About ten years ago, I began my spiritual quest in earnest.
I had reached my personal level of endurance for the "status quo" of my life, and knew that the only way I was going to survive was to dramatically change things. In fact, I was so desperate that "survival" didn't even really matter to me that much, even though I knew I would never deliberately attempt to physically hurt myself or commit suicide. But, in my misery, I prayed to God, nearly constantly, to take my life away from me — in a peaceful and painless way — because I just couldn't stand the unhappiness and emotional pain any more.
It's hard to admit that, knowing how many people who love me will ultimately see that I was that willing to leave it all behind. Our attachments to our loved ones are so strong that some people see them as impermeable and "fixed," regardless of their ultimate dysfunction. When it comes down to a matter of survival, though, breaking up a toxic relationship — or taking a risk by choosing distance from your "blood" relatives — may be the only answer. Regardless of what some people will insist, a path that takes us away from home is not necessarily un-Godly or "evil." In fact, Jesus said "leave ALL and follow me" in many different ways, and asserted that he had come to make "strife" between daughter and mother . . . not peace. The Buddha was a prince who was raised in comfort and wealth . . . completely sheltered to the realities of death and disease by his parents. He left his young wife and infant son, and the palace life he had always known, to seek spiritual truths and real hardship in the wilderness. In India, it is culturally accepted that, at some point in life, a householder will become interested in the spiritual life (especially once he or she is older, and the duties to the family have been fulfilled.) But, even for the younger people in India, it is not necessarily shameful to become a mendicant or a dervish, and to wander the world penniless and homeless looking for God.
In our Western culture, it seems so shocking and embarrassing to consider that automatically suspicion is raised. I left home, myself, shortly after my marriage broke up. My husband took custody of my young daughter, and I deliberately became homeless. My other family relationships were very toxic to me, and I had nowhere to turn that made me feel safe — so I chose a "flop house" instead. Believe it or not, a cot in a shelter, next to active drug addicts and prostitutes, made me happier than the "family home" I had been living in with my mother and other family members. This, of course, led people in my life to assume that I, too, was a drug addict or worse. In fact, the whole time I was homeless I was clean and sober, financially supporting myself legally, and finally learning about the realities of life for many, many people. This experience was immensely fulfilling. It wasn't easy, to be sure, but in the end I was profoundly stricken with a feeling of gratefulness for everything that God provides to me, on a daily basis — the good and the bad.
This was a big change for a person who, a few years before this, had trouble giving up her favorite snacks from Starbucks for a short period of fasting!! I had been told by a spiritual teacher that "sacrifice" was necessary in spiritual life . . . and I had been trying to understand what that meant for a while. In a comfortable, New England suburb, with a college education and lots of other advantages, the idea of "sacrifice" was hard for me to grasp. Does that mean that I should hold off on the next designer pocketbook purchase until it goes on markdown? Does it mean that I try and become a vegetarian and start recycling my newspapers?
Ultimately, the idea of sacrifice, to me, meant absolutely nothing about food, money, or "social causes." The sacrifice that has meant the most to me, and the one that has taken me farthest in spiritual life, was my sacrifice of pride. The humiliation I have endured for taking the "road less traveled" has been colossal. Instead of comfortably taking my place among the "soccer moms" I know, or the professionals I used to work with long ago at places like MIT, I have been following a path of extreme challenge and change. I have completely lost my reputation as a "normal" person. People in my life have not even bothered to whisper when they talk about me behind my back!! I've been accused of all sorts of untrue things, and have been rejected outright and called "crazy" many, many times. I have finally started to find it comical. I have decided that others are getting such a charge out of denigrating me that I really have to keep up the craziness so that nobody in my life starts getting bored!!
It was my daring to "speak out" that caused all this controversy. Recently, I accused my parents, very publicly, of doing a really bad job while I was growing up. Then, I started looking up "friends" who had been judging me and ignoring me for years, and told them what I really thought of them. Then, I got into a loud fight with my husband — and for the umpteenth time the "little men in the white coats" came to put me in a mental hospital. Funny thing is that I have been diagnosed with (accused of is a better description) having bi-polar disorder . . . but in reality it seems that truthfulness is a mental illness these days. In fact, the hospitals won't even keep me any more, nor will they force me to take medication, because there is no evidence that I am dangerous to myself or anybody else.
