A few weeks ago I dreamt about a country church.
The Country Church Dream
At first I was inside the church, waiting for a friend in a sort of reception area and then I walked out into the parking lot. The landscape was open and flat, mostly fields with a bit of forest to my right. In the distance there was a pay phone. The phone rang, than stopped. A pickup truck emerged from the wooded area and a man hopped out to get his mail. It was peaceful and quiet.
Wandering back into the small wooden church, I saw that a small group of people were decorating the reception area as if for a holiday. There was a sort of stage and some kind of tapestry but I don't remember anything else about the decorations. The group included the pastor of the church and a few women, one of whom was a new convert with a background in the New Age.
Somehow I understood that the Church was Methodist and I asked the new convert what kind of Methodist. She told me it was Free Methodist and I told her about my grandmother and her love for the Free Methodist Church.
When the group was done working, the waiting area was spotless. There was a single hard backed chair facing the stage and wide old wood floors. Aside from the stage the room was sparsely furnished and plain. I could tell it was 1800s construction.
On the other side of the reception area was a big room where a dinner was being served. There were a long serving tables against the walls and trestle tables where people sat eating. Women were dishing up food to the crowd. People were talking and laughing. Everything was old-fashioned and inviting. I joined the group. And that is where the dream, or my memory of the dream, ended.
I thought about the Free Methodist Church later that day. I had never gone there with my grandmother that I remember and her funeral, which I attended at the age of 12, is a blur. Once in High School, I attend Free Methodist services with a friend. I had a good experience there but did not go back.
The Discovery
I did vaguely remember someone in my family saying that "everyone" on my grandfather's side of the family were Free Methodist ministers so last night I decided to do a little research. As it turns out, "everyone" means five out of seven sons in my great-grandfather's family, as pictured above. My great-grandfather, is the tall guy 5th from the left. In the second photo (below) he is the tall guy again, holding his Bible high and tight.
While I have pursued a variety of religions and beliefs over the course of my life, Christianity has surfaced repeatedly over wide cycles of time. Growing up in completely secular family, I loved the Bible my grandmother gave me as a little girl (more on that here) and turned to it again and again over the course of my life. No one else in my family had that interest, that I knew of, except for my grandmother.
UPDATE JANUARY 2024
Based on this dream I took a sabbatical from the blog and explored various Christian denominations. This is something I discuss in my memoir, The Spirit Dream. I do not consider this time wasted but when I returned to the blog in 2024 my perspective had shifted.
I am now interested in dreamwork, Jungian psychology, parapsychology, and have even returned to tarot. I hope this will be of interest!
I liked all of the churches I had visited and it occurred to me I could visit them all off and on until I decided which one was the best fit for me.
And then my oldest son told me about a church that two of his friends attended. It was called Parker Hill. Checking out the website, I realized that it was a Bible based (read evangelical) operation.
A few months ago the idea of going to an evangelical church would have been scary and unappealing but I'd read some very evangelical books in the interim and I was beginning to realize that there was a lot about Bible based Christianity I just didn't know. So I read a bit more about Parker Hill.
I learned that Parker Hill is non-denominational church with three "campuses" in (and only in) our little corner of the world (Northeast PA).
The website was great and the vimeo videos were engaging and well-produced. There was even an app. I downloaded it that afternoon.While I was used to thinking of Bible based churches as conservative, Parker Hill had very progressive vibe.
The Wilkes-Barre / Plains campus of Parker was located in an office / entertainment complex about a 10 minute drive from my house, so the next Sunda, for Church Tour Week 4, I went to Parker Hill.
The space was modern but pleasant. There were comfortable chairs and multiple screens and a live band that played contemporary (and very good) Christian rock.
The space was modern but pleasant. There were comfortable chairs and multiple screens and a live band that played contemporary (and very good) Christian rock.
The pastor spoke to us from another campus via the miracle of media which might not have worked if the message he shared hadn't been so well thought out. The topic was Christmas and gift giving and John 3:16 (which I have been studying) and what it means to give and what it means to receive.
I had never thought of John 3:16 as a parallel to human giving. Now for the first time, I did.
As the service drew to close, I stood in the dark and listened to "10,000 Reasons" and felt something, that thing, that chemistry I'd been wanting to feel since Church Tour week one.
No decision made. No committment was offered. It was, I knew, just a beginning. But I couldn't help thinking that it was a good one.
No decision made. No committment was offered. It was, I knew, just a beginning. But I couldn't help thinking that it was a good one.
