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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
A Warm Baptist Welcome To…
My dear friend Nadine and I rushed into the downtown First Baptist, almost on time. We were greeted by Sister Marge, who looked us up and down and pronounced: Y’all…visitors….? This was not a question. Taking into account our skintone, we were clearly not regular members of this historically African-American Baptist church. (We were, in fact, two of only three caucasians in the building… Out of 300+). Still, she kindly smiled and pushed visitor cards and pens across the table, gesturing for us to fill them out.
[Dear readers, it is important you know that I HATE filling out info cards. I dislike spam in any form: whether it be mail, email, or phone. At the mall, I easily tell salespeople that No, I will not give you my phone number or email upon checkout, despite their annoyed looks. Unwelcome phone calls do not end until my name and number have been wiped out of all systems and a promise to Never call me again is elicited. Though occasional church communications do not necessarily fall under the spam category, they are suspect. (Especially because my filling out of a Jehovah's Witness form resulted in a surprise drop-in visit... the next day.) ]
While Nadine was happily filling in her life story, I was trying to wriggle out of the obligation. Can I take it to my seat, and return it later? An emphatic: No. (And when Sister Marge says No, with a look that says Don’t you challenge me, little lady, you do it.) So I sparingly wrote: Name: R.. Address/Phone/Email: None. Religion: Lutheran. (I’m not sure why I wrote this, because I’m not, nor have I ever been, Lutheran.)
Post-Visitor Card, we were directed to sit in the last row of the first section. We took our places, thoroughly enjoying the joyous atmosphere and uplifting music. Until we consulted the program, only to notice the next scheduled event: The Greeting of The Guests. Before we had a chance to consider what this might mean,the choir sat down and Sister Marge took her place at the microphone. Will Miss Nadine [last name] please rise? She rose. Welcome Nadine! Miss [last name]is Catholic! And belongs to [local] Catholic parish! She resides here in the city, and enjoys [activities]! Welcome again, Miss Nadine! Nadine beamed and waved excitedly to the crowd, eyes shining.
Sister Marge cleared her throat. Uh-oh. Only she and I knew about the trainwreck that was about to happen.
Will R. please stand up. R.? Gulp. I stood. What choice did I have? R. is Lutheran. Thank you and welcome, R. I waved, weakly. And sat, quickly.Ugh.
So, Reba, it wasn’t bad enough that we were clearly outsiders, you had to go and use your Initial instead of your name. An Initial! What were you thinking? My cheeks were flaming. I worried the large congregation would give us the cold shoulder, perhaps thinking I was making fun of their formal Welcoming. While occupying myself with worries (I am so bad at this visiting thing. I should totally quit, like, now. I’ve totally embarrassed myself!) the service marched right along to The Fellowship.
The Fellowship is a time when congregants greet (Warmly! With a Holy Hug!) one another for about fifteen minutes. This is no cold, perfunctory Peace be with you and also with you, limp-handshaked greeting time. No! This Fellowship? It’s a full-contact sport.
Watching people begin to enthusiastically Hell-o! Don’t you look fine this morning! to each other, Nadine and I sort of just stood there for a few beats… like we were waiting to be asked to dance and weren’t sure what to do in the meantime.We didn’t wait for long though! Within minutes we were swept into the enthusiastic embrace (literally) of the crowd-at-large. Never in my life have I given or received so many hugs and heartfelt welcomes!We’re so happy to have you, dear. Won’t y’all stay for the involvement fair after service? It’s a potluck! But don’t worry yourself if you didn’t bring anything…we’ve got it covered! Bless you, child, bless your sweet lil’ hearts for visiting! I made sure to clarify my first name was Rebecca, though everyone was nice enough not to mention it. Sister Marge wrapped me into one of the warmest hugs: So glad to have you,come back again! So I can only assume all was forgiven.
The moral of today’s story is this: If you should ever awaken on a Sunday morning feeling bad about yourself, walk (nay, run!) to the nearest African-Amercian Baptist Church. You are guaranteed to receive, at minimum, 100 hugs from little ladies wearing lovely hats, and strong handshakes from dapper, suited gentlemen. You will be Blessed within a centimeter of your existence…and I dare you to feel bad after all that good, old-fashioned, Baptist love.
To be continued…
Buddhist Temple: Part 1
Article I: My husband has a smile like a sunrise, dimples to die for, and blue eyes so clear a gal could drown in them. He is tall, with shoulders broad enough to carry all my worries. And his arms? Well, let’s just say that when we met, I entered his name in my cell as “Trent Great Arms”. I love him with all my heart, and I still can’t believe he picked me to spend his life with. (I promise this is pertinent information to my Buddhist Experience).
