Saturday, June 19, 2010
In the meantime
It's been a while since I've blooged. I'm still working on my development, but sometimes we sit and take a breather, or more likely, work and the mundane come to interrupt. But I'm back on the Wheel of life searching for the best way to advance along my path.
Friday, May 14, 2010
The Empress of Abundance
Getting in touch with my guides and recording the stories of spirits such as Sarah was an exciting beginning as my developing psychic abilities began to finally bear fruit. I sensed a long line of souls waiting to tell me their stories so they could have closure. This is what I wrote in my journal then:
If the dead could speak, what would they say?
Well, right now they are lining up in my office and the hallway beyond. They are excited and waiting for their chance to speak. I smile at their anticipation and in my discovery that I can help them. I wonder if I should be overwhelmed and someone says no, I shouldn’t. “We can help you too,” They say. “You’ll know you’re no longer alone. Ever. We can help you deal with your fears, like in an elevator”. I wonder if perhaps the opposite is true, that maybe I feel claustrophobic in closed spaces like elevators because I feel like they’re crowding around me in a suffocating way…but part of me doesn’t really believe that. Part of me is elated at the thought that I will never have to be alone and that maybe they CAN help me deal with my fears. My new friends, every day men and women who lived on this earth and passed away with something left unsaid.
Here’s what one of the spirits had to tell me:
I am responsible for your headache. Sorry about that. I was an important man with important things on my mind. I felt weighed down by them. So many people depended on me. So many people looked to me for answers. To make things right. But I didn’t have the answers and I couldn’t make things right. It was too much to bear. It was an act of selfishness, I see now, because by killing myself I put myself out of misery but things were only worse for them. What was I thinking? I don’t know. Not about easing their pain or situation, but easing my own guilt. I took too much on myself and paid a heavy price. At the same time, others did this to me too. At work, the big managers would blow their money on their playboy style, and when there wasn’t enough left to pay their bills, they’d come to me and expect me to make it OK. But I couldn’t. At first I rose to the challenge and I worked ridiculous hours to work miracles to patch things up. But then as soon as one crisis was over, they’d go back to their fiscally irresponsible ways and another crisis would come right up only worse than before. It was a house of cards I was playing with. And when they all came tumbling down, I was blamed. Not their profligate ways. They, who never listened to either my advice or my warnings. I’d saved them so many times and they had the nerve to blame ME for the failure of their business. It was too much to bear. I had worked so hard for them doing my absolute best. I’d been proud of my accomplishments in such impossible circumstances. But instead of praise, I was ignored and then blamed for the ultimate failure.
My intense activities trying to save their skins made me neglect my own family. I hardly knew my kids and my wife and I barely spoke anymore. I thought it enough that I brought home a regular paycheck in these difficult times. It was the one thing I did for them. And when that stopped, what use would I be to them? Or anybody? So I took my own life. I hanged myself. I regret it of course, now, but at the time I wasn’t thinking clearly. Anyway, I’d like to tell my wife and 2 daughters that I’m sorry. If I could go back and do it again, I would do things differently. I would have spent more time with them. I would have found a less ambitious job but with more stability. We can’t go back, though, only forward. Still, I would get them the message if they could. The youngest daughter, she took it more heavily. The older one was a practical sort and went right out to get any job that she could to start bringing money in. She kept them going though it was a difficult black time for them throughout what you call the depression. Irene was her name. A strong woman and I’m so proud of her. Isabelle was the younger. She wanted to marry but they couldn’t afford to. I don’t know whatever happened with them.
Colleen suggested that I try to connect with one of the daughters, so I did. This is what Irene said:
My life was harder than it had to be because of you
They were tough times for everyone.
I saw things I never thought to see and hope I never will again.
We hardly knew you anyway.
You were always at work.
Even when you were home you were thinking about work.
Still we were so proud of you.
An important accountant in a big company.
When you took your own life
You took some of ours with you.
Even though we hardly knew you
You were our father. You were our family.
We would have fought for you
We would have supported you
We could have helped you through it
If only you had trusted us enough
You’re lack of trust and faith in us, your family
That is what cut so deep.
That’s the pain I took with me.
I appreciate your seeking us out now.
