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Lavender: The Next Gateway Drug
Until my cousin drugged me with lavender last weekend, I’d never given much consideration to essential oils. (In fairness I drugged myself, but it was accidental. Michael should have warned me!)
After being awake for nearly 23 hours I was partially brain dead when I arrived at my California cousin’s home at 1am west coast time, 4am Rebecca/Ohio time. During my trip I’d experienced a trip multiple delays, including: A) Puking from motion sickness in the Atlanta airport B) An airplane that couldn’t fly because someone (not me) had been sick in coach and somehow clogged the aircraft drains and C) Waiting for two hours in the 10th circle of hell—the rental car check-in line.
(The only reason Dante did not include the rental car line, ER waiting rooms and the Verizon tech help in his circles of hell is because they hadn’t been invented yet. I don’t believe in a traditional hell, but if I did I think it would be a freezing hospital holding cell—you know, one of those curtained ER rooms—and you’d be alone, wearing a paper gown and waiting forever for a doctor who would never come.)
So. Upon arrival I was in a, shall we say, very susceptible mindset. When Michael answered the door looking for all the world like the well-rested, peaceful, genius-hippie-medicine man he is, I was immediately jealous. (Also, with dim lighting, candles, and incense the house smelled and looked like a fragrant yoga class. I can’t be certain, but I think Buddha was reclining happily in the corner, nodding in approval over Michael’s lotus-like presence.)
Over a midnight meal, we had the kind of deep discussion only sleep deprivation or weed can provide. (Not that we were smoking weed– I hate the stuff—but it was California so I feel that semi-legal drugs deserve an honorable mention.) Our conversation unveiled Michael’s substantial collection of essential oils which, I later discovered, are 300 times more powerful than your average oils. I was eager to try one; maybe I too could connect with the Buddha’s calm before drifting into a dead sleep.
“Try the lavender,” advised my cousin, so I rubbed it on my wrists and neck. Placebo effect or not, the lavender melted away some of the travel stress, and after one Ah, I already feel better, I wisely decided to dip into the jar a little more. Ok, a lot more. I practically bathed in the stuff. I felt great for about five minutes, and then things started getting a little fuzzy—nay, very fuzzy. According to Michael, I started stumbling around, slurring my words. All I remember is profound dizziness, blurry vision and not being able to pass a makeshift drunkenness test before throwing myself, fully clothed, into bed.
Though I experienced many a religious ritual involving sacred scents in the course of my Thirty by Thirty project, I never thought they were actually powerful. Set the mood– sure. Clear the air of bad energy– why not? Symbolize the Holy Spirit—bring it on. But actually alter one’s state of physical, mental or spiritual being as I’d heard from the earth-conscious—no. But after my lavender experience I started thinking… if an essential oil can drug me, maybe it can drug, er, clear my chakras too? It’s all in the power of belief, and I now believe in the Power of Essential Oils. Now, if only they made essential coffee…
Coming to you Live, from CNN.com!
My article “Five Ways to Overcome Post-Traumatic Church Syndrome” went LIVE Saturday morning. Check it out!
Aprons vs. Alcohol
“HELLO? Hello Is this a voicemailbox? This must be a voicemailbox…. REBECCA, THIS IS RUTH, RUTH YODER? We would like to INVITE you to spend the night TOMORROW so you do not have to DRIVE TOO FAR on Sunday morning before CHURCH. Well, we will either SEE YOU TOMORROW evening for dinner or on Sunday morning! We are HAVING A ROAST!”
With this unexpected message, I faced a difficult decision. How should I celebrate Cinco de Mayo?
A.) Drink skinny-girl margaritas on Mad Mex patio with best friend, Erin, enjoy delicious nachos then stumble home—Ole!
OR B.) Spend the night on an Amish farm.
Now, I would never presume to speak for all spiritual-seekers who are surprised by a voicemail from prospective Amish hosts on the eve of Cinco de Mayo, but you can never have too many options for holiday celebrations is what I always say, and it is always a pleasure to choose between alcohol and aprons!
As one should do for all major life decisions, I posed my dilemma to Facebook friends. The consensus was a 50/50 split, with my favorite advice being: Why choose? Just mix up margaritas on the farm!
Well. I had not yet my Amish friends, but I assumed they would not appreciate tequila drinks, no matter how skinny or delicious.
Though I was very touched by Ruth’s thoughtfulness (especially considering that I could be a criminal intent on stealing their lovingly-crafted furniture, then driving off in a getaway-buggy), my final decision in favor of Fiesta!-ing hinged on my fear of outhouses. Specifically outhouses I might have to stumble to in the dark, with only a candle to guide my way.