My behavior has ruined my "standing in the community," however. This bothered me, a lot, for many years while I was dealing with other aspects of my illness. I used to do the "normal" thing . . . and try to "hide it in the pantry with my cupcakes." Letting go of the pride . . . of being respected as a good mom, good daughter, good worker, good neighbor . . . etc., etc., etc., was very painful — regardless of the inadequate nature of the definitions of "good" I was embracing.
This is the nature of sacrifice in a very profound way. The men and women who join the Marines and fight for America's freedom are rarely put in the position of "humiliation" for their sacrifice. In fact, in life and in death they are usually glorified for it. But, in a spiritual battle, it is the ego that has to be fought and destroyed . . . and humiliation is a very effective tool for fighting that. Like I said, above, I am struck with a profound sense of gratefulness for everything God provides, good and bad. Ultimately, my pride is meaningless . . . there's no point in trying to protect it.
27 June 2010
26 June 2010
Nothing to Fear but Fear Itself
An interesting thing I have learned from experience, as well as from others who have said it before, is that the opposite of love is not hate. It is fear.
It is incredible to me how the imagination works. We will conjure up endless images of what could happen to us in the case of the "unthinkable." To make this worse, we deliberately watch the endless parade of tragedy that we see on the news and in our "theater of despair" on television, just to make the imagined fears more palpable and terrifying. It makes it nearly impossible to say, in a real-life setting, the words "we need to talk" and not experience a reaction that verges on hysteria. Somehow, this "talk" we are going to be forced to endure will lead to bludgeoning, global humiliation, endless torture, and certain death. This reaction has the effect of shutting down the "talker" and the open communication all together . . . so that the repressed need for community and understanding gets shelved and ignored for as long as the evil "talker" involved is also afraid (of the hysterical response which somehow "hurts" the one she loves) and keeps her mouth shut.
How on earth did things get so bad for all of us in the world of honesty and openness? How is it that I can speak my mind to people I love, only to have them react as if I have stolen their children or robbed them of their grandmother's silver tea set? Is my ability to express things that upset me THAT powerful that it creates explosions of pain and destruction for miles around? Is it actually possible that people who have known me my whole lifetime really have such little faith in me as a person that they need to buy home security devices and change their phone numbers?
For the record, for anybody who has been misled by gossip about me, I have NEVER physically hurt anybody. I have yelled, yes, but no more and no louder than other expressive and dramatic people I have known who NEVER got called "crazy." If the fact that I have claimed to hear a Voice — that I have sometimes attributed to God — is the reason people in my life have been so afraid . . . then it is very important for them to look at how they REALLY feel about God and THEMSELVES. It is not my fault at all if they are afraid. The only thing, in my opinion, that they truly fear is the TRUTH.
In the end, however, what this mistrust and judgment means for me, personally, is a pretty lonely existence. Regardless of any "issues" I have with friends or family, I DO love them. I DO want to find resolution and happiness in these relationships. The only problem is that **I** am not afraid to talk about the tough stuff. When others are . . . it really shows their lack of love. It is fear, not hate at all, that keeps us apart.
It is incredible to me how the imagination works. We will conjure up endless images of what could happen to us in the case of the "unthinkable." To make this worse, we deliberately watch the endless parade of tragedy that we see on the news and in our "theater of despair" on television, just to make the imagined fears more palpable and terrifying. It makes it nearly impossible to say, in a real-life setting, the words "we need to talk" and not experience a reaction that verges on hysteria. Somehow, this "talk" we are going to be forced to endure will lead to bludgeoning, global humiliation, endless torture, and certain death. This reaction has the effect of shutting down the "talker" and the open communication all together . . . so that the repressed need for community and understanding gets shelved and ignored for as long as the evil "talker" involved is also afraid (of the hysterical response which somehow "hurts" the one she loves) and keeps her mouth shut.