I understand that perhaps it was like a sickness that
Distorted your vision, seeing enemies where there were none
Or at least not seeing love and support when there was plenty.
Be at peace father, and I too will let it go.
What do these stories mean? I don’t know. Some will say it’s creative writing (fiction) rather than channeling. And they could be right. But it doesn’t feel like creative writing when I do it. I’ve dabbled in fiction since I was 14. I need to work hard—-thinking and planning. These readings pop into my head effortlessly and I’m racing to get it all down. Deep inside, I feel I’m channeling. Colleen suggested that through serving as a witness I was able to give closure. Maybe it was a new way of helping others outside the temporal dimension. It reminds me a bit of Star Trek’s three dimensional chess: one dimension influences and is connected to another.
If the dead could speak, what would they say?
Well, right now they are lining up in my office and the hallway beyond. They are excited and waiting for their chance to speak. I smile at their anticipation and in my discovery that I can help them. I wonder if I should be overwhelmed and someone says no, I shouldn’t. “We can help you too,” They say. “You’ll know you’re no longer alone. Ever. We can help you deal with your fears, like in an elevator”. I wonder if perhaps the opposite is true, that maybe I feel claustrophobic in closed spaces like elevators because I feel like they’re crowding around me in a suffocating way…but part of me doesn’t really believe that. Part of me is elated at the thought that I will never have to be alone and that maybe they CAN help me deal with my fears. My new friends, every day men and women who lived on this earth and passed away with something left unsaid.
Here’s what one of the spirits had to tell me:
I am responsible for your headache. Sorry about that. I was an important man with important things on my mind. I felt weighed down by them. So many people depended on me. So many people looked to me for answers. To make things right. But I didn’t have the answers and I couldn’t make things right. It was too much to bear. It was an act of selfishness, I see now, because by killing myself I put myself out of misery but things were only worse for them. What was I thinking? I don’t know. Not about easing their pain or situation, but easing my own guilt. I took too much on myself and paid a heavy price. At the same time, others did this to me too. At work, the big managers would blow their money on their playboy style, and when there wasn’t enough left to pay their bills, they’d come to me and expect me to make it OK. But I couldn’t. At first I rose to the challenge and I worked ridiculous hours to work miracles to patch things up. But then as soon as one crisis was over, they’d go back to their fiscally irresponsible ways and another crisis would come right up only worse than before. It was a house of cards I was playing with. And when they all came tumbling down, I was blamed. Not their profligate ways. They, who never listened to either my advice or my warnings. I’d saved them so many times and they had the nerve to blame ME for the failure of their business. It was too much to bear. I had worked so hard for them doing my absolute best. I’d been proud of my accomplishments in such impossible circumstances. But instead of praise, I was ignored and then blamed for the ultimate failure.
My intense activities trying to save their skins made me neglect my own family. I hardly knew my kids and my wife and I barely spoke anymore. I thought it enough that I brought home a regular paycheck in these difficult times. It was the one thing I did for them. And when that stopped, what use would I be to them? Or anybody? So I took my own life. I hanged myself. I regret it of course, now, but at the time I wasn’t thinking clearly. Anyway, I’d like to tell my wife and 2 daughters that I’m sorry. If I could go back and do it again, I would do things differently. I would have spent more time with them. I would have found a less ambitious job but with more stability. We can’t go back, though, only forward. Still, I would get them the message if they could. The youngest daughter, she took it more heavily. The older one was a practical sort and went right out to get any job that she could to start bringing money in. She kept them going though it was a difficult black time for them throughout what you call the depression. Irene was her name. A strong woman and I’m so proud of her. Isabelle was the younger. She wanted to marry but they couldn’t afford to. I don’t know whatever happened with them.
Colleen suggested that I try to connect with one of the daughters, so I did. This is what Irene said:
My life was harder than it had to be because of you
They were tough times for everyone.
I saw things I never thought to see and hope I never will again.
We hardly knew you anyway.
You were always at work.
Even when you were home you were thinking about work.
Still we were so proud of you.
An important accountant in a big company.
When you took your own life
You took some of ours with you.
Even though we hardly knew you
You were our father. You were our family.