Decision made, there was still the matter of What Not to Wear to Amish Church or rather, what to wear, since my entire wardrobe was immodest by the standards of Women Who Sport Bonnets.
Therefore, the afternoon of Cinco de Mayo found me and Erin shopping for Amish attire at the Goodwill. Fortunately, we discovered that thrift stores are indeed an excellent resource for unfashionable dresses, especially appliquéd jean jumpers and floral frocks circa 1985.
However, anything bedazzled or otherwise printed would be considered too vainglorious for the Amish, so we limited our search to only the plainest garments until we found The One.
Finding The One was like discovering my wedding dress, minus the beauty, happy tears and luxurious dressing room (and plus ugliness, side-splitting laughter and the scent of mildewed clothing). The One presented as a size 20, neck-high/ankle-low, blue-cotton jumper, sure to make any wearer resemble a beached whale. Except for the problem of the dress being sleeveless, which we quickly remedied with a sixe XXL black sweater, The One was perfect. And–bonus!– the dress came with shoulder pads! We rushed to check out, partially to make sure no one snatched up The One… but mostly to get to the business of the day: margaritas!
More on my Amish visit coming soon…
Reba Riley is a graduate of 15,000 hours of Christian education, the Focus on the Family Institute and the Ohio State University. When she isn’t selling construction materials full-time or freelancing at Reba Riley Ink, she’s writing her reverently irreverent memoir: Thirty by Thirty-365 Days. 30 Religions. 1 Chance to Recover Faith by 30. (currently seeking agent representation). Reba writes from her home in Columbus, Ohio, where she lives with her wonderful, law-student husband and their crazy puppy. Contact Reba via Email (rebecca@thirtybythirty.com) Facebook and Twitter.
The Power of the Pentagram: Part 2
Continued from The Power of the Pentagram: Part 1
After fourteen days of wrestling, this is what I’ve realized about the Power of the Pentagram:
The Pentagram has no power at all; it only crackles to life when infused with the electricity you lend it.
The Pentagram is like a letter of the alphabet: a meaningless scribble to the illiterate, a building block for a writer, an object of study to the linguist. The letter Z can run in Zebra, shine in Quartz or be ingested as Zucchini. It’s a fraternity (Zeta Beta Tau), the overflowing of a soda (fizz), and terror to a teenager (zit).It’s invigorating (zeal) and horrifying (Nazi): simultaneously unruly (jazz) and staid (Azan-Muslim call to prayer). Without the image you mold it to be, the letter Z is nothing. And neither is the Pentagram.
But.
If, like me, your brain hard-wired from birth for the Cause of Christ and his rule over the Enemy, Satan (who prowls the earth with his minions seeking to kill, steal and destroy—did I mention I didn’t need to fear ghosts? I had real, live demons to be afraid of!), AND the pentagram was held up as a symbol of All That Is Evil by your church and family and culture-at-large, well, that symbol has some serious power. Negative power. Evil power. Possibly even the power to invite demons to jump out of your closet and into your mind. Power you didn’t even know was still there, hiding in your subconscious, like a demon under your childhood bed. One that jumps out to say “BOO!” when you’re 29 and cocky, unafraid of the dark, thinking you’ve ridded yourself of all religious prejudice.
But.
If you aren’t at all like me— maybe you were raised by a Pagan, or the High Priest of a Wiccan coven, or perhaps your family didn’t have religious hang-ups of any kind—the Pentagram could take on all kinds of different meanings: from a Sacred symbol of the Divine, to a representation of the five elements (four physical: earth, air, fire, water, and one metaphysical: Spirit), to nothing at all. You would not believe in the Christian Satan, or his demons, or call upon anything evil. To you, there would ne no such thing as witchcraft in the Abrahamic religious sense.
Perhaps you were even raised with traditional religions but, like me, forged your own path to the Divine, and the Pentagram has become your symbol of transformation.
Speaking of which, I’d like a symbol of transformation. Maybe I will adopt the Venus Pentagram (below). Because for me, it represents a change—one I didn’t even know I needed to make. Stepping up to receive the Pagan blessing, then jumping back, then considering why—that process cleaned out a dark closet of prejudice that I didn’t even realize was there. And for that I will ever be thankful: both to the Symbol and to the people who graciously blessed me, in spite of myself, and accepted me into their circle, without judgment.
