dddd
Dear FutureReba: An Open Letter
Dear FutureReba:
Chariots of Fire
After Chariots of Fire-esque photo finish last week (minus the race number and bad hair), you’re taking a victory lap, relishing crossing the Thirty by Thirty finish line. Fergie’s Glamourous is playing in the background of your elation, and you’re coasting… happy and excited to take on the Summer of the Book Draft. I hate to wag my finger in your well-earned glory, but someone has to remind you…
There will be days very soon, possibly tomorrow, when you’d rather have your foot run over by a car than continue your life’s work.
You’ll look in the mirror and curse yourself–loudly, in the manner of a sailor overboard– for putting yourself, your heart and your journey out there for the world to pass judgment on.
You’ll want to quit more than a germophobe working in a sewage plant.
In the face of self-doubt and loud protestors, you’ll want to rip off the bull’s-eye that is Thirty by Thirty, and wave it like flag of surrender.
Don’t.
When you look in that mirror, go ahead and curse (because it feels good!). Then remind yourself –loudly, in the manner of a Baptist preacher–that you put yourself, your heart, and your journey out there knowing full well that a few will pass judgment in the wake of many being inspired. It’s just collateral damage, babe, just collateral damage.
Instead of quitting, look squarely at that mess of sewage and rock a cannonball. There’s no way out but through… (the manure).
Then paint a huge bull’s-eye on a sandwich board and suit up. Some offensive arrows will land, but your sign will also give Seekers everywhere a shot of encouragement.
Writing is sometimes awkward, as when you rear-end a guy in the rain and get stuck huddling with him under a small overhang while the waiting for the police. But writing about religion? Other people’s religion? That’s awkward in the manner of wrapping your car around a tree and breaking lots of bones. Just get used to it. Because you didn’t choose it; it picked you. Besides, your fingers will itch forever if you fail to share your journey of transformation…and itching totally sucks. (Recall: the Holiday of Hives.)
And stop crying already; it wrinkles the skin. Do you really wanna be a crying, cursing, poop-covered, oldster-sandwich board in traction? Didn’t think so.
Love,
PresentReba
Find Thirty by Thirty on Facebook and Twitter
And the Award Goes to….Me!
I used to be an Evangelical Poster Child. Today, I am contending for the coveted title of Most Uninspiring Spiritual Seeker Ever! (And? If the Academy was voting this very second? I would totally win. I mean, I’d win hands-down with the most-unanimously-unanimous vote in the history of voting.) I’d be crowned Victor of Un-Inspiring-ness (and Princess of Pitiful, if I had anything to say about it, which I do not) because I have been creatively angling for the title for days.
My winning tactics for are as follows. (They are my gift to the world, and I give them freely–provided I keep the shiny statue upon my victory).
- Contract staph infection which manifests in the form of a strange red walnut on your chest, otherwise known as a 3rd (albeit alien-style) breast. Take two double-strength antibiotics twice a day for 7 days, and wait for the 3rd boob infection to shrink. It does not.
- Severely sprain ankle whilst walking home from a bar, after celebrating the completion of Husband’s 2nd year of law school with too many shots of chocolate-whipped-vodka shots, which should not be taken with double-strength antibiotics. (Achieve this by drinking to excess, wearing heels, then staging a Hostile Sidewalk Encounter. Pain is certain to follow.)
- Wearing Frog Prince Flannel pajamas, lay in bed for two full days. Sleep intermittently and read Kindle between naps.
- After falling asleep while reading, roll over, effectively breaking Kindle’s screen.
- Only when completely necessary (as in the case of actions your Husband cannot do for you, such as visiting the ladies room) hobble about on borrowed crutches (slightly janky but lovingly appreciated!) which feature hand-holds at different levels and a lovely green washcloth taped to (only one) armrest (for comfort!).