We would have fought for you
We would have supported you
We could have helped you through it
If only you had trusted us enough
You’re lack of trust and faith in us, your family
That is what cut so deep.
That’s the pain I took with me.
I appreciate your seeking us out now.
I understand that perhaps it was like a sickness that
Distorted your vision, seeing enemies where there were none
Or at least not seeing love and support when there was plenty.
Be at peace father, and I too will let it go.
What do these stories mean? I don’t know. Some will say it’s creative writing (fiction) rather than channeling. And they could be right. But it doesn’t feel like creative writing when I do it. I’ve dabbled in fiction since I was 14. I need to work hard—-thinking and planning. These readings pop into my head effortlessly and I’m racing to get it all down. Deep inside, I feel I’m channeling. Colleen suggested that through serving as a witness I was able to give closure. Maybe it was a new way of helping others outside the temporal dimension. It reminds me a bit of Star Trek’s three dimensional chess: one dimension influences and is connected to another.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Still Contemplating the High Priestess
One of the first things Colleen helped me with was getting in touch with my guides. It was so difficult because I felt I wasn’t getting messages or information from them. I could sense they were there, but I didn’t know how to communicate with them. I received no visual images (at least none I could make sense of) and no audio messages. Colleen suggested I try writing. Through the written and typed word I was finally able to communicate. It wasn’t easy, but it was there. Another technique Colleen suggested that helped was selecting a tarot card and using that as an entry point, once again using writing as the communicative medium.
I discovered I was able to communicate with more than just my guides via writing. I was also able to get messages from spirits who had things left unsaid that they wanted to tell me. I was fascinated by the different personalities that would pop “into my head” (or my pen) to tell me their tale. They were usually pretty brief.
Around that time I met Sarah. She is a spirit who I believe had been hovering around me for a long time, trying to communicate. I felt her there and sensed a bit of the tragedy of her story, but no details. Through journaling she told me her heart-breaking story. I edited it and turned it into a short story that I’d like to try to publish one day.
I discovered I was able to communicate with more than just my guides via writing. I was also able to get messages from spirits who had things left unsaid that they wanted to tell me. I was fascinated by the different personalities that would pop “into my head” (or my pen) to tell me their tale. They were usually pretty brief.
Around that time I met Sarah. She is a spirit who I believe had been hovering around me for a long time, trying to communicate. I felt her there and sensed a bit of the tragedy of her story, but no details. Through journaling she told me her heart-breaking story. I edited it and turned it into a short story that I’d like to try to publish one day.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Meditating on the message of the High Priestess
Working with Colleen really helped me jump start my psychic and spiritual development which I feel has grown by leaps and bounds in the past two years. I think it was a combination of being at the right place and time. The Talmud says you shouldn’t study Kabala, Jewish mysticism, until you are over 40 and have years of learning behind you. It seems to be the case with me. Things have been progressing so smoothly in my 40s, that I often compare it to the frustration of my enthusiastic but disappointing attempts at psychic development in my 20s. It’s not that I’m going about it differently; I just think I must not have been ready yet. What changed? I’m not sure, but my intuition tells me that I was not allowed to progress then because I wasn’t yet ready. I was given just enough validation to keep hope alive, but never more than that.
Friday, April 30, 2010
The High Priestess speaks
I’ve always wanted to be a writer. But I’ve wanted a stable income
even more, so I kept it as a hobby. Perhaps I didn’t believe I was
good enough to really make it as a writer. Still, there was a steady
image in the back of my mind since my teens that I would one day be a
writer, when my kids were grown and less dependent on me.
While pursuing my doctorate, I was under the most stress ever in my
life. Between work, school and family, I barely had time to breathe
(no wonder my asthma got worse!). I spent a lot of time at my local
library in those days. It was a temple of sorts to me. The building
itself is beautiful—like a stately mansion in an old English novel. I
love the vaulted ceilings, beautiful wood paneling and moldings.
Every once in a while I’d take a break from my studies and devour
Writer’s Digest and The Writer magazines. Though I had no time for it,
I would find myself in the “how to write” stacks. Kundalini Yoga
helped me deal with the stress, but Plotting and working on my still
unfinished novel kept my spirit alive in those days. One of the books
I happened to get off the library shelves was Colleen Rae’s Movies in
the Mind, a “how to” book for writing short stories. I must have
borrowed that small volume several times before I finally bought my
own (it’s unfortunately out of print). It was supposed to be the first
in a series of writing books by the author.