So today I lend my own energy to their symbolic circle (which happens to contain a five-pointed star) declaring myself at peace with all its positive meaning(s), and appreciative of the Pagan faiths whose followers showed me such kindness. Though I still respect my decision to step back from the Blessing, (because to me, in that moment, it represented negativity, so it was not appropriate to receive it), I choose to receive it today (albeit 14 days late) with all the beauty and peace it means to your faiths. Blessed Be.
Romans 14 came to mind: One man considers one day more sacred than another; another man considers every day alike. Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind. He who regards one day as special, does so to the Lord.
For anyone who’d like to tar and feather me for this post, please consider the history of the Pentagram and its multiple meanings throughout history including–surprise!–Christian and Jewish usages.
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.
Itsipi (Sweat Lodge) Ceremony
In the course of Thirty by Thirty, I’ve jumped headfirst into many an uncomfortable situation. But never have I been ACTUALLY afraid, nor reduced to shaking, anxious tears in my car until yesterday, directly before the Nemenhah Itsipi Sweat Lodge Ceremony. In entering the lodge, I would be piling into a tiny space with twenty strangers, plunging into darkness and nearly unbearable heat, and thereby be facing several major fears: claustrophobia, severe heat/bodily pain, darkness AND the unknown. (Points of reference: I once had a panic attack in a small, crowded airplane, and I’ve nearly passed out in hot yoga class.)
Now. With 33 experiences and a thirty-day fast behind me, you’d think I’d be ready. Courageous. Able to face any challenge! And you? Would be wrong. Because I was a sniveling mess: cry-dialing my husband, my mother and my best friend for a pep talk (none of whom answered). So, it was between me and God in the car: with the choice to peal outta there, tires squealing… or face my fears and see what the Great Spirit had to say in the Sweat.
So, I dried my eyes and listened. And I could almost hear the Divine sigh. After this entire year, do you not believe I can sustain you through a little heat? Ok, Ok, I get it. Come to the end of myself (again). Blah,blah,blah. See how You miraculously work. Blah, blah, blah. Ugh! For a person of faith, I certainly lack it and am often in need of a Major Spiritual Attitude Adjustment(MSAA).Which I received… approximately five minutes after slamming the car door and marching my scared self straight towards that lodge.
[To explain MSAA Part 1 , I need to back up and explain this: On Day 29 of my fast, I had a revelation of truth...as a disco ball. (I know, I know, a Divine Disco Ball is a total cliché of the type of vision incited by severe hunger.) In reality, the picture was more like a prism, so not quite so dance-club chic. But for ease of use, I've been explaining this to people as a Disco Ball because it's easier to understand. Here's the short version: God is bigger than any one of us can see, because we only view one facet of Spirit (represented by each little mirror), based on all kinds of factors: birth, family, history, experiences, etc. So what we see? It's all valid truth...for us. But it isn't the full picture.]
So. I round the corner, and what, pray tell, is sitting on the Chief’s blanket-altar? A little DISCO BALL. I could hear the Divine laughter. After this entire year, do you not believe I can sustain you through a little heat? So I laughed too, out loud, and all my fear fled. When I told the Chief my story, and he tossed me the Disco Ball. It’s yours.
Then…the Divine laughter got louder. Because another Chief/Shaman showed up, laid out his blanket altar right next to me, and my mouth dropped open.
[To explain MSAA Part 2, I need to back up and explain this: Last month, I was led through a Native American meditation to find my spirit guide. And in my mediation this guy with long, flowing, silver hair, nearly to his waist, standing in a field: I am here to teach you to heal.]
I’ve been confused, because I haven’t seen him again….until yesterday, in the field outside the Sweat Lodge. Because The Chief? He was totally guy with the hair–a dead ringer. Except, I observed to him after relating my meditation, his hair was a lot shorter now. And he laughed: I just cut my hair…it was to my waist.
Of all the foreign (to me) traditions I have experienced this year, I identify most with the Nemenhah. The sweat called to me; it pulled me; it changed me. So…I was supposed to be there yesterday; it was completely incredible. (All of the above was in the first half hour! I hadn’t even crawled into the Lodge yet!)
So the moral for me, which has been a continuing theme this year, is:
The more afraid you are to do something you are called to do, and the more you don’t want to do it—read those emotions as a flashing, neon sign from the Divine–You need this more than anything else. Do it.
(Note: There is absolutely NO reason to be afraid of a Sweat Lodge as long as it is conducted by experienced spiritual leaders who understand the primary importance of health: physical, mental, emotional and, of course, spiritual.)
–Reba
Thirty+ Visits Complete!
