Uncategorized – Page 11

The Beauty of Pilgrimage

Ten years ago this summer, I took a trip abroad that was quite life altering and life affirming. I was finishing up my third decade with an epiphany; I am no longer going to wait for someone else to make my dreams come true. I realized that I was missing opportunities to follow my bliss, because I was waiting for a companion to come into my life or for a friend to have the funds and vacation time available to join me for adventure. I decided that year that I would wait no longer. I booked a trip in February to be taken in August. I thought about returning to England or Scotland, places I had been before and loved, but realized that I really needed to go to Ireland. Through an online search I found a few groups that did tours that were geared toward Celtic spirituality. I was not interested in wasting a single day doing something that did not resonate with me. I didn’t want to be in this sacred country of my ancestors, and have to spend a day in the Waterford Crystal factory, when I could be spending that time among ancient sites that predate the pyramids. The company was selected by the travel date that didn’t interfere with a corporate board meeting, and I was set for a solitary adventure. I had nearly 6 months to plan, and I set about learning more about the sites I would see. At the time, I knew very little about the country, beyond my love for their native traveling hit, Riverdance. I was so glad to have the time to know more before landing on sacred ground. I was given an alumni guide to the history of the island, that went back to the actual land formation around the ice age. Here’s a little morsel of wisdom: There were never snakes in Ireland. They did not cross over the land bridge before the ice melted and turned it into an island.

The difference in being a tourist and a pilgrim is profound. A tourist travels with a mission that carries a bit of expectation and stress, while a pilgrim is on a spiritual journey with the intention of experiencing wonder and being open to the magick of synchronicity and ‘allowing’. Rather than scrambling to make things happen, one may simply allow the unfolding of the beauty and mystery that surrounds.

There are so many wonderful and amazing things that I was blessed to experience on that sacred journey, but I woke up this morning thinking of one particular moment that I’d like to share. I call it my Monica moment.

We were about half-way through our two week tour when we made our way down to the Dingle Peninsula in County Kerry. It was on the itinerary that we would see, among other things in this beautiful area, the Gallarus Oratory. In my initial reading, prior to arrival, it was written to be a 12th century church of stone on stone (no mortar) construction that appeared in the shape of an upturned boat. If you look it up online now, it has a few interpretations for its use by different archaeologists over the years. One speculation I admire is that it might have been a shelter for foreigners, or another possibility of being a funerary space for the family that owned the property. I rarely spend much time worrying about the truth of an ancient structure, and tend to simply be grateful that it remains standing for my witness centuries after its construction.

When we arrived at the Oratory, our entire group of 13 entered, and with hands clasped, we could stretch our circle to be touching the walls that encapsulated us. There was no more than a doorway on one side of the structure and a window on the other. This was a spiritual tour, therefore, everyone traveling with us had some level of interest in Celtic history, mythology, or were otherwise energetic healers of some sort. At the time, I was struggling with my identity, and the best I believed I could offer was a passion for singing chants that I had learned over the previous 16 years. So, I was asked to lead the group in a healing chant, and that I did. I closed my eyes, and twelve voices joined mine to sing the first chant I had learned, which moved me enough to choose this path of feminine spirituality for my soul’s enrichment. Raising your voice in an ancient place with fellow pilgrims is a powerful thing. I can’t tell you how many times we moved through those words, but it was possibly five rounds. When I opened my eyes, I looked up and found a face in the window looking in at us. I said, “Oh, look! We’ve attracted an Angel!”, and I snapped her picture.