That was an exceptionally busy and stressful time in my life. I had
plans and seeds were planted that would one to be ready for action. I
never finished the novel but I have it all researched and plotted out
and have some lovely excerpts.
We’re now coming toward the end of the history and this blog will soon
move into the active present. A couple of years ago I decided to work
on finishing the unfinished novel. Again I went to the library to
scour the “how to” books for inspiration. I came across Colleen Rae’s
book again and it occurred to me that more than enough time has passed
since it was published (2000) and her second one should be out by now.
I checked Amazon. Nada. For some reason it bothered me and I decided
to look her up. She must have been doing *something* with her time if
she wasn’t publishing books for would-be authors.
I finally found her at http://www.joyflow.com Wouldn’t it figure that
what Colleen Rae has been up to was focusing on using her psychic
abilities to train other psychics. I took it as a sign from the
universe that it was time for me to work more actively on my psychic
and spiritual development.
even more, so I kept it as a hobby. Perhaps I didn’t believe I was
good enough to really make it as a writer. Still, there was a steady
image in the back of my mind since my teens that I would one day be a
writer, when my kids were grown and less dependent on me.
While pursuing my doctorate, I was under the most stress ever in my
life. Between work, school and family, I barely had time to breathe
(no wonder my asthma got worse!). I spent a lot of time at my local
library in those days. It was a temple of sorts to me. The building
itself is beautiful—like a stately mansion in an old English novel. I
love the vaulted ceilings, beautiful wood paneling and moldings.
Every once in a while I’d take a break from my studies and devour
Writer’s Digest and The Writer magazines. Though I had no time for it,
I would find myself in the “how to write” stacks. Kundalini Yoga
helped me deal with the stress, but Plotting and working on my still
unfinished novel kept my spirit alive in those days. One of the books
I happened to get off the library shelves was Colleen Rae’s Movies in
the Mind, a “how to” book for writing short stories. I must have
borrowed that small volume several times before I finally bought my
own (it’s unfortunately out of print). It was supposed to be the first
in a series of writing books by the author.
That was an exceptionally busy and stressful time in my life. I had
plans and seeds were planted that would one to be ready for action. I
never finished the novel but I have it all researched and plotted out
and have some lovely excerpts.
We’re now coming toward the end of the history and this blog will soon
move into the active present. A couple of years ago I decided to work
on finishing the unfinished novel. Again I went to the library to
scour the “how to” books for inspiration. I came across Colleen Rae’s
book again and it occurred to me that more than enough time has passed
since it was published (2000) and her second one should be out by now.
I checked Amazon. Nada. For some reason it bothered me and I decided
to look her up. She must have been doing *something* with her time if
she wasn’t publishing books for would-be authors.
I finally found her at http://www.joyflow.com Wouldn’t it figure that
what Colleen Rae has been up to was focusing on using her psychic
abilities to train other psychics. I took it as a sign from the
universe that it was time for me to work more actively on my psychic
and spiritual development.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Still the Magician
While in my 20s, I continued to learn all I could. I saw several psychics (nothing amazing), and did several interesting past-life regressions, but still had asthma and claustrophobia. Several sources had mentioned the Silva Method as a good place to start for psychic development. And it “just so happened” that I found a course nearby.
It was a great experience. At the end of the Basic Course we did medical intuitive work. We sat in pairs and one person thought of someone they knew with a health issue and the other would use the Silva technique to see what it was. I amazed myself and got two out of three. I was thrilled to have some validation from the universe that I could indeed develop my psychic powers, even if the going was slower than I would have liked.
I continued to read and practice but made little practical progress. The one thing I never did quite get the hang of was meditation. I’ve never been able to shut my mind off for more than two minutes max. Though sometimes I was frustrated at my lack of psychic progress and persistent asthma, I kept reading and believing and knew that one day psychic development would come.