With accidental start and end dates of Pentecost Sunday (’11) and Easter Sunday (’12), I have successfully completed my 30+ visits.But…I’m not done yet! The completed are, in no particular order:
1.Living Word Church (my childhood church) 2. King Ave Methodist (GLBTQ Reconciling) 3. Lake Erie Drive-in 4. Buddhist Temple 5.Pentecostal Mega-church 6.Baptist 7.African-American Baptist 8.Movie Theater Rock 9.Hindu Temple 10.Synagogue 11.Roman Catholic 12. Eastern Orthodox 13.Vineyard 14.Jehovah’s Witness 15.Mormon 16.Atheist 17.Stadium 18.Christian Spiritualist 19.Emergent Independent 20.Quaker 21.Hare Krishna 22.Scientology 23.Unitarian 24.Baha’i 25. Storefront Redeemed 26.Christian Science 27. Stone Village 28.Sikh 29.Naturalist 30.Taize 31. Vertias (church of the boot camp) 32. Seventh Day Adventist
(Note: My blog checklist is typically behind because I have to rely on my web programmer to change it.)
I was heavy on the Christian churches, especially in the beginning, so I am doubling back to attend a few originally on the list and several additions before the 5/15 deadline:
–Native American–Amish–Pagan and/or Wiccan–Kabbalah–Mosque
Though I’ve not had luck locating the following in my area, I am still interested in:
–Zoroastrianism–Tao–Sufi–Xenos–African/tribal–Voodou–Virtual–Rastafaria–Gnostic–Jainism–Confusionism–Shinto–New Thought–Polytheistic (any culture, but particularly Celtic)–Shamanism–Snake-handlers
With continual help from the Spirit, I’ve gone from Post-traumatic Church Syndrome (barely being able to enter a church) to being able, and excited, to attend places of worship of all faiths and even non-faiths. I’ve also completed a Thirty-Day fast, studied Ancient Christian and Buddhist meditation, read extensively on multiple religions, sorted out my own beliefs, found a faith I can believe in, known and seen my God, changed my career, discovered my ministry and calling, started this blog–thanks to the good advice of someone wise, written nearly 100,000 words for the book (probably only 10,000 that are any good!), survived three physical and one spiritual bootcamp & , (surprise!) found a church, and much, much more. But these are stories and conclusions for other days! I still have much more to write about. So, let the quest and the blog continue 
I nearly quit Thirty by Thirty at least a dozen times. So…for all those who have followed and encouraged this journey…thank you! For those who have criticized it…thank you as well. Everyone who has touched this path has helped it toward completion. I’m not done yet. And probably never will be!
All my love–Reba
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One (Easter) Sikh Sunday
Last Easter, I never imagined I would spend the following Resurrection holiday with the Sikhs, decked out in Indian dress instead of my Sunday best. But due to a looming Thirty by Thirty deadline on 5/15, I needed to cross Sikhism off the list more than attend a service of the Cross. So, off I went to the Sikh temple, grumbling about trading padded pews for floor-sitting, and cantatas for confusion. And Confused I was… quickly discovering that I totally suck at being Sikh.
How I Suck at Sikh, Exhibit 1: Language. While fluent in most dialects of Christianese, my knowledge of Indian languages is, ahem,lacking. Or non-existent. And the few words I do know? Like, for food? Naan,ghee,lassi), do not an appearance make in the Guru Grath Sahib (the Sikh’s First Holy Scripture). Nor do they figure in Mr. Esteemed Turban Man’s attempts to direct me through temple customs. (Which is how I ended up: A) trying to ritually wash my face instead of, correctly, my hands and B.) seated on the men’s side of the temple on a bench reserved for the elderly C.) listening to The Reading of Sikh Scripture for a full 90 minutes before realizing I didn’t have to stay in there the whole time and D.) Failing to bring cash or an offering to the altar and E.) Turning my back on the altar…a big no-no. Ooops.)
Exhibt 2: Timing. As I’ve discovered with other Eastern religions, time is a fluid concept. People show up when they feel like it, often over the period of an entire day, wandering in and out of the Temple to eat, chat and eat again. But I smartly managed to forget this fun fact when I showed up, ready to worship, or whatever, ten minutes before Sukhmani Sahib paath (service) start time. I was the only person in the Temple, save the Granthi (religious leader reading from Scripture) and a monk-like figure in the far corner.
Exhibit 3: Dress. Once the ladies did start arriving, I realized I should have made another trip to the Sari store. At least I knew to bring my scarf. But being white wasn’t the only reason I stood out…I looked pretty awful compared to their lovely traditional dress. All the colors of Easter eggs were represented,along with sparkles, beading and bells. And what was I wearing? Black.