- While staring at your bedroom (because you no longer have anything to read, except business reports, which are bor-ing and totally incompatible with pain meds) complain that your space has taken on the distinct look of an episode of Hoarders, minus the dead animals and trash. (Mostly. Dog, still being very much alive, has scattered bathroom trash amongst dirty/clean/unknown-status laundry.).
- After taking brain-addling pain meds, attend bi-weekly conference call which is typically as easy as third-grade math with boss, who, during said call, morphs into a sadistic version of your college statistics professor and gives you a pop exam that you are not ready for, regarding the bor-ing reports you failed to run/read. [Note: I really do love my boss. He is a great guy and will teach me A Lot of Great Business Stuff. Eventually, when I get a warning that the Spanish Business Inquisition is coming.]
- Hang up from Evil Call and dissolve into a mess of tears, which causes two-day-old mascara to run all over your face, in the manner of an angry abstract painting, but not as pretty.
- On the way to the ladies room, glance in the mirror. You will see the reflection of a Winner!
At least I have four days to get my s*** together before Thirty by Thirty is over, and can still hope to achieve Inspirational Spiritual Seeker Status in the future…someday. (But, dear readers, should I become a totally famous author? Please deflate my balloon head by reminding me of this post. XOXO.)– Reba
The Power of the Pentagram: Part 1
Continued from Beltane
We fear that which we do not understand. But what causes even greater fear? That which we believe ourselves to understand.
Pentagram
The Maypole celebration ended with a ritual wherein the Priest, Priestess, May Queen and May King ceremonially offered cookies and juice to each attendee along with a Blessing. We formed a line, and one at a time went forward to receive a dual blessing: one each from the God and Goddess. I hung back a little, taking in the situation. It looked an awful lot like Holy Communion (if Holy Communion took place in the woods and was offered by people with flower crowns). Granted sprinkle cookies replaced bread, and orange drink the wine, but I couldn’t shake the similarity or decide if I wanted to ingest a Wiccan Blessing (er, Communion?).
I inched forward in the line while giving myself a silent pep-talk: There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s a Blessing Ceremony, silly, not a sacrifice! It’s just cookies and juice, baby, just cookies and juice. I flashed back to some unfamiliar things I’ve done this year (like bowing to idols and medium/psychic readings), and reminded myself that I’ve always come away with something good from every experience. Just as my fears cooled and I was up to bat, I noticed the ritual included the Priest and Priestess drawing Pentagrams on the foreheads of those being blessed, the same way a Catholic Priest would make the sign of the cross over a Christian in communion. It’s just cookies and juice, baby, go forward!
So I stepped up to receive my blessing from the Priest and as he started drawing the first line of the Pentagram on my forehead, everything in me jumped backwards, taking my body, almost unwillingly, with it. Whoa, I said, no Pentagram. I can’t handle the Pentagram. Then the Priest jumped back and almost simultaneously accused, “You the Christian? Someone said there was a Christian here!” Without thinking, I retorted, “I’m not a Christian!” (Meaning: I’m not the kind of Christian you are thinking of!), then realized what I’d said. All four of us were very worked up in a kind of energy gridlock, so it took all I had to step back up to receive the cookie minus the pentagram. The Priestess said she could give me a blessing that wouldn’t offend me, and I was all tears and sniffles and You’re not offending me! I don’t know what’s going on but I just can’t do the Pentagram!
Graciously, she blessed me with a simple hand on my head with a prayer that would be acceptable in any religion: it ended with May you never hunger…May you never thirst. Still teary, I drank the juice, while apologizing profusely for my behavior. It was all very intense, and I had to sit down to consider exactly what in the heck just happened?! I’ve done all kinds of things this year and all the sudden I back down from a Blessing? Great job, Reba, invading their Sacred Space only to ruin their ritual.
We discussed the incident later by the campfire, while the others were drumming and singing, and the both the Priest and Priestess were very kind: more concerned about the balance of my energy than my Blessing breakdown. I, however, took my perceived failure home with me. It took 3 days to sort through exactly what happened in the moment I collided headfirst with the Pentagram…then 8 more to fully process. (Eleven days for an incident that lasted maybe two minutes…like I said, it was intense!) But, eventually, I did figure things out and learn more about myself and this journey in the process.