I was comfortable with my new age spirituality, but I knew that I hadn’t yet regained my faith. A quote that frequently went through my mind was “There, but for the grace of God, go I” Another theme that haunted me was from Greek mythology. The gods would always strike down arrogant humans who gloated over their good fortune. Not that I was ever a gloater, but I was afraid of too much good fortune. Although intellectually I believed I had a path and that all things happen for a reason, deep down inside I was terrified of the possibility of random events.
Once I married and had children, I had little time to pursue my psychic development. I still believed, but had no time to devote to it. Career and financial concerns made it even less likely that I would meditate. I dabbled: here a Reiki course and there a past life regression workshop. When life got really stressful, the universe sent me Kundalini yoga. I “stumbled” onto Dharma Singh Khalsa’s book Meditation as Medicine. Then I found Gururattan Kaur Khalsa’s web site with her free email-based introduction to Kundalini yoga. Her books, as well as music CDs I bought from her web site, helped me through some very difficult times.
For the most part, that was how my 30s played out: High on interest, low on practice and lower on results. Things were soon to get interesting though…
It was a great experience. At the end of the Basic Course we did medical intuitive work. We sat in pairs and one person thought of someone they knew with a health issue and the other would use the Silva technique to see what it was. I amazed myself and got two out of three. I was thrilled to have some validation from the universe that I could indeed develop my psychic powers, even if the going was slower than I would have liked.
I continued to read and practice but made little practical progress. The one thing I never did quite get the hang of was meditation. I’ve never been able to shut my mind off for more than two minutes max. Though sometimes I was frustrated at my lack of psychic progress and persistent asthma, I kept reading and believing and knew that one day psychic development would come.
I was comfortable with my new age spirituality, but I knew that I hadn’t yet regained my faith. A quote that frequently went through my mind was “There, but for the grace of God, go I” Another theme that haunted me was from Greek mythology. The gods would always strike down arrogant humans who gloated over their good fortune. Not that I was ever a gloater, but I was afraid of too much good fortune. Although intellectually I believed I had a path and that all things happen for a reason, deep down inside I was terrified of the possibility of random events.
Once I married and had children, I had little time to pursue my psychic development. I still believed, but had no time to devote to it. Career and financial concerns made it even less likely that I would meditate. I dabbled: here a Reiki course and there a past life regression workshop. When life got really stressful, the universe sent me Kundalini yoga. I “stumbled” onto Dharma Singh Khalsa’s book Meditation as Medicine. Then I found Gururattan Kaur Khalsa’s web site with her free email-based introduction to Kundalini yoga. Her books, as well as music CDs I bought from her web site, helped me through some very difficult times.
For the most part, that was how my 30s played out: High on interest, low on practice and lower on results. Things were soon to get interesting though…
Monday, April 26, 2010
Following the Magician
So while I was still an undergrad, the New Age movement inspired me to pursue my own psychic development. I had always been fascinated by psychic phenomenon though without much reason to believe in any innate ability. I bought my first deck of tarot cards and read everything I could get my hands on. I was convinced I was on the right path and was excited to start seeing results. Time went on. Although interest and study remained high, results remained elusive. But I knew, I just KNEW I was on the right path.
I remember my first visit to a psychic. It was at a psychic fair in Virginia around 1989. I could choose anyone from a large room of psychics. I picked one at random. She was kind and friendly, I liked her right away. Her name, I think, was Phyllis Schulte, or something like that (I’ve googled her and unfortunately can’t find any reference to her). She explained that she was new to working as a psychic. She gave me a reading that seemed highly unlikely. She said she saw me on a plane going north. I had no plane travel in my plans and had no money for it either. I was disappointed by the reading, but enjoyed chatting with her just the same.
I asked her how she developed her abilities and she told me about the Silva course that started her on her way. We spoke some more and she said she did past life regressions too. I don’t know why, but I scheduled a regression with her at her studio. We spoke some more and she told me about her partner who she thought was an extremely talented psychic. I don’t remember his name.
That week I went to her studio for my first past-life regression. I had no idea what to expect (I don’t think Brian Weiss had published Many Minds Many Masters yet). I lay down on an easy chair and followed her guidance into deep relaxation. I remember it was really hard to get any images at all and I panicked thinking it wouldn’t work for me. But soon images started to form out of the blackness and sure enough a scene appeared before my closed eyes.
