WAKE UP!

A friend of mine, a lay-woman, gave the homily at her church on Mother's Day. I had told her I probably wouldn't be there, given the religious conflicts I have that I've already mentioned.  She wants to keep trying to stretch the skin of the christian church into a truly gender-inclusive container that teaches god as being both masculine and feminine.  I support her, but I think I'm finished with that.  So I affirmed her efforts and told myself I didn't have to be present for her teaching in person.


Enter MOM.


I think it was Thursday when my daughter called to ask how I'd like to celebrate Mother's Day.  I told her I'd get back to her.  As I thought about Mother's Day, some nostalgia arose, as last year my mom was here.  It would turn out to be her last visit.  This Mother's Day, I wouldn't be able to tell her (in person) how much I love her and honor her. 

A flash of inspiration!  I'll ask my daughter if she'd like to go with me to hear my woman friend give the homily.  We'll honor all courageous women who stretch the edges and "be in church together"-something my mom would deeply appreciate.  She'd been a member of the Episcopal Daughter's of the King, a contemplative, lay order.  And while she listened to my misgivings about christianity with patient understanding and always encouraged me to think for myself, she wanted "church" for me and me in church.

Saturday night I stayed up late and since my daughter had  declined my invitation and would come out later to visit, I decided when I went to bed that I definitely wasn't going to church.

Sunday morning.  Dawn.  A Mockingbird outside my window began:  "Get up. Get up. Get up. It's dawn.  Hello!  Hello! Wake up! Wake up!"  Forever.  I got up to pee.  Decided again not to go to church.  Laid back down to doze.  The dog whined.  He needed to go out.  He did this three times.  I'm up.  I'm down.  I'm up.  I'm down.  Finally, he went back to sleep and so did I.

Dream:  I'm sitting on the beach waiting for Mom to come home from "church."  I haven't been there even though I told her I might go.  Here she comes over the horizon, flying a blimp/boat/balloon/plane.  She lands it smoothly in the surf, steps out and stands in the waves with her hand on her hip.  Shouts, "Well?  Were you there?"  When I say no, she gets back in the blimp/boat/balloon/plane saying, "I have errands to run."  And flies off.  As she does, an island forms underneath her and there is a little house on it.  There is a carport and under it I see a cute little red truck parked.  My uncle, Mom's brother is there too.  He's raking the soil with a red rake.

I wake up.  Think, I know I said I'd go to church, but I reaallly don't want to now.  You understand, right?  I go back to sleep.  When the alarm on my phone which I've forgotten to disable rings and wakes me up for the hundredth time, I get up and make coffee.  Decide I'd better go to church.

When I arrived, I walked the labyrinth there.  My meditation:  I am here in my feet.  I am here in the bird song.  I am here in my breath.  I am here in the voices of these who cannot hear me praying.  I am here in the worm crawling across my path.  I am here in the flower's bloom.  I am here in the turning.  I am here in the path.  I am here in the going in.  I am here in the coming out."  By the time I finished walking, I could enter the indoor sanctuary with ease and it was already time for the homily.

During the first moments of the homily, my friend played a U-TUBE clip of the ocean waves sounding.  She spoke in gender inclusive language and metaphor.  During the prayers of the people, we passed a bowl of "living water" around the circle of women standing at the altar saying, "I bless you.  I honor you.  I offer you the living water."  Our voices like the goddess herself whispering in an eternal echo.  Women wiped tears from their eyes as they received each other.  When I handed the bowl to the woman next to me and spoke the blessing, I noticed.  Her name was Beth.

Beth was my mother's name.

I still do not believe that churches or priests have any special power.  But I do believe there is a Power.  And it keeps waking me up in new ways day by day.

Calling the Dog

So, I've mentioned (a few times) that I've been a bit off balance since my agent (I call him mine even though we don't have an official contract yet because we are in the process of bonding) let me know that he thinks I need to do more work on my novel.  Well, I have been reeling really, and not just a little.

So the question becomes how to find balance.

At this point, you need to know that given my passionate nature, reeling like this from disappointment, anger, or sadness has been a common theme in my life's story.  The first thing I had to figure out was that experiencing OTHER PEOPLE NOT DOING WHAT I WANTED THEM TO DO and careening around like a party balloon all blown up and let go to fly around the room without its proper knot, was off balance.  How that happened is another story.  But, thankfully, I did figure that out  and then begin, with a little help from friends, to practice ways of finding balance.

My point is:  it's a practice.

This morning, I took my coffee, my journal, and my copy of Ask and It Is Given by Esther and Jerry Hicks on The Teachings of Abraham out to sit by the pool.  This book is one of the most positively influential and helpful self-help books I've ever read.  As I have read the book many times and use the tools for meditation found within its pages frequently, I didn't need to start at the beginning. So, I held the book and asked where to start, the book fell open to page 44.

Emotions are indicators of your alignment with Source Energy.  Oh.  That.  Okay.  Fine.

