When I was born into this world, I immediately knew something was amiss. Well, probably not immediately, but soon enough. I couldn’t put it into words until much later; it began as a sense. For example, I would hear a grandmotherly type speaking sweetly to a baby in a carriage and my gut would feel a discrepancy. But I felt guilty because what was there to criticize? A baby and a sweet old lady, c’mon. So I begin to deny these alarms going off in my gut.
I realized soon enough that my father had a short fuse and that my mother’s main job seemed to be to ward off the inevitable outburst he was building inside. I became mediator between them, thus growing up much too soon.
I might as well skip over the rest of my life up until now because I think most of you are nodding and saying, “Uh, huh, I hear ya. The same reactions that I was having. Why are people so full of crap?” Well, maybe you didn’t say that….
The church was just as full of it. Preachers caught with their pants down. Politicians taking handouts. And their outer demeanor was opposite from the inner tombs of their character. I knew something was wrong with orthodox teachings. Thank God my mother was on the path. She graced me with spiritual books that the church would have not allowed. I heard the word “esoteric” and felt that world carried hidden meanings that might explain the world.
My studies brought me to a fine esoteric Christianity teacher by the name of Vernon Howard. He taught us to know both good and evil within and without. He explained that the words of Christ were spoken consciously rather than mechanically. So that was why the sweet old grandma made my teeth hurt. She was sound asleep!
One thing led to another as my life piled up with tragedy upon tragedy. What Mr. Howard taught seemed to have done me no good, either. I was up to my neck in alligators and mad as hell. Now what? Both systems seemingly failed me.
But lately something has finally burst up from the soil of my soul. A crop of teachings that arise from silence. So that’s it! Words are never the thing; they can only point to the thing. It is one’s inner condition that determines one’s outer condition. Mystery, resurrection, rebirth, ascension arise out of silence. But I am not good to go yet. Not by any means.
The mind hangs on until the bitter end. It has its weedy side that must be witnessed to moment by moment. But while one weeds, one may sing praises and give thanks to God. I find myself immersed in the moment more and more. Being truly grateful for simply having survived. For knowing I am forgiven again and again. Rejoicing in simplicity. I could go on, but once again, most of you are nodding and saying “Amen. I hear ya, sister.”