep me humble, obedient, and paying my tithe. I was told that Jesus loved me ... but only if I behaved. Did I resent that message? Sometimes. Did I blame Jesus?

Doesn’t matter. Compared to Ter, I was a Philistine. She actually knew the gospel. You couldn’t fool her with doctrine. She embraced the religion, but she didn’t really need it because she is a naturally spiritual person. Despite being from a distinctly non-religious family, she has felt close to Jesus since she was tiny. She is fascinated by the time in which he lived, by the historic and archaeological evidence of his existence, and by the lost gospels conveniently kept out of the Bible. She’s read lots of books and watched countless documentaries. She speaks of him with familiarity and genuine affection, but never, ever, with disrespect. His position in her spiritual pantheon is unshakeably secure. Her regard for him is wonderful and amazing and inspiring. It also borders on the comical when she happily announces that her Jesus package is on its way from Amazon and she hopes it arrives by the Easter weekend. “Your ‘Jesus package’?” I ask, arching a sardonic eyebrow.

She’s sparkling in her seat. “Yep! The 40^th anniversary edition of Jesus of Nazareth, and (three other films).” The titles escape me at this writing, and the package, alas, did not make it by the Easter weekend.

Let me be clear. There is absolutely nothing wrong with what Jesus taught. In fact, everyone on the planet throughout history, now, and in the future should follow what he taught because what he taught pretty much aligns with what Mohammed and the Buddah taught, which is to practice the higher virtues of honesty, kindness, tolerance and charity. These virtues were on the spiritual Hit Parade long before Jesus was born. He didn’t invent them. He practiced them. He lived them to the best of his ability in a world as chaotic then as it is crazy now, and his hope was –I believe – to impress upon his disciples the importance of carrying them forward after he was gone. It’s not his fault that things went seriously sideways within a generation of his death, or that the religion spawned in his name has fragmented and festered over centuries. The message is still out there, but Jesus’ association with it is no longer so prevalent.

During one of our spontaneous Philosophy Quests, Ter and I fell into a discussion of what I call our “guru collection”. I occasionally wonder about the vast cast of principals in our pursuit of spiritual enlightenment, and Ter had clearly been pondering the same thing when she said, “At the end of the day, which one do I choose?”

“Do you have to choose one?” I asked. “Their philosophies are almost identical. Every day has a new spin, so what’s wrong with having a guru du jour?”

We talked about common elements and different points of view. After all, every philosopher has a unique perspective compared to other philosophers, though the subject is always the same. We pick out the pertinent info and apply it to our own philosophies. In the end, we hope we make the world a better place by practicing what we learn.

A lot of what we learn, no matter who we learn it from, is the same. Honesty, kindness, love, forgiveness and compassion. “So,” Ter concluded when we had talked ourselves full circle, “it’s okay if I quote Dr Wayne today and Jesus is my guy tomorrow.”

I laughed, but I think she’s right. Jesus is her guy. Her reverence for him has lasted her entire lifetime. She has shown me to appreciate him, to respect and revere him, by making him real. I suppose some might see it as a demotion for the Son of God to be made human, but referring to him in the familiar hardly negates his historical importance. He was a hugely influential figure with a massive destiny and daunting purpose to his short time on earth. I think of him a lot and I think a lot of him—certainly more than I did when I went to church. Without Ter’s example, such would not be the case.

I’m glad of it. I guess he’s kind of my guy, too. I hope he’s okay with that.

Friend or Foe?

I used to play a game with God. I’d try to make Him guess when I’d switch off my radio before I went to sleep. Would it be after this song, or the next, or would I wait until one came on that I didn’t care to hear? Figure that one out, Heavenly Father.

Trouble was, since God knew everything, He knew before I did when I’d hit the off switch. If I went “yes, no, yesnoyes—no!” He was already at “no!” while I was still toying.

I was actually playing the game with myself.

My concept of God has expanded significantly over the years. He is no longer a bearded father figure with a warm smile and forbidding frown, keeping track of my mistakes and saving any rewards for the outcome of my Judgment Day trial. It seems so narrow-minded now, but it was familiar to me then, and so I went with it. For the purpose of this post, the omniscient creator of all things is referred to as “God”.

Life can change your mind if you’re open to new ideas. I am much happier believing that God loves each of us equally and unconditionally, and what awaits at the end of the road is neither punishment nor condemnation, but a joyous welcome home. As I’ve said before, even the bad guys deserve praise for giving it their best shot. They make the good guys look even better, don’t they? Without the villains, the heroes have no cause to be heroic. Without cruelty, compassion is unnecessary. How can we experience the best in human nature without someone acting out the worst? Ironically, it takes a hero to be a villain.