UPDATE 2024: I did join this but ultimately it was not a good fit. After that I moved to the Pentecostal Church and eventually made it back to my Catholic faith. The post that tells that story is here: The Long Way Home.
This church is older than my last two stops with an almost colonial feel. This week, the sun was finally appropriately shining and all of the stained glass windows were brimming with color.
Everyone
seemed happy to be there and happy to be with each other. There
weren't a lot of people but their good cheer filled the space.
At
least half a dozen of them said hello to me like they were really glad I
was there. One even gave me a gift. A small wooden cross that I know I
will keep. It struck me as potentially meaningful that I was baptized 60 years ago last August in a Presbyterian church two states away.
The
service was simple but meaningful. I was told that if I came back next
Sunday there would be communion. This may be it, I thought. But three churches just didn't feel like enough.
In summary, the 2nd Presbyterian Church of Pittston boasts a beautiful space and a warm and welcoming congregation. To me, this kind of welcome embodies the true spirit of Christianity which is at its heart a religion open and accessible to everyone.
I think that the 2nd Presbyterian Church would be a good choice for anyone looking for a heart centered Christian community. Members meet regularly for breakfasts and dinners and the church is active in outreach and ministry.
About the Presbyterian Church: Presbyterians trace their history to the Protestant Reformation in the 16th century. The Presbyterian heritage, and much of its theology, began with the Swiss/French theologian and lawyer John Calvin (1509–64), whose writings solidified much of the Reformed thinking that came before him. The Presbyterian church I attended has a website which is currently in progress so I can't give a lot of background on this particular congregation.
UPDATE 2024: I eventually made it back to my Catholic faith. The post that tells that story is here: The Long Way Home.
In summary, the 2nd Presbyterian Church of Pittston boasts a beautiful space and a warm and welcoming congregation. To me, this kind of welcome embodies the true spirit of Christianity which is at its heart a religion open and accessible to everyone.
I think that the 2nd Presbyterian Church would be a good choice for anyone looking for a heart centered Christian community. Members meet regularly for breakfasts and dinners and the church is active in outreach and ministry.
About the Presbyterian Church: Presbyterians trace their history to the Protestant Reformation in the 16th century. The Presbyterian heritage, and much of its theology, began with the Swiss/French theologian and lawyer John Calvin (1509–64), whose writings solidified much of the Reformed thinking that came before him. The Presbyterian church I attended has a website which is currently in progress so I can't give a lot of background on this particular congregation.
On the second week of the church tour I attended mass at St. John the Evangelist Roman Catholic Church. This church is only a a couple of blocks from my house in Pittston and I had been there before.
St. John's is another beautiful, beautiful church that is so Gothic revival you could almost believe you just stepped into 16th century France. The priest seemed approachable and articulate. And I knew all the words to the service.
I sat in the back with my coat on and kept to myself savoring the relative anonymity of the Catholic mass. I could come and go here virtually unnoticed I there I thought and I liked the idea of that. The mass was just how I remembered it, filled with beauty and majesty and the space was perfect. But I was not connecting.
I tried to conjure up my old feelings about the mass. I tried to reconnect with the magic and the spiritual power that was once as real to me as the paintings and the statues and the glass. I remembered how it felt but I just couldn't recapture it.
It was a little like seeing someone you used to be in love with and feeling the closeness and the distance in a single breath. Sometimes that distance can be closed - depending, I think, on just how bad the breakup was.
I tried to conjure up my old feelings about the mass. I tried to reconnect with the magic and the spiritual power that was once as real to me as the paintings and the statues and the glass. I remembered how it felt but I just couldn't recapture it.
It was a little like seeing someone you used to be in love with and feeling the closeness and the distance in a single breath. Sometimes that distance can be closed - depending, I think, on just how bad the breakup was.
My breakup with Catholcism was a tough one. And sitting there in church I remembered it. I remembered leaving St. Mary's of Czestochowa after midnight mass some 15 years ago knowing I would never go back. I remember how alone I felt and how let down.Things are different how but just how different remains to be seen. I do believe that I'll go back to St. John's and, when I do, I promise I'll keep an open mind. The church does after all, have a lot to recommend it.
In addition to the beautiful space and seemingly approachable pastor, St. John's has an active ministry which offers a free health clinic, food pantry, kid's clothing closet, toy and book corner and pediatric clinic.
Like St. Stephen's St. John's operates under the true spirit of Christian charity. I admire this very much.