I lingered inside the small structure for a few minutes, and when I stepped back into the light, I found my anam cara, a new soul-friend that I met on the tour, talking with the woman from the window. I heard her say, “You should talk to Melissa, she’s our chantress!” I walked over and smiled, as the Angel from the window spoke with a foreign accent. “Hello. My name is Monica. I was so moved by your song.” I replied, “Hi there. My name is Melissa. That song really moves me, too. Would you like me to share it with you?” And she nodded her head, and she and I clasped each others hands. We looked into each other’s eyes as I sang: “I am a circle, I am healing you. You are a circle, you are healing me. Unite us, be one. Unite us, be as one.” As I sang to this sweet stranger whose spiritual path had just crossed over my own, tears poured from her eyes. When the chant ended, she thanked me and we hugged. It was quite possibly one of the most powerful moments I have ever experienced. A decade has passed, and it is still crisp in my mind’s eye, that moment of shared magick. I am so grateful that I was mindful enough to snap that photo. Monica still peers through to me from that ancient window whose image is perched in my library. Sitting at my computer now, I wonder if she ever thinks of me… or if she tells a similar story to her friends and family about this amazingly wonderful thing that happened on her way to the Oratory.

When I reflect on that memory, I wonder why it is we rarely have these magickal moments at home or at the grocery store. It seems such a shame to have to travel to a foreign land to allow the open heart and open mind to attract such an interaction with people we don’t know. I think I will set my intention to attract more of this brand of magick wherever I roam, be it ancestral homeland or Trader Joe’s.

If you are blessed with the opportunity to travel beyond your home base, whether it be foreign or domestic, I hope that you will go forth with a pilgrim’s heart. Be open to receive whatever blessings the Universe has in store for you, and if you ever have the chance, I hope you’ll take the hands of a perfect stranger and sing to her with genuine caring and love. It will leave a permanent stamp on your soul that will bring you hope and healing even as it becomes a distant memory. I promise.

monicamoment

A Spiritual Path Less Traveled

I have been asked on more than one occasion about the sense of comfort and calm that I carry. One co-worker asked me if it was my spirituality that made me such a peaceful and happy soul. I tend to think that my demeanor would be the same regardless of my spiritual path, and yet I surely would not be who I am today without it.

I started my spiritual journey at age 23, at a time when I felt unfocused and unsure of my future direction. I was raised Unitarian Agnostic, so had an openness toward learning about world religion and alternative paths of spirituality. I had gone to church with friends while growing up, and had experienced multiple denominations of Christianity, but was never able to find a connection there.

As a teenager, and an adoring fan of a certain chiffon cloaked songstress, I developed an interest in learning about Wicca. I recall asking my brother one day, “They call her a witch, but her music is uplifting and makes me feel good… so how can she be bad?” His reply was that she wasn’t bad, she was a Witch to Wicca, as a Catholic is to Christianity (providing clarity to a non-religious kid).

In the mid 1980’s, there was little to be found in the library on that topic. I found a brief outline in an encyclopedia that I photocopied, but it didn’t do much to help my understanding. It felt too foreign and strange, and so I dropped my inquiry.

Then, in February of 1992, my Mom signed us both up to attend a workshop at our church, called “Women in Religion – A Walk in Many Worlds”. It was a weekend of experiential learning about Feminine Spirituality, hosted by Margot Adler. I can still vividly recall the Saturday morning ritual that was simple in nature, but powerful. There were 120 women in attendance, and Margot (the late NPR Correspondent, and granddaughter of famed psychiatrist, Alfred Adler) invited any woman who was going through some kind of trauma or sorrow to enter the center of the circle. When I looked around, there were not enough women left in the outer ring to be able to clasp hands. For me, it was a moment of empathic clarity to understand the prolific suffering of others. Prior to this gathering, I had not yet come to understand that what people display ‘on the outside’ does not necessarily reflect how they feel on the inside.

As we joined voices for my first healing chant, there was an unmistakable energy rising. It came up through the soles of my feet and poured forth through the tears in my eyes… there was so much suffering in this circle. I longed to hold every woman in sacred space.

These are the words that we repeatedly chanted: “I am a circle, I am healing you. You are a circle, you are healing me. Unite us, be one. Unite us, be as one.” I still find this chant to be powerful and incredibly moving, whether in a circle of three or three hundred.

At the time of our gathering, I knew one woman in the circle, but when I would later reflect on that moment that changed my life for the better, I would realize that a good number of those present would become my people.