Meditation conversation in my mind:
You could have brushed your hair this morning you know–or at least your teeth! But I was in a rush! I didn’t want to be late! See, this is what you get for being lazy.You deserve to feel uncomfortable there on your meditaion mat, wondering if Mr. Hotness can smell you from a foot away. You should have showered!Well. I never considered the .000001% possibility that one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen would sit on the cushion next to me! Well!You should have!!!
It was a fall Sunday morning, and I was attending the “Introduction to Buddhism” class at my local Buddhist temple. [I know, I know. I was supposed to be meditating, but all my resolve flew out the (small) window when Mr. Hotness (MH) strode in and chose to sit on the cushion right next to me, and I became distracted by my state of being which can only be aptly described as SWAMP THING. ]
This was my first time in a Buddhist temple, and the first Thirty by Thirty experience that required me to remove my shoes. (It would not be the last!) It was also the first time I had visited a non-Christian place of worship and, though I consciously enjoyed the use of color, flags and the distinctly Eastern temple decor, I think I was subconsciously looking for a cross and, instead, seeing a Buddha. (Disconcerting for a former Evangelical Poster Child raised to believe people of other religions were worshiping idols…and quite possibly the devil himself.In my past, Buddhist were clearly confused and most definitely going to hell. Apparently in a hand basket lined with meditation cushions.)
So. Barefoot and sitting atop a purple cushion in a small room off the main (sanctuary? meditation room?), I was already feeling vulnerable and out of place…even before MH’s arrival. He simply served as a further distraction from my meditation and attention to the wizened yota-man instructing our class. ( I’d like to refer now to Article I of this post re: My Hot Husband. I have discussed this encounter with him and he agrees that a hot girl would distract him from meditation, if he were so inclined to meditate. Which he is not.)
Seated behind what looked like a pulpit with the legs cut off, an old teacher was perched on a sort of slanted stool that enabled him to be near to the ground without having to bend his (elderly) knees too much. His cane rested next to the mini-pulpit, and I found myself envisioning the many ways he could break a hip getting in and out of teaching posture.
Pay attention,self! How many opportunities do you have to learn about Tibetan Buddhism from a life-long devotee? Stop wondering about the staus of his joints and (for Buddha’s sake!) quit contemplating your lack of beauty and hygiene! You are HAPPILY MARRIED! Who cares if MH thinks you smell?
[For the record, I must not have actually smelled, because MH later hit on me during the post-meditation tea service. More on that later. Still, I had reason to be insecure. I could have at least worn chapstick...or decent clothes! At this point I'd like to offer my husband's wisdom on the subject: Maybe the Buddhists use hot guys to lure girls like you into conversion.]
Back to the lesson: a brief primer of the study and practice of Buddhism. The temple’s name means “Place of the Buddha’s Teachings of the Three Vehicles in the Karma Kagyu Tradition,” and they study teachings and practice meditation from all three vehicles of the Buddhist dharma. Their three main practices are Quiet Sitting Meditation (called “Shinay” in Tibetan); Compassion Meditation (“Tong-len”) and Mantra and Visualization Meditation (Sadhana Practice, with Chenrezig, the Compassion Bodhisattva). One begins by practicing Shinay, followed by a daily practice of Tong-len which helps develop the altruistic motivation of the “bodhisattva,” or Buddha-in-training and helps uproot negative habits of mind.***
The lesson was followed by twenty minutes of Shinay, during which I silently warred with myself to keep my mind off topics such as: my aforementioned state of Ugliness and its impact on MH’s opinion of me, various issues at work, the grocery list, Oxley’s house-training, whether we should paint the porch next summer, if our deck would ever be finished and why does that darn fly have to be buzzing around and bumping into the window. Die already! Ooops…so my for my compassion and earlier Zen commitment to bring no harm to any sentient being. Wait, is a fly sentient? Also during this time, I briefly considered the secret ingredient of my grandmother’s macaroni before moving on to what I planned to eat for lunch. Ooooh I should totally get Vietnamese! With extra bean sprouts! Maybe Erin will come with me.I need to call her. And, oh yeah, send Liz a birthday card.
Second problem: my ability to remain motionless while sitting cross-legged on the floor rivals that of a class of kindergartners with ADD. Class, Remain Seated! I mean it…sit down and don’t move!