How on earth did things get so bad for all of us in the world of honesty and openness? How is it that I can speak my mind to people I love, only to have them react as if I have stolen their children or robbed them of their grandmother's silver tea set? Is my ability to express things that upset me THAT powerful that it creates explosions of pain and destruction for miles around? Is it actually possible that people who have known me my whole lifetime really have such little faith in me as a person that they need to buy home security devices and change their phone numbers?
For the record, for anybody who has been misled by gossip about me, I have NEVER physically hurt anybody. I have yelled, yes, but no more and no louder than other expressive and dramatic people I have known who NEVER got called "crazy." If the fact that I have claimed to hear a Voice — that I have sometimes attributed to God — is the reason people in my life have been so afraid . . . then it is very important for them to look at how they REALLY feel about God and THEMSELVES. It is not my fault at all if they are afraid. The only thing, in my opinion, that they truly fear is the TRUTH.
In the end, however, what this mistrust and judgment means for me, personally, is a pretty lonely existence. Regardless of any "issues" I have with friends or family, I DO love them. I DO want to find resolution and happiness in these relationships. The only problem is that **I** am not afraid to talk about the tough stuff. When others are . . . it really shows their lack of love. It is fear, not hate at all, that keeps us apart.
24 June 2010
One Holy and Apostolic Church
Oh, how I long for catholicism. (little c.)
Big C Catholicism almost did it for me, for good, in the '80s.
I was born into a very loosely Protestant family. When I was a kid, my parents exposed me to a low-key denomination where I attended Sunday School and learned that "Jesus loves the little children." At that point, a crushing love for God really grabbed hold of my heart . . . regardless of my parents' skepticism or conflict over whether this had any real merit. We never became real "church goers," and, when I was in elementary school we moved to a new town where it turned out that most of my friends and neighbors where Catholic.
Over the years, I got exposed to the beauty, majesty, history and mystery of the Catholic Church in a very profound way. I generously got invited to Sunday Mass with my friends, on the great occasions of a Saturday night sleepover which became a Sunday morning obligation. Instantly, I was hooked. The smell of that special brand of incense . . . the intricate details of the altar, stained glass, "Stations of the Cross," the robes, the tabernacle, the "Mystery of Faith." I could go on and on. I started practicing all of the "duties" of Catholicism . . . when to stand, sit, and repeat the memorized prayers. When to kneel. How to cross myself. What it really meant, for me, to believe in Mother Mary. Attendance at Mass brought me quietly to tears . . . every time.
This affected me enough that, when I started to bemoan the limits of the public school education I was getting . . . and feeling so incredibly inadequate to the need to "keep up" with the fashion statements and politics of the bullies . . . I found a way to convince my parents to send me to the Catholic high school in a nearby town. The greatest reward . . . uniforms. Beyond that, though, came the beauty of the school itself. Small, narrow hallways. Tall ceilings. Blond brick. Creaky, rusted window casings. But, profoundly silent statues of Jesus and Mary, and crosses, an attached convent, and reminders everywhere that God was with us. Most classes started with a prayer of some sort, even though most of the teachers were lay-people. It was beyond the days of the ruler-wielding nuns . . . our teachers were devout and well educated, but mostly people just like our own parents. I was in Heaven.
Then, I decided to convert and become a nun myself.
Today, that statement looks so comical that I want to add the ubiquitous "lol" to the end of it! At the time, though, it was a decision and a thought that weighed very heavily on my adolescent mind.
Overall, it was the "social statements" of the Catholic Church which eventually turned me away. As a teenager, in the thrall of new experiences, I just couldn't deny myself the idea of physical relationships. To become celibate forever seemed absolutely impossible and ridiculous . . . despite how much I loved the idea of monastic life overall. With sex came the concept of "birth control," and I had enough of the Protestant still in me that I felt quite certain of its non-sinly nature. Over time, watching the conflicts my friends and I had with the teachings against normal stuff that we faced on a daily basis (abortion rights, the roll of women in the clergy, the horrible treatment of open homosexuals despite the questionable actions of some priests) made me realize that there was more to being part of a religious community than simply "loving God." There was politics, and money, and narrowness of ideology that resisted change. It was a real wake up call for me. It made me start looking closely at all religious communities, and spurred my interest in the "a la carte" method of spiritual education.
