"Confessions of a black new age hippie" or "the Gospel according to RPM"

nobody@vox.com(RPM) — Mon, 05 Mar 2007 13:39:44 -0600

That's what Steve would call me on most days. If we dare talk about spirituality versus organized religion, or anything he feels is remotely new-age like, in nature - it becomes my moniker.

We debate voraciously about organized religion on most days. We both came from households where God was an integral part of the moral code we were taught. We both went to catholic grade schools. We both experienced a butt whoopin' from a nun...we share a common experience. Still, today we are diametrically opposed on the state of organized religion and it's merit in today's society.

I've heard it from him, and others. "You know where all the desirable, strong, capable types of men you'd be attracted to are? They're in church!"

Church is not EHarmony folks. What transpires in many churches among those pews is just another sad soap opera. I also do not subscribe to the notion that a person's spiritual connectedness links directly to how often they sit in a pew each month. I do not believe that my lack of spouse, "american made family" and house with white picket fence and 2.5 children is a direct result of my absence from the church show. Finally, I do NOT believe this means I am angry at God. Quite to the contrary, in fact. I adore God. It's people and their interpretation of that Being that make me ill.

My father taught me (going against the grain of that Catholic school education) that God was with me always and that I could speak to Him, whenever I wanted to, hear Him whenever I chose to listen. My mother ingrained in me an even more unusual approach. My mother told me that God used my intuition to speak to me. To send me quiet messages when I needed them, to protect me from harm, to show me the beginings of a path I was "destined" to follow. My father's love of Asian culture, and the exploration of non-traditional thought, passed on to me. And my life, for the most part was free of believing I needed to be judged and reviewed by my peers for "spiritual-worthiness." I believed I carried God with me, at all times. In my actions, in my beliefs and in every expression of love. And so...I try to manifest love in every element of my life. Because it makes me feel closer, to Him.

I started meditation this weekend. My reiki practitioner has been on me about it. My therapist at one point suggested it. My hatha yoga instructor mentioned it. My friend Lisane boasted of it's merits. All very viable "flash cards" from God advising me to use another tool of spiritual connectedness. I'm journaling about it, the day after each session, to record and monitor the effects on my personal well-being. Quieting the mind, so I can actually hear...everything else. Powerful but very difficult when we use our minds to ration out every encounter in our lives. Turning off the minds' computer can be a very frightening notion...even if it is only for 30 minutes at a time. So far...this feels like a very good thing. (disclaimer: these are my beliefs and practices and I am sharing them with you, I do not proclaim them to be "right and just"...simply sharing what brings me peace and has worked for me)

It's funny how these things seem to come in clusters. I had three individuals, none related to each other with regard to how they know me, suggest a book. Three different people, at three different points in my journey - all with the same thought. "It's time you read this." Ask and it is Given, by Esther and Jerry Hicks.

I read through some of the reviews on Amazon a year ago and weighed the pros and cons. I balked, said I'd think about it later. I thought it seemed to abstract and new age for me. Six months later, person number two suggested it, during one of my "twisting in the wind" moments. I went back to the authors website...grew a little intrigued but managed to avoid giving it any serious consideration. This morning, it was suggested again, third party, when I recounted how the past three nights of meditation fared. I dismissed and said I'd look into it later. As we parted ways, her to begin her work day and me to stop by Barnes and Noble to pick up another journal I wondered why it seemed that book continues to "pop" up in my interactions.

I got to the bookstore, visited the journals, selected my next installment, and wandered to the new fiction table. I just can't seem to leave that place without at least one new read. As I was stepping out of the way of a passing customer, I bumped into a display table, knocking a book to the floor. I grew crimson faced, (clumsy RPM strikes again) and quickly picked up the book with a little giggle, and apology. I apologize to books because they have feelings too. I picked it up, set it back on the table and beside it, sat this:

The book that bit me.

I had to ask myself at that point..."How many times does the Universe/God have to give you a hint?" I suppose the next step would have been for a copy to thump me in the head while I was taking out the trash, but that would have just been...eerie

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Blissfully Naked.

"Confessions of a black new age hippie" or "the Gospel according to RPM"