I digress. Sort of.

Just like everyone else, I was born with a map in one hand and a copy of my agreement in the other. The agreement is a list of things I want to learn, to experience, and to share. I also have specific assignments that only I, with my unique blend of energy and talent, can perform. I have this much time and will be accompanied by these people, for the purpose of this outing in the guise of friends, family, co-workers, etc. God knows me well enough to trust that I will fulfill the bulk of my contractual obligations, and maybe even nail them all; but how I arrive at the end result is entirely up to me.

God’s part of the deal is to provide lane assist when I start to stray off course, to plant road markers that I may or may not recognize (again, that’s up to me), and to be there when I reach for Him. I’m pretty sure we agreed to some other things, but I lost both my map and my copy of the contract so I’m basically winging it on faith, trusting that someone somewhere has the originals.

Oh, and the bit about God knowing what we’ll do before we do it? He doesn’t worry about when the radio is shut off. He just loves the child playing the game.

By Any Other Name

A boy is named “John” by his parents. His little brother calls him “Johnny”, and his friends call him “Jack”. His first girlfriend calls him “Jonathan”, even though that’s not what he was christened. She just likes it better because it sounds more highbrow.

On a tour of Europe in his twenties, the locals call him “Juan” in Madrid, “Jean” in Paris, “Giovanni” in Rome, “Sean” in Ireland, “Jan” in Stockholm and “Ivan” in St Petersburg.

When he returns home and marries his third girlfriend (the second called him—gasp!—“John”), she wants to name their son for him but chooses another variation: “Zane”. John would have preferred “Shane”, but isn’t so invested that he wants to start a war.

A co-worker who passed away in 2009 said two things to me that I have always remembered. One, that he hated the Philadelphia Flyers and couldn’t believe I’m a fan, and two, by passing along the quote at the top of this post. Six years later, the argument continues, yet I believe that all sides are raging over the same individual: a singular creator who is known by a dozen different names.

But it’s not about God at all, is it?

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace” – Jimi Hendrix

Sunday Sermon

I used to be religious. In my teens and twenties – when I already knew everything anyway – I appreciated the structure and the society of the church. I followed the lifestyle easily, probably because I was naturally disinclined to smoke or drink, and while I may have gotten into boy trouble, I never had the chance because, regrettably, I was more interested in them than they were in me. Besides, I was a writer with rheumatoid arthritis, so my preference was to quiet creativity and introspection. I respected God and loved Jesus, followed the commandments as best I could, and confessed when, knowingly or unknowingly, I broke the rules.

But I couldn’t stop asking questions. Worse, I couldn’t blithely accept every answer. I began to notice inconsistencies, disparities and inequalities that God supposedly frowned upon but, in practice, appeared to support. Women were revered and oppressed at the same time. That bugged me. Men were accepted as weaker and more susceptible to temptation, and therefore more readily forgiven. That really bugged me. How was it that such untrustworthy creatures were given authority over the women and children in the congregation, and why were said women and children expected to obey them without question? It was never purely black and white for me, but I went along the path they said was set for me and waited to fulfill my destiny as wife, mother, and dutiful daughter of God.

Well, the path didn’t go where they told me it would—and I suspect they would say it’s my fault. To which I reply, “Phooey.”

I’m actually much happier than I think I would have been had Mr Right shown up in all his godly glory. My spirit is free to explore and decide for myself what works and what doesn’t. I still believe in a greater, infinite power, though the form that power takes is less the god made in man’s image and more a benevolent source of strength which I can call upon as I choose. I’ve always believed that I have more control than I was taught. Now I know it.

I can choose to view the world as a wondrous place of beauty and miracles, or I can choose to live in fear of it. Same with my fellow man. Now I “get” what Jesus was preaching, and you know what? He preached the same principles as Buddah and Mohammed and Ghandi and the Dalai Lama and Jon Bon Jovi:

Love’s the Only Rule. Be here now. Treat yourself with the same kindness and respect as you treat others. Believe in magic. Be grateful. Trust that you will always have exactly what you need. Conduct yourself with integrity. Be honest. Accept change. Create change. Create art. Seek joy. Find beauty. Breathe.

Don’t believe everything you think.

I’m not suggesting that you do all this at once. It’s hard to keep a positive outlook all the time. Just pick one and try it for a day. Just for today … because, really, all there is, is Now.

With love,