Thus, I became catholic in a new way.
catholic (little c)
–adjective
I took it well beyond "Christian" churches, and started looking into far more ancient traditions from the East and Middle East. Every single path I have studied has spoken to me on some level. I have found that every culture, every myth, story, and belief has had a meaning to me, personally, somehow. I have embraced the old proverb from India . . . rewritten slightly to have meaning in English . . . "God is an elephant, and we all are simply blind men touching different parts. None of us can adequately describe the concept of 'elephant,' all we know is what we feel underneath our own hands. Nonetheless, what we feel is absolutely, and in all respects, the truth of elephantness."
Of course, every tradition also has its limitations. There is resistance and narrowness, everywhere you look in religions . . . old and new. Ultimately, the only church I found that I could subscribe to was the Unitarian Universalist movement . . . the only church I know which does not require its members to declare a "theology" or "belief system." There are lapsed Catholics, disenfranchised Jews, many, many Buddhists, and lots of people with mixed marriages, gay marriages, and all sorts of alternative spiritual views in this church. As a UU member, you can basically believe anything you want, and there are many active and long-standing members who actually consider themselves atheists! Trust me, though, I am watching this group carefully . . . if someone tries to force me to be an atheist just so I can be a member of their church . . . watch out!!! lol.
Big C Catholicism almost did it for me, for good, in the '80s.
I was born into a very loosely Protestant family. When I was a kid, my parents exposed me to a low-key denomination where I attended Sunday School and learned that "Jesus loves the little children." At that point, a crushing love for God really grabbed hold of my heart . . . regardless of my parents' skepticism or conflict over whether this had any real merit. We never became real "church goers," and, when I was in elementary school we moved to a new town where it turned out that most of my friends and neighbors where Catholic.
Over the years, I got exposed to the beauty, majesty, history and mystery of the Catholic Church in a very profound way. I generously got invited to Sunday Mass with my friends, on the great occasions of a Saturday night sleepover which became a Sunday morning obligation. Instantly, I was hooked. The smell of that special brand of incense . . . the intricate details of the altar, stained glass, "Stations of the Cross," the robes, the tabernacle, the "Mystery of Faith." I could go on and on. I started practicing all of the "duties" of Catholicism . . . when to stand, sit, and repeat the memorized prayers. When to kneel. How to cross myself. What it really meant, for me, to believe in Mother Mary. Attendance at Mass brought me quietly to tears . . . every time.
This affected me enough that, when I started to bemoan the limits of the public school education I was getting . . . and feeling so incredibly inadequate to the need to "keep up" with the fashion statements and politics of the bullies . . . I found a way to convince my parents to send me to the Catholic high school in a nearby town. The greatest reward . . . uniforms. Beyond that, though, came the beauty of the school itself. Small, narrow hallways. Tall ceilings. Blond brick. Creaky, rusted window casings. But, profoundly silent statues of Jesus and Mary, and crosses, an attached convent, and reminders everywhere that God was with us. Most classes started with a prayer of some sort, even though most of the teachers were lay-people. It was beyond the days of the ruler-wielding nuns . . . our teachers were devout and well educated, but mostly people just like our own parents. I was in Heaven.
Then, I decided to convert and become a nun myself.
Today, that statement looks so comical that I want to add the ubiquitous "lol" to the end of it! At the time, though, it was a decision and a thought that weighed very heavily on my adolescent mind.
Overall, it was the "social statements" of the Catholic Church which eventually turned me away. As a teenager, in the thrall of new experiences, I just couldn't deny myself the idea of physical relationships. To become celibate forever seemed absolutely impossible and ridiculous . . . despite how much I loved the idea of monastic life overall. With sex came the concept of "birth control," and I had enough of the Protestant still in me that I felt quite certain of its non-sinly nature. Over time, watching the conflicts my friends and I had with the teachings against normal stuff that we faced on a daily basis (abortion rights, the roll of women in the clergy, the horrible treatment of open homosexuals despite the questionable actions of some priests) made me realize that there was more to being part of a religious community than simply "loving God." There was politics, and money, and narrowness of ideology that resisted change. It was a real wake up call for me. It made me start looking closely at all religious communities, and spurred my interest in the "a la carte" method of spiritual education.