Aside from the healing chant, there is one thing that really stands out in my memory of that weekend. We were all invited to bring an item to place on the altar, and had a chance to explain the symbolism of our offering. Margot spoke of the item she brought, which was a replica of a Neolithic age goddess image known as the Venus of Willendorf. She dates back over 30,000 years, and here’s the thing… she is not a stick figure. Willie is actually rotund by current standards. She is full, and round, and fertile, with hips meant for childbearing. Margot said that when she learned to see this ancient relic through the eyes of those who created her… with a sense of awe and reverence… she could begin to see herself that way. Can you imagine – realizing that someone who looked like you was once considered divine and worthy of worship? There really might be something here for me, after all, I thought.

After the workshop, my mom found an ad in the paper for a six-month class on Wicca. Again, she signed us both up. Mom left the class when she knew I was safe (i.e., not getting involved with a cult), as this path was not for her. I continued my weekly commitment from March through August of that year. We learned about different mythological pantheons, sacred ceremony, herbalism, astrology, divination (such as tarot and runes, etc.), and more.

It’s funny to come from the perspective of skepticism and open mindedness. It takes a really long time to move through disbelief and prove-it mentality to genuine knowing – even when you’ve been witness to real magick and minor miracles. It helps to be a highly committed individual; you can just keep trying, until it clicks. It also helps to have others with whom you feel safe to explore. When the class was over, I was initially not sure I would do anything with what I’d learned. There were parts that resonated, and parts that did not. But, as fate would have it, I was invited to join a small group of classmates to continue this exploration. These people valued my authentic nature, and did not judge my lack of education on the subjects into which we would grow. With their confidence and support, I began to blossom. I was their ‘maiden’, and the tarot card that symbolized my place on the path at age 23 was The Fool… a curious soul at the beginning of an unknown and exciting adventure.

For me, what was most profound in this exploration was the ability to finally find myself in the divine. For on this spiritual path, through Margot Adler’s introduction and the class on Wicca, I met the Goddess. Before this, the only expression of divinity I’d been shown came in male form, and quite frankly, having been betrayed by a male at age 20 to whom I had given my heart, well… I just wasn’t interested. How could I trust Him? And so here, in the proverbial lap of the Goddess, I was ready to make my home.

Over the last 25 years, my personal definition of spirituality has fluctuated. I remain committed to a permanent state of evolution, as I allow life and experience to alter understanding. I am an eternal student gathering insight from many paths, traditions, and religions. I find focus and strength in the archetypal feminine via Jungian psychology. I am grateful to have been raised with an open mind, not tied to a single belief system or dogma.

I love that we all have the freedom to explore and ultimately define what it is that makes us feel safe, supported, transformed, fulfilled.

For me, an earth based, goddess centered path still resonates most clearly… but my understanding of consciousness continues to evolve, and today I define myself as spiritual, but not religious – hesitant to limit my own possibility for growth and expansion.

What I’ve gathered from every single path I’ve studied… is that symbolism is powerful. We can find commonality in the Earth’s path around the sun through the changing seasons, and the cycle of birth, growth, death and rebirth of nature. And just as Mother Nature sheds her leaves each fall, we too can choose to drop what no longer serves us, be it an attitude, a toxic relationship, or a path that no longer meets our needs.

Whichever path you have chosen, and however you define it, dear ones, I hope that your own sacred journey is paved with love and healing light, and that you are surrounded by a community of supportive, loving, compassionate friends who will take your hand when you need guidance through moments of darkness. Knowing that I am never alone, and that I am surrounded by so much love has always been a great blessing to me… and from the center of my being, I wish the same for you.

Thank you for walking this path with me.

Witness to Healing

It was exactly six years and two months ago that one of my soulmates entered my life. You may know that a soulmate is anyone in your life who speaks to your soul and helps you to grow… they are not always a romantic partner, but sometimes, if you are really lucky, they may become a life partner… one soul you would choose to have at your side through all of the ups and downs, highs and lows of this great journey we call life.