This was all in the first thirty seconds.
Tibetan Buddhist Meditation=epic fail.
Finally, thankfully, the gong sounded to end the meditation session. I could finally get up…or could I?
To be continued in Part 2: Buddhists Have Bake Sales Too!
***Some verbiage from the temple’s website
My Very Bare-y Christmas
Sharenator.com
Sister #1: I got a remote start in my car for Christmas!
Sister #2: I got an IPAD!
Me: I got a pair of socks from the emergency room…
Brother-in-law: At least your present was the most expensive.
Henceforth this holiday shall be known as: The Christmas Rebecca Landed in the ER. (For a case of hives that migrated to her throat, which started swelling shut.)
It shall also be known as: The Year a Doctor Scares Trent. (When, upon our arrival at the urgent care clinic, we were immediately sent away by the attending physician to the “Real ER, where they can do something for your wife.”)
And this is why I do not have a post about attending a Christmas service.
On the bright side, I did pray fervently between the urgent care and the “Real ER”.
Lesson Learned: Only go to the urgent care clinic with urgency…not an emergency.
Bonus Lesson: If, in the excitement of a swelling throat, you fail to wear socks, the ER nurse will gladly provide you with a pair for the nominal astronomical price of your stay. But only AFTER you have bared your bottom* to your mother-in-law, your mother-in-law’s neighbor’s son [he is a doctor! I do not expose myself to visiting neighbor's sons for fun!], three urgent care nurses, one incompetent urgent care doctor, three ER nurses,two ER physician’s assistants,and a partridge in a pear tree.
(*My bottom would like to note that it prefers to remain covered. However, if it is called to duty, in such cases as it being eclipsed by welted, migrating hives and thus becoming a threat to the life of its owner, my bottom is very patriotic and willing to be bared, even if said baring causes much shame!)
Apology:
I realize this post has nothing to do with going to places of worship, except that I skipped going to church on the biggest church day of the year. So….sorry about that.
In my defense, I am certain more people find God in the Emergency Room in one day than find Him in some mega-churches on Christmas.
FAQ:
1. Do you know what caused the hives? No.
2. Have you eaten anything new or changed anything recently (add long list of things you think I may not have considered as a cause but, believe me, if you think your throat is swelling shut you ponder possibilities. Very.Very.Thoroughly.) No.
3. Can the doctor tell you what caused them? No.
4. Are you OK now? I am drugged up on Benedryl, steroids and various antihistamines. Everything is OK.
Shout-Out!
A big shout-out to Jen Lancaster, NYT best-selling author of multiple books (including my fav Bitter is the New Black),whose hilarious, sharp-witted voice I heard in my head while considering the absurdity of my Christmas Situation in the ER. Though I have not the faintest idea of Ms. Lancaster’s religious views outside of her former attendance at the Magnificent Mile Mecca,I believe we share an affinity for mild, mind-altering meds (Her: Ambien. Me: Benadryl). Thanks for your great sense of humor…it ( and the drugs) helped get me through My Very Bare-y Christmas.
- cheezburger.com
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Jingle Bells?
“Aunt Rebecca, do you believe in Santa Claus?”
(Carefully) “Do you believe in Santa?”
(Vigorous head-nodding and jumping around) “Yes!!!”
(More carefully) “How do you know he’s real?”
(Puzzled) “Don’t you know if you believe in Santa you can hear jingle bells when you close your eyes?” (Squishes eyes tightly) “I’m hearing them…right…now! Do you hear them?”
I shut my eyes, but all I hear is my seven year-old niece’s excitement.
How I wish I could hear the jingle bells: my niece’s irrefutable proof that Santa lives, that elves are working happily away in the North Pole, that presents will appear under the tree, that the world is full of joy and peace, that all is safe and right and magical.
Her bells hold all the magic of Christmas wrapped into a sound that fights the inevitable hows and whys. How can Santa reach all the children of the earth in one night? Why do people without chimneys still get presents? How do reindeer fly? Why is there a Santa at every store?
But all these questions? They mean nothing to her now. Because she can hear the jingle bells.
When my niece talks about Santa, she glows; her eyes light up with the wonder and magic of Christmas, and reflected in her is all the world’s joy. I encountered the same shiny look on the faces of the Mormon missionaries, and I wanted to throttle them—actually lean over the coffee table and strangle them with their Army of God-issued ties.
