God-ish: irreligious & reverent
En route to Qi Gong on the Common I was listening to Anne Lamott talk about her intellectual parents who raised her sans religion and she was blaming them much in the way that I once blamed mine for raising me within the Mormon faith.
What happens as we go along is that we realise more and more how no one is to blame for anything, that everything is part of a patchwork quilt of meaning and it's not for us to find the meaning in someone else's part of the quilt, but it certainly is our duty to find it in ours.
During a particularly dark and bitter phase of depression I thought it was fairly obvious how being raised within Apartheid South Africa's institutional patriarchal violence was only exacerbated by buying into the LDS dogma hook line and sinker and how our nuclear family was a perfect replica of both those major macro forces in my young life. The feeling of always being bad, less than, not good enough was so much a part of my daily narrative.
The thing is I went on to become a mother raising children in a very different historical moment -- they're Born Frees (a term given to those born in South Africa post 1994) -- and without the guilt and preposterous idea that there is only one way to know or reach God. I don't speak about it at all, both as a sign of respect to my family, the one that raised me the best that they knew how and the one I'm raising to the best of my abilities, and also to all those I love who still adhere faithfully to doctrine. But I would like to sort something out for the good of my soul. While I can never again count myself a member of any organisation that purports to be the one and only guardian of Truth, I just think that that is far too narrow, I do miss a sense of community and more importantly a conduit for reverence.
Having been born into a cult and still suffering from the aftermath I see how empty my life feels without the myriad of rules and restrictions that from earliest days was my only way of knowing Love. I do however think that more than can be explained is genetic or kharmic or epigenetic. I have seen similar tendencies in my son to always crucify himself and I realise that much of the guilt and horror I've endured in my inner landscape cannot simply be ascribed to religion. In trying to teach him how to be with himself in compassion, I'm forced to own up time and again to my lack of metta.
I simply love Lamott's Bird by Bird analogy for dealing with life's challenges. Step by step we address ourselves and meet ourselves anew. Today I'm grateful for the time and space to contemplate this spiral way. Again I come face to face with the truth that progress may well be an illusion. Overall people are better off than they've ever been, but at what cost to the planetary whole? While I'm grateful to be free of dogma in my life and the stingy parceling off of divine light, I am also largely at a loss.
Life in a religion is fiercely prescribed. You know exactly what to do sometimes from the wee hours of the morning -- I woke up at 5am daily for Early Morning Seminary even though I'm not a morning person in the least and every teen just needs sleep above all else. I cried almost every dark morning, but I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt (oh that old phraseology that is like a ghost whisper of a former life) it was the right thing to do. Then every day was something: Family Home Evening, Youth, Visiting Teachers, Sunday School, Relief Society...lord I haven't thought of these in years. As a workaholic it suited me down to the ground to have the weeks so packed with God's work. Not that we called him god. He was Heavenly Father.
Finally I might be ready to make peace with the Divine and realise that my spirituality is in tact and has always been lively despite the trauma then and the PTSD now. I remember that like William Blake who illustrates this post, I experienced unfiltered connection with the divine from early on and unrelated to any effort on my part. In other words God belongs to us all.
When I became a mother I had no idea how to raise these children since my entire paradigm of family life revolved around Church. I ended up falling into another cult. And this is the problem with keeping quiet about those aspects of ourselves we are ashamed of. They rule us.
I have many friends who have no clue that I spent all my formative years as a Latter Day Saint. And not a wishy washy one at that. Many members of my family are still devout and it's a constant bone of contention. I don't like to hold onto negative emotions and I respect their beliefs, but it's pretty awful to be Bible bashed and not something anyone deserves.
So as Christmas approaches, a beautiful Northern Hemisphere pagan celebration co-opted by Christians, and we do the dutiful thing of celebrating with the divided family I will try to remain true to my desire to be reverent, connected but free of petty distinctions.
Maybe one day I'll even be able to say the word God...or Phil as Anne calls him...and feel the resonance. For now, bit by bit, bird by bird, I walk my spiral with ever increasing humility and gratitude.
Here's Anne Lamott's lovely TED talk and do yourself a favour, just listen to her on any podcast (here she is on the wonderful Beautiful Writers podcast) and get your hands on her books.
PS.
As I was tagging this post I saw that Anne Lamott popped up -- and yes I posted about her almost exactly a year ago, when I was listening to that fab Beautiful Writers podcast I just mentioned en route to Saartje Baartman where I was volunteering at the time! The way is spiral my friends.