She was kind of a mess at that time, but you wouldn’t know it to see her… as she was a master of disguise, much like many survivors of childhood abuse. Whether it was my empathic gift or our souls’ recognition of one another, she had the great courage to remove her mask whenever we were alone. The very first time she came to my home, we sat together on the couch and she looked at me with fear in her eyes, because she could not believe that she was confessing to me all of her deepest, darkest secrets of her childhood horrors. She said that it had taken her eight years of weekly therapy, to get past the crushing silence and tears of her shame to speak of these things to a professional… and there it was, spilling forth from her being like a flood gate had opened. It was a great honor to me that she trusted me with her truth, especially since she didn’t actually know me, at that point in time. Here’s one thing I know for sure, if you have the courage to go deep with someone, to share your truth, be authentic, and vulnerable… you will have no choice but to become bonded. Know that I am not betraying her trust by writing of my courageous, warrior soulmate here, because she has given me permission to share.

Here’s the really amazing, wonderful, miraculous thing about my joyful sharing of this piece of our shared history… my beloved friend and soulmate, who once would go fetal at the mere thought of her abuser, or who would lose her shit over a tragic anniversary, or who might punish herself with self harm of any sort, because she was drowning in the tidal wave of shame, fear, and self-loathing… is now completely healed. It wasn’t a spontaneous lightning bolt of healing, it was several years of dedicated hard work on her own behalf. She saw a therapist at least twice a month, and every week, if she needed it. She took her medication religiously, and never stopped her practice of self-care with her daily vitamin regimen. She sought and engaged a therapist who practices EMDR (eye movement desensitization and reprocessing), which is pure magick that reprograms the way the brain deals with trauma and PTSD. She is Christian, and so she engaged with groups at church that were focused on healing and coping. And most of the time that she was really struggling… she would reach out to me, and we would talk through it. When I asked her to see a psychiatrist to help with her chemistry, she made a promise and followed through. It wasn’t easy for her to do all of these things. Even making a phone call, or answering the phone was a hardship, at times… but she always found the strength and courage to accept that lifeline.

One of those days that she reached to me for assistance was when her group therapist assigned each survivor of childhood atrocities to write a letter of loving support to herself. Though I have no doubt she could have done that for someone else, at that time, she simply could not find the words for herself. So, she engaged her friend with a gift for words. This is the letter that I wrote for her. She told me that she shared it with her group, and that another member of the group asked if I would write one for her… and so she took my letter and adjusted the greeting. It went like this:

Dear [Friend]~

Have I told you lately how very proud I am of you? You are a warrior woman, goddess incarnate. The word victim has no place in your personal vocabulary, for you are a survivor. Heartbreaking atrocities occur every day, but it is not every soul who chooses to stand up and fight for her freedom from internal conflict and for wholeness. YOU are that woman.

At times, as you face these nightmares from the past – with your inner child, you may feel alone and helpless. The truth is… you are never alone, for we are all one. When you are in the midst of darkness, I shall be your torchbearer… shining a light on your truth, that you are whole, worthy, valued, loved, adored, and perfect – exactly as you are, until your own light is able to shine more brightly to illuminate your path of enlightenment.

I, too, have been through the darkness, in my own small way. As you know, I dwelled in self-loathing for over 25 years. Until, one day I decided that I deserved to be treated with loving kindness and respect, by myself as well as by others. It takes constant vigilance to choose the right words for one’s healthy self-talk, instead of the negative, nasty words we learned from others. It is absolutely worth the energy, time, and commitment to ourselves. We deserve what we accept… and we teach others how we deserve to be treated by our own actions… by what we tolerate. Never, ever tolerate abuse, disrespect or a lack of kindness… especially from yourself. Ask yourself, when you are speaking to your own reflection – would I ever say “this” to someone I love? If the answer is NO, then you MUST replace that thought or statement with something loving and kind. This is what I learned, and how I continue my own practice of self-respect and loving kindness.

With this important work you are doing, with such commitment and dedication, you are moving beyond being a survivor… you are becoming a THRIVER! Darling, precious, sacred friend… I can see your light and I look forward to seeing it shine more brightly. Go on – remarkable woman of strength and healing… SHINE ON!