Because I felt very, VERY jealous…as evergreen with envy as a Christmas tree.Because they shut their eyes and hear jingle bells, but when I close mine questions are all I hear. I know how it feels to be so, SO certain of everything. To believe. To hear the jingle bells.
It is so happy and easy to have all the answers handed to you, to wrap yourself tightly in the peace that surpasses understanding. To share the belief, the wonder, the magic, with people who love you because you can hear the same jingle bells as they.
But what happens for my niece when someday her best friend whispers more questions in her ear, planting the seeds of doubt? When a boy makes fun of her on the playground, taunting “You still believe in Santa?Don’t you know he isn’t real?”
What happens when the Mormon missionaries open a closet before Christmas Eve, and all their presents tumble out?
When they all close their eyes…and can’t hear the jingle bells?
I’ll tell you what happens: you lose your faith. In Santa, in religion, maybe even in God. And you push it all out of your mind, ignoring the ache that lives where there once was magic. You denounce everything that you once put your belief in, grow up, and don’t acknowledge the hurt, the betrayal, because it simply hurts too much.
And then.
Nine years later.
You wake up and realize you want to believe in something real. You want to hear jingle bells without closing your eyes.
And seven months later, on Christmas Day, you realize you DO hear them ringing… loud and clear.
With your eyes wide open.
Because you are the one shaking them.
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30 by 30, 30x30, Bible, blog faith, Christian, church, confidence in God, faith, faith & theology, Faith blog, faith blogs, faith book, faith God, faith in God, find faith, find your faith, God, hope, Jesus, lose faith, losing faith in faith, losing my faith, lost faith, on faith blog, on faith washington post, Reba Riley, religions world, the major religions, theology, thirty by thirty, thirty x thirty, unreasonable faith, washington post on faith, what is faith, world religionThe First Christian Spiritualists: Part Deux
Post-Christian Spiritualist Temple Experience, no one was more surprised than me to discover the existence of dark energy outside the confines of Paranormal Activity I, II and III.
I boast a long and rich history with Satan, wherein certain parents and pastors of mine systematically rebuked him in the name of Jesus, regularly banishing his malevolent minions from our house, my bedroom, and the church. I even witnessed the exorcism of a church camp sound system that was behaving badly. Clearly this was no ordinary power surge! The Evil One himself infested the equipment to keep 4th graders from hearing the message of salvation for the twenty-seventh time in six days! This process, known in Christian circles as Spiritual Warfare, was simultaneously comforting and frightening. I understood said warfare to mean that Satan could enter our house and possibly hide out under my bed (scary!), but my Dad could easily make him depart by praying (calming!) until he came back again (alarming!).
If Satan does indeed sabotage inanimate objects, I feel quite certain this lamp is in grave danger.
Upon considering the Devil as an adult, I threw out the idea of a lurking,evil entity preoccupied with ruining church camp sermons. I also tossed the notion of intelligent evil altogether and, carefully refraining from exorcisms of inanimate objects, proceeded happily along in my life without the heavy burden and time-commitment of telling Beelzebub to Depart from me! In the name of Jesus!
Around the same time, I rejected praying out loud. There are more reasons for this than the exorcism factor, but it suffices to say here that 99% of the (few) prayers I uttered after my 21st year rose from my mind to the Almighty’s ear. I conscientiously objected to spoken prayer on the grounds that an all-knowing God needed not hear my voice. And, it was just too traumatic to pray out loud. Much to close to my past for comfort.
Anyhoo. An alert reader needs this background information to understand just how bizarre the events following my time with the Christian Spiritualists really were. Please keep said background in mind when I say this: something sinister followed me home from the witchcraft/Christian-craft conference.
You know that time you randomly stepped in a pile of dog poo? And didn’t realize it until you walked in the house, took off your shoes and sniffed? That’s how it was when I arrived home after five hours with the Christian Spiritualists.I discovered (too late!) some metaphysical ju-ju clinging to my spiritual shoe-shoe.
In the immortal words of bumper sticker-ists everywhere, “Sh** Happens”. And apparently it happens to me…in the First Christian Spiritualist’s temple sanctuary…with a crystal. Or maybe it was a tarot card–or a divination rod–or a hymnal?
It started simply enough— with a headache—which became a bad headache— that turned into The.Worst.Headache.Ever. EVER! My head hurt so badly I thought it was going to split open right there is the bed, which I was in for a full fourteen hours. Note: migraines have never, ever plagued me, but plagued I was, and would continue to be, for the next three days.