I knew bits and pieces—I was a man, a doctor. I was walking home on a dark, misty night. Yellow torch lights shone feebly on the cobblestone streets of what may have been London or some other city. I was feeling despondent. I had been unable to save the life of a sick child. I had left the grieving family, taking some pain and sorrow away with me in my heart. I didn’t want to go to my own home, but go I must. I didn’t feel like talking to my wife or playing with my kids. I believe that I often was so caught up in my work that I neglected my own family.
I did two more regressions and the images came faster and more easily. In one scene, I was riding a horse in perhaps 16th century Spain. I recognized my brother in the scene as one of my closest friends today. I don’t remember the third, though I’m sure I recorded or took notes somewhere…I think I was in a boat with others and we eventually drowned. As I child I’d had several recurring dreams about drowning. All in all it was an exciting experience, but I wasn’t sure what to do with the regressions. My asthma was still around. Claustrophobia too.
Just before I left her studio, Phyllis’s partner came in. She asked him to do a quick, impromptu reading for me. He held my hand and for about 5 minutes he talked non-stop and floored me. He said things he couldn’t have known like “keep swimming, it will help your knee”. My knee had been bothering me and I took up swimming semi regularly for the first time a few weeks before. He said my bad luck with men was the result of karma. I shouldn’t worry though because it was working itself out. I so regretted not taping him because he said so much which amazed me but I only remember those two things.
The next night my brother called me to say they were sending me a plane ticket so I could come home for Thanksgiving. Home was north. Nice. Wherever you are Phyllis, I wish you love and light.
I remember my first visit to a psychic. It was at a psychic fair in Virginia around 1989. I could choose anyone from a large room of psychics. I picked one at random. She was kind and friendly, I liked her right away. Her name, I think, was Phyllis Schulte, or something like that (I’ve googled her and unfortunately can’t find any reference to her). She explained that she was new to working as a psychic. She gave me a reading that seemed highly unlikely. She said she saw me on a plane going north. I had no plane travel in my plans and had no money for it either. I was disappointed by the reading, but enjoyed chatting with her just the same.
I asked her how she developed her abilities and she told me about the Silva course that started her on her way. We spoke some more and she said she did past life regressions too. I don’t know why, but I scheduled a regression with her at her studio. We spoke some more and she told me about her partner who she thought was an extremely talented psychic. I don’t remember his name.
That week I went to her studio for my first past-life regression. I had no idea what to expect (I don’t think Brian Weiss had published Many Minds Many Masters yet). I lay down on an easy chair and followed her guidance into deep relaxation. I remember it was really hard to get any images at all and I panicked thinking it wouldn’t work for me. But soon images started to form out of the blackness and sure enough a scene appeared before my closed eyes.
I knew bits and pieces—I was a man, a doctor. I was walking home on a dark, misty night. Yellow torch lights shone feebly on the cobblestone streets of what may have been London or some other city. I was feeling despondent. I had been unable to save the life of a sick child. I had left the grieving family, taking some pain and sorrow away with me in my heart. I didn’t want to go to my own home, but go I must. I didn’t feel like talking to my wife or playing with my kids. I believe that I often was so caught up in my work that I neglected my own family.
I did two more regressions and the images came faster and more easily. In one scene, I was riding a horse in perhaps 16th century Spain. I recognized my brother in the scene as one of my closest friends today. I don’t remember the third, though I’m sure I recorded or took notes somewhere…I think I was in a boat with others and we eventually drowned. As I child I’d had several recurring dreams about drowning. All in all it was an exciting experience, but I wasn’t sure what to do with the regressions. My asthma was still around. Claustrophobia too.
Just before I left her studio, Phyllis’s partner came in. She asked him to do a quick, impromptu reading for me. He held my hand and for about 5 minutes he talked non-stop and floored me. He said things he couldn’t have known like “keep swimming, it will help your knee”. My knee had been bothering me and I took up swimming semi regularly for the first time a few weeks before. He said my bad luck with men was the result of karma. I shouldn’t worry though because it was working itself out. I so regretted not taping him because he said so much which amazed me but I only remember those two things.