Here’s my challenge for you… I dare you to make yourself feel as loved by you, as I do. I know that you have it in you, because you make me feel valued, appreciated, loved and adored. And the truth is… you deserve your own love and compassion more than anyone in the universe.

Love, blessings, and awe…

If this letter resonates with you, I hope you will fill in your name where [Friend] is written. The one for whom this letter was originally penned no longer needs it, though I know she holds it among her healing treasures. One day last winter, she received news footage of her childhood home, and the room that was hers… a virtual hall of terrors for one beautiful little girl, had burst into flames. She sent me the footage, and told me what I was seeing. My reply: “Oh, wow! Do you know what this means?” Her reply: “Yup!” This image, the symbol of her childhood trauma engulfed in flames, was her sign from God (the Universe) that her healing was done. That wounded past was being cleansed and purified… like when the forest floor is set alight to clear away old debris, and allow the pine cones to break open and spread their seed of new beginnings. Today, she no longer struggles with depression, and as of this morning, she is off of medication, after months of weening with her doctor’s and therapist’s guidance and support. She is my great symbol of hope. In her new beginning, she has become MY torchbearer. She has informed me that if I never give up on myself, and if I am willing to remain committed and focused on attaining my goals, someday… I might just become a writer. 😉

Fireplace 11-20-2013

Sunday Service or Faery Fantasy?

Have you ever had an experience, that when over, you look back and wonder if it really happened? My memory is rather selective. I call it Swiss Cheese Memory, because it seems I may remember pieces of a story, while other bits fall through the holes. But there is this one magickal day, though buried beneath twenty years of mundane history, which offers me remarkable clarity when plucked out to be shared. I keep this memory planted in a tiny pocket behind my heart, and am always grateful to be able to return to that very moment… as if to prove time travel a reality.

In college, I took four semesters of American Sign Language. That’s not to say that I ever had the confidence to do anything with it, but I can still spell out the alphabet and offer you my gratitude, my love, and inform you that I have to pee without speaking a word.

My classmates were far more confident than I, not limited by a false belief of not being good enough, my old wound – now healed. So, when a total immersion opportunity in St. Augustine arose, I joined them for the weekend trip, but did not attend the course. As they headed back to the college for the deaf on Sunday for their final class, I got in my car and drove along the waterfront to find a parking spot. My thought was that I would find a tree beneath which I would read a book before meeting up with the ladies for lunch. On this particular day, the sun was shining, the breeze was beautiful, and there was not a single place to park. So, I kept driving.

Soon I found that I was no longer in familiar territory. I ended up in an old neighborhood, and thought I should probably turn around and go back the way I came, so not to be lost (in an era before GPS and cell phones). When I pulled over to get my bearings, I found myself in front of quite a sight. I pulled out my journal to write about what I saw, scribbling imagined emotions to go with the vision before me.

Surrounded by a chain link fence, was a small cinder block structure that was covered in small white crosses, some atop blue hearts. There was no roof, floor, windows or doors on this house, and with all of the crosses, I imagined a whole family having died there (morbid, I know), as it resembled many roadside memorials I’ve seen.

When I looked up from my writing, I noticed a car to my left was inching slowly past, with two women eyeing me with suspicion. As they parked in front of me, and got out of the car, I rolled down my window and they approached, each dressed to the nines, pillbox hats, and all. I told them that I was intrigued by this house and had to stop, and asked them if this was a place of pain for them. One woman replied: “Oh, no honey. This is our church!”

The next thing I knew, I had been invited to worship with two elderly black women somewhere off the beaten path of historic downtown St. Augustine.

Of course I accepted their offer, and I helped them carry items from the car into the curious structure that was sacred to them. Together, we transported a canvas bag with a few hymnals, a battery powered keyboard, and a Christian bible. As we passed through the gate to enter the property, one of my hostesses placed a halfway deflated balloon at the gate, and turned a sign around to show anyone arriving late that church was now “In Service”.