Metta for the journey.
Bonus material for all the Gen Xers in the room Tori Amos poses the relevant question:
Why do we Crucify ourselves?
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| William Blake's take on God resonates |
During a particularly dark and bitter phase of depression I thought it was fairly obvious how being raised within Apartheid South Africa's institutional patriarchal violence was only exacerbated by buying into the LDS dogma hook line and sinker and how our nuclear family was a perfect replica of both those major macro forces in my young life. The feeling of always being bad, less than, not good enough was so much a part of my daily narrative.
The thing is I went on to become a mother raising children in a very different historical moment -- they're Born Frees (a term given to those born in South Africa post 1994) -- and without the guilt and preposterous idea that there is only one way to know or reach God. I don't speak about it at all, both as a sign of respect to my family, the one that raised me the best that they knew how and the one I'm raising to the best of my abilities, and also to all those I love who still adhere faithfully to doctrine. But I would like to sort something out for the good of my soul. While I can never again count myself a member of any organisation that purports to be the one and only guardian of Truth, I just think that that is far too narrow, I do miss a sense of community and more importantly a conduit for reverence.
Having been born into a cult and still suffering from the aftermath I see how empty my life feels without the myriad of rules and restrictions that from earliest days was my only way of knowing Love. I do however think that more than can be explained is genetic or kharmic or epigenetic. I have seen similar tendencies in my son to always crucify himself and I realise that much of the guilt and horror I've endured in my inner landscape cannot simply be ascribed to religion. In trying to teach him how to be with himself in compassion, I'm forced to own up time and again to my lack of metta.
I simply love Lamott's Bird by Bird analogy for dealing with life's challenges. Step by step we address ourselves and meet ourselves anew. Today I'm grateful for the time and space to contemplate this spiral way. Again I come face to face with the truth that progress may well be an illusion. Overall people are better off than they've ever been, but at what cost to the planetary whole? While I'm grateful to be free of dogma in my life and the stingy parceling off of divine light, I am also largely at a loss.
Life in a religion is fiercely prescribed. You know exactly what to do sometimes from the wee hours of the morning -- I woke up at 5am daily for Early Morning Seminary even though I'm not a morning person in the least and every teen just needs sleep above all else. I cried almost every dark morning, but I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt (oh that old phraseology that is like a ghost whisper of a former life) it was the right thing to do. Then every day was something: Family Home Evening, Youth, Visiting Teachers, Sunday School, Relief Society...lord I haven't thought of these in years. As a workaholic it suited me down to the ground to have the weeks so packed with God's work. Not that we called him god. He was Heavenly Father.
Finally I might be ready to make peace with the Divine and realise that my spirituality is in tact and has always been lively despite the trauma then and the PTSD now. I remember that like William Blake who illustrates this post, I experienced unfiltered connection with the divine from early on and unrelated to any effort on my part. In other words God belongs to us all.
When I became a mother I had no idea how to raise these children since my entire paradigm of family life revolved around Church. I ended up falling into another cult. And this is the problem with keeping quiet about those aspects of ourselves we are ashamed of. They rule us.
I have many friends who have no clue that I spent all my formative years as a Latter Day Saint. And not a wishy washy one at that. Many members of my family are still devout and it's a constant bone of contention. I don't like to hold onto negative emotions and I respect their beliefs, but it's pretty awful to be Bible bashed and not something anyone deserves.
So as Christmas approaches, a beautiful Northern Hemisphere pagan celebration co-opted by Christians, and we do the dutiful thing of celebrating with the divided family I will try to remain true to my desire to be reverent, connected but free of petty distinctions.
Maybe one day I'll even be able to say the word God...or Phil as Anne calls him...and feel the resonance. For now, bit by bit, bird by bird, I walk my spiral with ever increasing humility and gratitude.
Here's Anne Lamott's lovely TED talk and do yourself a favour, just listen to her on any podcast (here she is on the wonderful Beautiful Writers podcast) and get your hands on her books.
PS.
As I was tagging this post I saw that Anne Lamott popped up -- and yes I posted about her almost exactly a year ago, when I was listening to that fab Beautiful Writers podcast I just mentioned en route to Saartje Baartman where I was volunteering at the time! The way is spiral my friends.
Metta for the journey.
 |
| Blake's Jacob's Ladder or what I call The Spiral Way |
Why do we Crucify ourselves?
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And please verify your email address (check your junkmail!)
Thanks :)
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