The next night my brother called me to say they were sending me a plane ticket so I could come home for Thanksgiving. Home was north. Nice. Wherever you are Phyllis, I wish you love and light.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The Fool's Journey
I’ve created this blog to help me reflect on my spiritual journey for this incarnation. I am the fool forging my way along the path toward oneness with the universe. I’ve done this route before I’m sure, many times. But in cyclical, or is it spiral fashion, here I go again, seeking the path of my soul through this incarnation. Why am I publishing it for the world to see if it chooses? I don’t really know. But I feel compelled to and I’ve learned to listen to my intuition. If this blog is meant to have readers, they will come.
Long ago I realized that one of my life lessons to learn this time around was to regain my faith. What I mean by that is something that will take some time to explain, so please bear with me.
I’ve been a spiritual person all my life. When I was young I loved the spirituality I learned from my parents. I enjoyed the holidays and the haunting melodies of the prayers. God was my personal friend, then. He (always a “he”) kept thieves away and made sure there were no monsters hiding under my bed. Spirituality was pretty simple for a while. Then I got to 6th grade.
I have a lousy memory and don’t remember that much from my uneventful childhood. But I remember the 6th grade teacher who pulled the floor out from under me by explaining that the Bible was not written by God after all. It was written by men from ancient times. And then he proved it. We studied the original text and he pointed out the inconsistencies that suggest that different people wrote different versions. Not only was the Bible written by men, but that meant that it was historically and culturally dependent. This was something I’d continue to learn about. My friendship with God was somewhat damaged by this realization. Around that time I developed asthma.
Then in high school I met a friend who would change how I saw the world forever. She was a devout atheist and a feminist. And she was brilliant. We had lengthy discussions about the existence of God, and though I tried my best, her reasoning was sound and I had to admit that she had an excellent point. That’s when I became an Agnostic. My asthma became more difficult to control during high school.
In college I worshipped the God of radical feminism and alternative music. My asthma continue to be a problem and I developed claustrophobia.
I don’t know when it was that I finally made the connection between my loss of faith in a benevolent divine order and the development of asthma and claustrophobia, but it did eventually strike me as more than coincidental. While still in college, I discovered New Age spirituality and it spoke to me, straight to my soul. I determined to work on my spiritual development and heal myself of asthma and claustrophobia. That was a long time ago. A lot of water has since passed under the bridge. I’m still working on it. My path has led me here.
Long ago I realized that one of my life lessons to learn this time around was to regain my faith. What I mean by that is something that will take some time to explain, so please bear with me.
I’ve been a spiritual person all my life. When I was young I loved the spirituality I learned from my parents. I enjoyed the holidays and the haunting melodies of the prayers. God was my personal friend, then. He (always a “he”) kept thieves away and made sure there were no monsters hiding under my bed. Spirituality was pretty simple for a while. Then I got to 6th grade.
I have a lousy memory and don’t remember that much from my uneventful childhood. But I remember the 6th grade teacher who pulled the floor out from under me by explaining that the Bible was not written by God after all. It was written by men from ancient times. And then he proved it. We studied the original text and he pointed out the inconsistencies that suggest that different people wrote different versions. Not only was the Bible written by men, but that meant that it was historically and culturally dependent. This was something I’d continue to learn about. My friendship with God was somewhat damaged by this realization. Around that time I developed asthma.
Then in high school I met a friend who would change how I saw the world forever. She was a devout atheist and a feminist. And she was brilliant. We had lengthy discussions about the existence of God, and though I tried my best, her reasoning was sound and I had to admit that she had an excellent point. That’s when I became an Agnostic. My asthma became more difficult to control during high school.
In college I worshipped the God of radical feminism and alternative music. My asthma continue to be a problem and I developed claustrophobia.
I don’t know when it was that I finally made the connection between my loss of faith in a benevolent divine order and the development of asthma and claustrophobia, but it did eventually strike me as more than coincidental. While still in college, I discovered New Age spirituality and it spoke to me, straight to my soul. I determined to work on my spiritual development and heal myself of asthma and claustrophobia. That was a long time ago. A lot of water has since passed under the bridge. I’m still working on it. My path has led me here.
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