Exhibit 4: Food. Eating or Langar (translation: free kitchen) is integral to Sikh services. Not only do they feed their congregation, they feed everyone who shows up. The problem? Smelling authentic Indian food before noon kind of turns my stomach. (No offense to the cooks intended.) Further, I somehow ended up seated at the kid’s table. And even the kids didn’t talk to me.
I realized I should just give up and go home. Not only did I feel bored and excluded, I was disappointed in all my inadvertently bad behavior. How do I manage to suck so badly when I’ve been at this foreign religion thing for 11 months??? But, right before I was about to dump my plate in desperation, my salvation appeared: a vision in purple dress, the English-speaking Temple President rescued me from certain failure.She took me under her gauzy wing, and I spent the following hours being introduced as “The author from Ohio State!” (which wasn’t quite right but I didn’t correct her). She talked and translated and embraced the “courageousness of my journey!” (also not quite right, since I nearly ran away before she showed up, but I didn’t correct her). She explained the religion to me, giving life to the stories and customs I had researched in advance. Her faith was so strong, and her temple work so tireless, that it gave me chills to hear her recount the tenants of Sikhism.
“There is only One God, the Creator of the Light. And we all worship Him no matter our faith, whether we know it or not…Being a Sikh is about freedom and equality: in gender, in religion, in race, in caste…we are all equal in the eyes of God. Which is why we all sit on the floor when we eat. Even me, especially me, because I am President here, it is most important that I sit equally, as a servant…remember in your journey equality, and do your interfaith work. Because it needs to be done, it must be done. People need to hear the message that we are all one.”
As I hugged her and others goodbye, I realized from her words that despite all my exhibits to the contrary, she didn’t think I sucked at being Sikh for a day. And who am I to argue with the President?
On my way out the door, she wished me, ”Happy Easter!” And it was.
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FAQ on my Thirty Day Fast
I’d like to address a few of the questions I’ve received on my recent Thirty Day fast:
So…what did you eat? Nothing. I didn’t chew for 30 days, nor did I drink alcohol. I also tried to limit medications. I did take in copious amounts of vitamins, lots of juice (organic if possible), and sugar-free protein on workout days. (Yes, I still did boot camp.)
Isn’t that UNHEALTHY? Well, not for me. Obviously I’m here, I’m fine and, it could be argued, in better health than I have ever been. But I would like to be VERY CLEAR that an extreme fast could ABSOLUTELY be unhealthy for a given person depending on factors such as overall health, weight, lifestyle, mental state, etc. PLEASE DO NOT CONSIDER an extreme fast without A.) A very specific calling to undertake it and B.) Consulting your doctor.
Why did you choose to fast for thirty days? First, I didn’t choose to fast for 30 days. God asked me to. (There will be much more on this when I cover the fast in depth between April 15th and May 15th). A 30-day fast is something I never would have thought of, nor did I think I could do it. I was called to fast in December, and it took me nearly three months of wrestling with the concept and telling God there was NO WAY I could possibly ever do that before I surrendered and… just did it. Once I got towards the end, I wanted to do 40 days, but that was made impossible by a pre-planned family vacation.
How much weight did you lose? It is inconsequential….that was NOT the point. This was purely spiritual venture. I like to say some of the excess weight enabled me to complete the fast, but it was in no way a diet attempt. There isn’t enough willpower in my world.
Why did you stop blogging during the fast? Part of the reason fasting, especially long-term fasting, is spiritually effective is because it clears out your life of everything that isn’t entirely necessary. Due to the vast physical, mental, emotional and spiritual strain, fasting forced me to re-evaluate every activity in my life by these two questions: 1.) Is [activity] actively bringing me closer to God and/or 2.) Is [activity] absolutely necessary? In addition to ceasing blogging, I limited my activities to work, prayer, meditation, necessary household duties, spending time with my husband, and LOTS of sleeping.
Why didn’t you tell anyone? Fasting is a personal matter between you and your God. It is extremely difficult, and there is no place for the critical negativity of others. You’re already doubting yourself…you don’t need anyone else to doubt you. Also, to be brutally honest, I often thought I was going to fail. (Daily. Sometimes minute-ly.) I didn’t want to announce, “Hey, I am doing this 30-day fast!” only to say, “Hey, I quit on day 10.”
I hope that clears a few things up! Also, as mentioned, I will be writing in detail about the fast and what I learned starting on April 15th. But if you are interested in the basics of how I got through it…check out this post.
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