We entered the ‘sanctuary’ through the unhindered doorway that faced the road, stepping onto beautiful green grass. There were randomly placed cinder blocks and a few planks of wood that leaned against the wall. By their guidance, I helped rearrange these items to become a pew and a keyboard stand. Next, I was guided through a side-doorway, and found that there was a small wooden closet with a lock, from which was pulled a small wooden lectern. It looked more like a plant shelf that had been painted blue with a white wooden cross added as a symbol of its importance… to cradle the holy book for reading. There was a porcelain heart-shaped box that sat on the shelf, behind the cross. With this final placement, in the front of the room, facing the single pew, and to the left of the ‘choir’ section, we were ready to begin the service.

One woman took her place at the keyboard, and the other behind the lectern. I took my place with hymnal in hand, respectfully, upon the pew of block and wood. The service proceeded in the usual fashion… a bit of music, followed by words of scripture. At each phase of the service, I was informed of their traditions. “This is where we do the meet and greet.” And the three of us stood, and I introduced myself to Vondelin and Petronella, two sisters, both in their seventies. They called each other Von and Pet, for short. Their mother had taught at the local school for the deaf, and it was a fire in the nearby historic district that sent embers aloft to burn down their family church.

We returned to our assigned places to continue the service. I was invited to read something from the ‘Good Book’, and not having a Christian background, I asked Von to select a piece for me. As she took my previous place on the pew, I looked out over my congregation, and delighted in the sight. When I finished my reading and returned to my seat, Pet asked if there was a song I’d like to sing. I told her that I was not familiar with this hymnal, and the only song I could think of that might be appropriate was one performed in the church scene from the movie, Corrina, Corrina with Whoopie Goldberg.

And so, the three of us moved to the music of the keyboard and we let our little lights shine! Next, it was time to do the offering. Von pulled the heart-shaped box from the lectern shelf and informed me of this part of the service. When I told her that I had left my purse in the car and offered to run out, she handed me two dimes, and said: “No, no, honey… too much money just invites thieves.” And so I placed the two dimes she gave me into the box, and Petronella did the same, then Vondelin returned the box to the safe place beneath the bible.

Again, we all returned to our designated roles, and I listened to the completion of our service. As I sat there, in this simple structure with my feet in the grass, looking up at blue sky and lush green treetops, and then looked back at these two, lovely, authentic, open-hearted women… my heart experienced such bliss. When the service ended, I helped them return the space to the state it was in upon arrival. We locked the lectern and porcelain box in the closet outside the side door, and removed the planks of wood from the cinder blocks and leaned them against the wall. I helped them carry the keyboard and hymnals out to their car, and thanked them for sharing their Sunday Service with me.

As they drove away, I sat in my car, as I had done just an hour before… looking over at this curious structure, and wondering to myself… Did that really happen? I eventually drove away to find my friends, whose voices had been liberated over lunch before our drive back to Orlando.

At work on Monday, still affected by the wonder of it all, I shared my experience with co-workers. One who often prayed for me and my Unitarian-pagan soul, said: “See! I knew you would find your way to the one true path.” And I looked at her and said: “Oh, no! Don’t you see? As much as I was in their church… they were in mine! With words of worship and song, we had our feet upon the earth, and the sun upon our skin, the breeze danced through the trees to caress our faces, and we were all one.”

When I later shared this magickal tale with my Tribe, we all wondered if I had slipped into some kind of faery realm. But it was all confirmed when, several months later, my friends went to St. Augustine to celebrate their wedding anniversary, and they followed my vague instructions to finding my magickal church.

Not only was the structure still there, but it had new windows in the front. They attended the service with my not so faery friends, and learned that they had been raising money to refurbish the church, and were doing so, literally one window at a time. That made me a little sad… that they were working to remove nature from their sanctuary.

Several years passed before I made my way back north to St. Augustine. When I made that drive around the waterfront and into the old neighborhood, I did not find the church. I don’t know if it was torn down or rebuilt to be unrecognizable to me… or if it finally passed through the veil into the faery realm, after all. I do know that I will forever be grateful, for my curiosity to stop, and for the kindness of two sisters to invite me in.

I hope that if you ever find yourself at the doorway of a magickal threshold, that you will accept the invitation… and enter.