So, I sat back, settled in, closed my eyes and began to breathe.  My mind raced around in circles like a puppy, jumping and panting, demanding attention.  Thinking I told myself.  Breathe.  My mind whimpered a little.  Thinking I said.  Breathe.  My mind peed a little then stepped in it tracking it all over the place.

"Oh Christ!" I said.  Well then that made me think.  Who is this Christ?  Am I really supposed to pray to someone who supposedly lived 2010 years ago?  This is NOT a new question for me.

Grant you, I  did pray to the accepted, iconoclastic concept of Jesus Christ as he is presented in Christian doctrine for many years.  I grew up Southern Baptist and was baptised twice by the time I was thirteen years old, so believe me, I've prayed in Jesus' name.

I also have not done that for many years, especially since I have studied the work of feminist theologians like Riane Eisler in her work The Chalice and the Blade and art historians like Camille Paglia in her work Sexual Personae:  Art and Decadence from Nefertiti to Emily Dickinson.  These works suggest, as do many, that Jesus of Nazareth is a myth not a person, that his personae is a composite figure created by a patriarchy willing to do anything to discount former, powerful connections to goddess worshiping cultures and redirect the people of that time to the worship of the One True God.

While I intellectually understand these arguments, it is undeniable that the foundation of my fundamental spiritual belief system is grounded in the teachings of Christ.  And something in me (no doubt the one I call Little Baptist Girl) still wants to access the Great Compassion of this beloved Teacher.

You see my conflict.

So back to balancing.  I continued breathing, turned the focus of my body's eyes up and inward to the back of my third eye, connected to earth from my Dan Ti en point, and whispered, "I want to connect to the teacher known as the Christ, to Sophia, the Great Wisdom."  I sat for less than a minute before my actually (a mixed black lab) dog came obediently to me, panting and nudging my hand for attention.  You've heard the joke:  dog spelled backwards....

I laughed and gave him a good scratch, ate some breakfast and went for a haircut.  Then, feeling more beautiful than I have in months, headed for painting supplies in town at Hobby Lobby.


Walking toward the back of the store where they keep the paints, I heard a familiar tune coming from the ceiling.  Caught myself humming, "Hmmmmmmm, this I know..."  OH MY GOD!  No kidding, they were piping in "Jesus Loves Me."  Did Hobby Lobby change hands? I thought.  I've never heard christian music played here before.  That's weird.  I kept shopping.  Ignored the music.  But then I began to hum again, "Hmmmmmm," I don't know these words, yes I do, Oh my god!  I began to sob as I am now.  I had to stifle the sound rising from my gut.  It was the the hymn (by Jan Struther) my mother chose for us to sing as the close of her memorial last October.  It might as well have been my mother's voice (her personal belief in the Present Christ, a deep well of faith) singing to me from above:

Lord of all gentleness, Lord of all calm,
Whose voice is contentment, whose presence is balm,
Be there at our sleeping, and give us, we pray,
Your peace in our hearts, Lord, at the end of the day.

She might as well have been saying, "Yes.  Jesus lives.  He's here with me.  You hear?"

As I drove home this quote from the Bible came, "He who believes in me (the Christ) shall be saved."  My mind's rebuttal, but I don't.  Not like they teach it.  Then the thought, she whose beliefs are of the Christ shall be saved.  

And I was, at that moment, again.  I was never supposed to worship any man, not even Jesus the man.  It is Wisdom, though, to practice his teachings (and those of other great spiritual teachers).  It is Wisdom to practice loving-kindness toward myself and others and when I find myself out of balance, it is Wisdom to call on the Nameless, lean into the Great Mystery, and let go. 

the planet needs you

I pay attention to dreams and visions.  Just now, still in the wake of understanding the semi-rejection of my novel in it's present form, I decided to do some shamanic journey work on the subject. 

The question I asked was:  "What direction should I take now that will lead me to the next highest level of my evolution as a human being."  I won't share the vision I received here just now.

I will say it was powerful.  Again, I will be discerning its meaning for some time, as visions and dreams are a non-linear mystery.  I will also share that one key image in the journey was my being flung into the stars by a teacher.

This made me think of a term I've heard:  Star Nation.  Not having been trained in Native American teaching and being an anglo saxon used to instant gratification, of course, I googled "Star Nation." 

You might be interested in one of the links I foll0wed.  It is the art and teaching of Rod Bearcloud Berry.  The first link speaks to his interpretation of messages from crop circles, messages he believes are sent from the Star Nations.  And the second link is to his own gallery.  His art is phenomenal, highly spiritual, powerful!

The last few lines, especially one, of the teaching under the first link spoke to me and seemed to speak directly to the interpretation of my own vision today.

" I believe our planet is in a desperately bad place at the moment with overwhelming turmoil. Few people really recognize the state we are in, but for those that do. There is still time. Believe the planet can heal and change. Every person is a cell of a body of their country that has influence. Those who are walking the correct road are very valuable in assisting this change. The planet needs you, really needs you. Thank you for your help."

I am humbled and empowered by his words.

http://www.starnationgallery.com/articles/2002_1.html
http://www.bearcloudgallery.com/index.html