I awoke that night and the following two nights promptly at three a.m., with a disturbing weight on my chest and terrible anxiety. Once awake and thoroughly freaked out, I felt some kind of dark presence in our bedroom. Note:I have never felt unsafe in my own bed, unless you count the time Oxley knocked over the laundry basket and I thought someone was breaking in.
I prayed silently;it went away. I stopped praying; it came back. Feeling crazy, I woke up Trent, who rolled me into a bear-hug and told me to calm down. But calm down I could not…not while this creepy energy was hanging out with me.
After two days of this weirdness, my spiritual circuitry was so hot you could fry a metaphysical egg on my chakras. I was on high-level alert, like a red rating of spiritual terrorism. I considered calling a priest, even though I am not Catholic. Instead, what did I do? I called my father. In the middle of the night. To pray for me. OUT LOUD. It helped, until the next day when the weirdness forced me to do the unthinkable.
I personally got down on my knees and prayed. OUT LOUD. Rebuking whatever evil was lurking around me and commanding it to Depart from me! In the name of Jesus!
And…it left.
I refuse to name the weirdness Satan, and I suspect that invoking the power of Christ against it was a conditioned knee-jerk reaction based on my childhood and watching too many scary movies. My best guess is that in willingly (and foolishly) joining my energy with about twenty other psychics of dubious origin, I managed to carry home some transference of negative energy. Spiritual or natural I do not know, and I realize this whole thing is very New Age-y and stinks of sensationalism. But still.
If I ever consult a psychic, or medium, or Christian Spiritualist again, I plan to take a crucifix, garlic, and a rosary with me. And possibly bathe in Holy Water before and after.
I am thankful, however, that the spiritual ju-ju forced me to break through my praying wall. I can now pray out loud with anyone, anywhere, for any reason. Except maybe to banish Satan from church camp sound systems.
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30 by 30, 30x30, Bible, blog faith, Christian, christian spiritualism, christian spiritualist, christian spiritualists, church, confidence in God, faith, faith & theology, Faith blog, faith blogs, faith book, faith God, faith in God, find faith, find your faith, God, hope, Jesus, lose faith, losing faith in faith, losing my faith, lost faith, medium, on faith blog, on faith washington post, psychic, Reba Riley, religions world, satan, spiritualist, the major religions, theology, thirty by thirty, thirty x thirty, thirtybythirty, unreasonable faith, washington post on faith, what is faith, world religionWitchcraft or Christian-craft? The First Christian Spiritualist Temple
Mom, I'm scared! How does psychic Pastor Carol know about me?
The circumstance is the spiritual forum at the First Christian Spiritualist Temple, and I am sweating bullets. Is it because I actually feel heat radiating from Mr. Fro-Bro’s hands or because this historic church building lacks air conditioning?
I’m about to grab my sandals and bolt until I notice an angelic, white-haired oldster rise from a seat in the corner. She hobbles over, lifts her hands over my forehead, and begins channeling energy into my crown chakra. I relax. Nothing truly bad is going to happen to me in the presence of Psychic Grandma.
I’m in a church building, with a totally normal sanctuary and yet things are just….off.
Temple Sanctuary. It looks so...normal.
First Christian Spiritualist Temple
Truthfully though, I do not recommend it based on what happened to me after I got home; it was not good. More to come on that…
30 by 30, 30x30, Bible, blog faith, Christian, christian spiritualism, christian spiritualist, christian spiritualists, church, confidence in God, faith, faith & theology, Faith blog, faith blogs, faith book, faith God, faith in God, find faith, find your faith, God, hope, Jesus, lose faith, losing faith in faith, losing my faith, lost faith, medium, on faith blog, on faith washington post, psychic, Reba Riley, religions world, spiritualist, the major religions, theology, thirty by thirty, thirty x thirty, thug, unreasonable faith, washington post on faith, what is faith, world religionDa-da-daah….(Drum roll please)… The Inaugural Blog Post!
I view religion from a different perspective
I am the original Spiritual Scrooge.
30 by 30, 30x30, Bible, blog faith, Christian, church, confidence in God, faith, faith & theology, Faith blog, faith blogs, faith book, faith God, faith in God, find faith, find your faith, God, hope, Jesus, lose faith, losing faith in faith, losing my faith, lost faith, on faith blog, on faith washington post, Reba Riley, religions world, Tags Faith, the major religions, theology, thirty by thirty, thirty x thirty, unreasonable faith, washington post on faith, what is faith, world religion
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