Thus, I became catholic in a new way.
catholic (little c)
–adjective
1. broad or wide-ranging in tastes, interests, or the like; having sympathies with all; broad-minded; liberal.
2. universal in extent; involving all; of interest to all.
3. pertaining to the whole Christian body or church.
I took it well beyond "Christian" churches, and started looking into far more ancient traditions from the East and Middle East. Every single path I have studied has spoken to me on some level. I have found that every culture, every myth, story, and belief has had a meaning to me, personally, somehow. I have embraced the old proverb from India . . . rewritten slightly to have meaning in English . . . "God is an elephant, and we all are simply blind men touching different parts. None of us can adequately describe the concept of 'elephant,' all we know is what we feel underneath our own hands. Nonetheless, what we feel is absolutely, and in all respects, the truth of elephantness."
Of course, every tradition also has its limitations. There is resistance and narrowness, everywhere you look in religions . . . old and new. Ultimately, the only church I found that I could subscribe to was the Unitarian Universalist movement . . . the only church I know which does not require its members to declare a "theology" or "belief system." There are lapsed Catholics, disenfranchised Jews, many, many Buddhists, and lots of people with mixed marriages, gay marriages, and all sorts of alternative spiritual views in this church. As a UU member, you can basically believe anything you want, and there are many active and long-standing members who actually consider themselves atheists! Trust me, though, I am watching this group carefully . . . if someone tries to force me to be an atheist just so I can be a member of their church . . . watch out!!! lol.
23 June 2010
Why do I do it?
The singular most often question asked about me is "Why?" The funny thing is, most people in my life are asking that question of each other instead of asking me directly.
Here is my answer:
Many people I have known who have professed that they had the "right" or "only" God have had a really hard time being 'tolerant' and 'compassionate.' They may have been "kind," meaning that generally they were polite and smiled a lot. They usually had very nice lives and very nice possessions to prove that they were doing it "right" and that their God had blessed them very well. They did lots of appropriate things . . . like feeding their kids vegetables and volunteering for "parent duties" at the school or on the soccer field. They had a general air of correctness because they modeled their lives after all of the cereal commercials and home decorating shows. In their minds and in their homes they had lots of reasons for believing that they were doing it right. I have been very happy for them, in general, and have wished my life could "look" like that, many times. I have hoped with all my heart that internally, and in all of their relationships, they were as happy as they appeared on the outside.
For me, however, the appearance of happiness (I had it for a while . . . in a long ago past when I was married to a guy with career potential and had the trappings of the American Dream) never really cut the mustard. It is possible that I was missing something crucial in the equation, back then, and that my other friends already had the thing I was missing. No matter how good I looked or how successful I was (my career took off for a while, and I worked at some big places including MIT) I was always miserable. I was stuck in an emotional vacuum. I didn't KNOW myself at all, and couldn't express what was making me so unhappy, in any way. Unfortunately, my family is a bit dopey on the subject of emotional expression. I love them, but they are "surface dwellers." There wasn't much support from my birth family, and there was a whole lot of judgment.
So, being pushed beyond my limits to feel bad and still "fit in" . . . I went nuts. I decided that this weird, false society I was trying to adjust to was really a sham, at least for me. The only place I knew to turn was to God. The psychiatrists weren't helping me be happy . . . they were just letting me dwell on my unhappiness and prescribing medication so I wouldn't feel any of the unhappiness so much. It didn't really help me move beyond unhappiness or heal. When I meditated, prayed, and focused on the thoughts and feelings within my heart, I felt better.
Then, I started hearing the Voice. Ok . . . so this is the point where I lost GAZILLIONS of people in my life. If you don't want to hear the truth of my experience, or if you want to endlessly debate its validity, please go away.
{For a clear understanding of what the Voice is, to me, please read Chapter One of my book Walking in the Fire Lane (see tabs above.)}
Anyway, I have followed the instructions in my heart and from the Voice, for about a decade now. It has led me to homelessness, loss of career, loss of relationships, loss of money, sentencing to mental hospitals on an occasional basis, and general "weirdness" according to this society (which, I have already told you, didn't mean that much to me anyway.) It has also led to happiness, wholeness, healing, maturity, gratefulness, and growth.