More to come…
Eclectic Beltane: The Maypole
Continued from Pagans, Wiccans and Druids
One item of clothing I never considered church-appropriate?A poncho. But that was before I considered Nature as a Place of Worship—which it is for Pagans of all varieties (and for me, last Saturday).
O, poncho, why must you forsake me in my time of need?
Due to forecasted downpours and Wiccan weather protocol: “It might rain, and we don’t care!”, I found myself scouring closets for storm gear last Saturday before leaving for the Beltane camping celebration, held at a local state park. Whilst searching, I wondered how many religious folks would attend church if it lasted 24 hours and required rain boots? Alas, as neither poncho nor rain gear were found, I settled on heavy layers, a water-resistant jacket and old tennis shoes.
{Sidenote: My outfit was an excellent fashion choice on multiple levels! As a Champion Procrastinator of All Things Clothing, I left the task of finding a church outfit until Saturday night, 5pm, a mere 13 hours before I was to speak at King Ave. Methodist. Thus, I had to bear The Shame of mall shopping in my nature-friendly rain attire. And hell hath no fury like a women on a fashion mission, late for a Pagan party, slowed down by gaggles of teen mall-rats (where are their parents?! And why do they have to walk more slowly than an elderly man with a walker?!), then asked by a pristine saleswomen, “May I help you?” (Translation: You look like a bag lady and clearly can’t afford our clothing, but the terms of my employment dictate that I must ask if I can help you, and I don’t want to lose my job because I am still paying off my Botox!) Hmmph. “No, thank you.” Translation: I’d rather wander around aimlessly than watch you judge me! I lost some self-respect, but I found appropriate pants.}
May Crown (Better than mine, but not by much!)
Though not mall-friendly, my outfit perfectly matched the natural setting of the celebration. After being warmly welcomed campfire by the High Priest and Priestess, I found myself near the campfire, weaving Mayday crowns with a lovely Persian woman. We picked flowers to beautify the crowns, which would be placed on the heads of the May King and Queen (representing the God and Goddess) in the upcoming ritual.
When the Beltane ritual began, the group (about 15 people) formed a circle by holding hands. The Priest invited Father Sky and Mother Earth to join and bless our celebration of spring. Then the guys and gals separated to bless and crown the May King and Queen .We encircled the Queen and sent her positive energy by extending our hands to her (like a Pentecostal prayer service!). We invited the Goddess to descend upon the May Queen, and formally named her the representative of the Divine Feminine. Then we led the May Queen back to the clearing, walking two-by-two in front of her so the May King/Embodiment of the Divine Masculine couldn’t see her. It was very much like badly-dressed (but not for the weather!) bridal procession. We parted, allowing the men and the May King to see her. Collectively we walked between the fires and formed another circle around the King and Queen. They danced to the beat of a drum while the rest of us cheered/chanted along. (I was told this represented the meeting of the Divine which created the earth.)
How to thread a Maypole
Maypole
Then came the threading of the Maypole, which was super fun: I highly recommended it for anyone willing to dance about in the woods, but not recommended for anyone impaired because it does take a fair amount of concentration! Half of people (ideally all men) walk one way and the other half (ideally all women) walk the other, requiring one to dip under a ribbon every other step (which, like the limbo, gets progressively harder as the ribbons get shorter!). It’s all very symbolic of the joining of the Divine to create, and you end up with a great-looking stick!
To be continued...
I absolutely loved the Beltane celebration of Spring. This should not be a surprise: I’ve found this year that the more I fear something, the more I end up getting out of it. (Reference Hindu Diwali and Native American Sweatlodge experiences).Everyone was so nice and very welcoming, and everything we did was very natural and enjoyable… so I felt extra bad about being afraid of witches (last post)… until about five minutes post-Maypole, when I collided headfirst with a Pentagram.
Recent Comments