THIS is why I do it. THIS is why I really don't even try to conform any more. THIS is why I don't worry about whether people think I am normal or whether I am always kind to people who bug me. I will not be a phony "kind" person just to try and appear Godly. I have a path that requires rigorous honesty, and that means that if I'm bugged, I act bugged. I try to be bugged in a mature way, but the truth is that I will tell you why and how you have bugged me. People really don't like that. It gets me in trouble, a lot. Oh well.
Being honest about being bugged, however, does not mean that I am not tolerant or compassionate. On the contrary, you can rest assured that I am being completely truthful, and that I am not holding back any deep, twisted bigotry or judgment. That stuff has been beaten out of me over the years . . . I've had to face all of my emotional ugliness and accept it, learn from it, and move on. If you come to me for help, I will treat you with love and respect, no matter where you are emotionally. But, I will probably piss you off at some point, so be prepared!!!!
"Why is she so 'unhappy' . . . 'angry' . . . 'unusual' . . . 'non-conforming' . . . 'crazy?'"I find it funny that for years this has been going on among my colleagues, friends, and family . . . and there has been less than a handful of people who have actually asked me to my face.
"Why does she say such bizarre things about God? Isn't God supposed to be 'love,' 'tolerance,' 'compassion,' 'kindness?'"
"Why does she continue looking into every religion imaginable? Doesn't she know there is only ONE God . . . you know, MY God?"
Here is my answer:
Many people I have known who have professed that they had the "right" or "only" God have had a really hard time being 'tolerant' and 'compassionate.' They may have been "kind," meaning that generally they were polite and smiled a lot. They usually had very nice lives and very nice possessions to prove that they were doing it "right" and that their God had blessed them very well. They did lots of appropriate things . . . like feeding their kids vegetables and volunteering for "parent duties" at the school or on the soccer field. They had a general air of correctness because they modeled their lives after all of the cereal commercials and home decorating shows. In their minds and in their homes they had lots of reasons for believing that they were doing it right. I have been very happy for them, in general, and have wished my life could "look" like that, many times. I have hoped with all my heart that internally, and in all of their relationships, they were as happy as they appeared on the outside.
For me, however, the appearance of happiness (I had it for a while . . . in a long ago past when I was married to a guy with career potential and had the trappings of the American Dream) never really cut the mustard. It is possible that I was missing something crucial in the equation, back then, and that my other friends already had the thing I was missing. No matter how good I looked or how successful I was (my career took off for a while, and I worked at some big places including MIT) I was always miserable. I was stuck in an emotional vacuum. I didn't KNOW myself at all, and couldn't express what was making me so unhappy, in any way. Unfortunately, my family is a bit dopey on the subject of emotional expression. I love them, but they are "surface dwellers." There wasn't much support from my birth family, and there was a whole lot of judgment.
So, being pushed beyond my limits to feel bad and still "fit in" . . . I went nuts. I decided that this weird, false society I was trying to adjust to was really a sham, at least for me. The only place I knew to turn was to God. The psychiatrists weren't helping me be happy . . . they were just letting me dwell on my unhappiness and prescribing medication so I wouldn't feel any of the unhappiness so much. It didn't really help me move beyond unhappiness or heal. When I meditated, prayed, and focused on the thoughts and feelings within my heart, I felt better.
Then, I started hearing the Voice. Ok . . . so this is the point where I lost GAZILLIONS of people in my life. If you don't want to hear the truth of my experience, or if you want to endlessly debate its validity, please go away.
{For a clear understanding of what the Voice is, to me, please read Chapter One of my book Walking in the Fire Lane (see tabs above.)}
Anyway, I have followed the instructions in my heart and from the Voice, for about a decade now. It has led me to homelessness, loss of career, loss of relationships, loss of money, sentencing to mental hospitals on an occasional basis, and general "weirdness" according to this society (which, I have already told you, didn't mean that much to me anyway.) It has also led to happiness, wholeness, healing, maturity, gratefulness, and growth.
THIS is why I do it. THIS is why I really don't even try to conform any more. THIS is why I don't worry about whether people think I am normal or whether I am always kind to people who bug me. I will not be a phony "kind" person just to try and appear Godly. I have a path that requires rigorous honesty, and that means that if I'm bugged, I act bugged. I try to be bugged in a mature way, but the truth is that I will tell you why and how you have bugged me. People really don't like that. It gets me in trouble, a lot. Oh well.
Being honest about being bugged, however, does not mean that I am not tolerant or compassionate. On the contrary, you can rest assured that I am being completely truthful, and that I am not holding back any deep, twisted bigotry or judgment. That stuff has been beaten out of me over the years . . . I've had to face all of my emotional ugliness and accept it, learn from it, and move on. If you come to me for help, I will treat you with love and respect, no matter where you are emotionally. But, I will probably piss you off at some point, so be prepared!!!!
21 June 2010
Baba Ram Dass
I've been frantically searching for the answers to life's "big questions" for as long as I can remember. I've driven everyone in my life nuts with this quest . . . especially ME. I've been told I am crazy so many times . . . even by some "professionals." But, I have read a lot on this subject . . . from Biblical stories to the descriptions of mental illness provided by the Western medical establishment, as well as amazing stories of the mendicants and sadhus of the East. Jesus "cast out demons." Meher Baba cared for the "God-intoxicated" whom he called "masts." I have seen many, many people labeled bi-polar and schizophrenic who are singularly concerned with spiritual musings and "voices" which are vitally real to them. Let's not forget Joan of Arc. Who is to say what is "crazy?" There was a fabulous movie set in Africa, from back in the '80s called "The Gods Must be Crazy." I have decided that if so much craziness abounds in the world, it is truly because God must be crazy. If so, he needs our help desperately. I have prayed for him, a lot, and promised to do whatever I can to help. I feel that the best way to do this is to shun the word "crazy" and simply BE. Be happy. Be whole. Be unafraid to express "weirdness" and the convoluted imaginings that we attribute to our spiritual lives. I am very weird, and very open, and very willing to listen to weirdness and openness. I don't like hateful talk or narrowness, but will tolerate a little bit of it if you are willing to let me use you to make a point. Please join me on a journey into the darkness I have seen when I have dared to look within my own spirit. And then, join me as I have ventured out of that darkness into a world of promise and potential that continues daily to amaze me. Thank you for at least joining me this far, and Welcome!!!
Here is a poem I wrote which refers to Richard Alpert (aka Baba Ram Dass), a spiritual seeker and teacher who gained prominence in the 1960s for his association with the Harvard LSD experiments and ultimate journey to the East where he found a real spiritual Master. His book "Remember Be Here Now" was one of the first written by a Westerner on the merits of meditation and "grounding" in the present moment.
Baba Ram Dass
Impatiently I have run this race
Long distance in a sprint
I look for the tape, the laurel wreath
And never find the end.
When I'm told to Be Here Now
I don't know what that means.
The Now is so uncomfortable
I beg for quick release.
But, in a new relationship
When learning how to Love
The Now is all I have to give
There is no more to prove.
So don't look forth to something else
Some place I cannot see
Be patient with the marathon
And Now with you I'll Be.
2/17/07
Here is a poem I wrote which refers to Richard Alpert (aka Baba Ram Dass), a spiritual seeker and teacher who gained prominence in the 1960s for his association with the Harvard LSD experiments and ultimate journey to the East where he found a real spiritual Master. His book "Remember Be Here Now" was one of the first written by a Westerner on the merits of meditation and "grounding" in the present moment.
Baba Ram Dass
Impatiently I have run this race
Long distance in a sprint
I look for the tape, the laurel wreath
And never find the end.
When I'm told to Be Here Now
I don't know what that means.
The Now is so uncomfortable
I beg for quick release.
But, in a new relationship
When learning how to Love
The Now is all I have to give
There is no more to prove.
So don't look forth to something else
Some place I cannot see
Be patient with the marathon
And Now with you I'll Be.
2/17/07
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