But someone will say, “You have faith, and I have works.” Show me your faith without your works, and I will show you my faith by my works. James 2:18About St. John's the Evangelist: St John's roots can be traced to the 1840s when Catholic priests began to visit homes in the Wyoming Valley to establish a community of the faithful. The parish of Saint John the Evangelist came into being through the hard work of Father John P. O’Shaughnessy. As the first priest of Saint John the Evangelist parish, he purchased a plot of land on William Street and began the process of fundraising for and ordering the construction of the parish’s first church in 1854. That same year during the construction of a physical center of worship, Bishop John Neuman of Philadelphia formally established Saint John the Evangelist Parish, providing the Catholic Church’s blessing that the church would be an official spiritual home for Catholics in Pittston.
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| St. John overlooking the Church parking lot |
A home altar may evolve organically or it may be deliberately planned. For those of us who would like to plan our altar Denise Linn's lovely book Altars: Bringing Sacred Shrines into Your Everyday Life can be a big help.
The book includes beautiful photos of every imaginable type of home altar to get your creative juices flowing as well as offering a great list of possible altar themes. These are:
- Communicating with the Divine
- Healing family relationships
- Opening your life to love
- Creating health
- Honoring transitions
- Creating abundance
- Honoring ancestors
- Opening creative channels
- Commeration of achievement or loss
- Celbrating religion or culture
- Honoring the yearly cycle
- Remembering loved one
- Self integration
Because Linn is a Feng Shui practitioner her advice on planning includes solid guidance on altar placement and set up which I found interesting.
The book goes on to suggest various altar activities such as prayer, mantra, affirmation, contemplation, creative visualization and listening. For my new altar I decided to focus on contemplation and prayer.
I have two shrines in my home already. One in the living room and another on the dresser top in my bedroom. What I like about this third spot (set up on my grandma's old cedar chest and just below an east facing window) is that it isn't just to look at. I can also sit in front of it and say a prayer.
One warning about the book: It could make you a little altar crazy. While the new altar makes three, I am already thinking about a fourth - a family altar on the coffee table in the den. While I won't call it an altar, it will be a great place to celebrate tradition and the cycle of the year.
I while post pictures when I'm done!
With Christmas fast approaching I realized that I'm at a point in my spiritual journey where it makes sense to think about choosing a church.
So I decided a "Church Tour" was in order. My plan was to visit at least four local churches and possibly more. While I didn't consider it imperative that the church tour end in a commitment to any given church I certainly felt open to that possibility.
The church tour began last month but I decided that December would be a nice time to post on it.
So I decided a "Church Tour" was in order. My plan was to visit at least four local churches and possibly more. While I didn't consider it imperative that the church tour end in a commitment to any given church I certainly felt open to that possibility.
The church tour began last month but I decided that December would be a nice time to post on it.
The first church on my list was St. Stephen's Episcopal Church in Wilkes-Barre, PA. I chose St. Stephen's for two reason. One, it is an absolutely beautiful building and I wanted to see the inside. Two, I've read a few very good books by Episcopalians recently (Elaine Pagels, N.T. Wright and Cynthia Bourgeault) and that made me curious about their religion.
, 
) and that made me curious about their religion.
It was a rainy overcast Sunday when I visited St. Stephen's but the church was absolutely gorgeous. There were big stained glass windows and high vaulted ceilings with angels carved into the rafters. Every architectural detail was magnificent and the history of the church as it stands now is worth sharing here.
According to St. Stephen's website, on December 25, 1896 cinders caught in a chimney after the Christmas Eve service ignited a fire that destroyed the previous church building. Only the new bell tower on Franklin Street and the foundation were spared.
Reverend Jones, the Rector at the time, vowed that the church would be rebuilt, without diverting any money from outreach or missionary ministries.
On Christmas Eve 1897, one year after the fire, the church I visited was opened for its very first service.
According to St. Stephen's website, on December 25, 1896 cinders caught in a chimney after the Christmas Eve service ignited a fire that destroyed the previous church building. Only the new bell tower on Franklin Street and the foundation were spared.
Reverend Jones, the Rector at the time, vowed that the church would be rebuilt, without diverting any money from outreach or missionary ministries.
On Christmas Eve 1897, one year after the fire, the church I visited was opened for its very first service.
I liked that the parishioners of St. Stephen's built this incredible building without taking any money away from those in need. I think it says a lot about who the congregation of St. Stephen's was then - and who they are now.
In the same spirit, St. Stephen's outreach programs remain impressive. The Church offers a clothes closet, dental clinic, medical clinic and food pantry for local residents. And believe me when I say that many people here are in desperate need of those kind of services.
The mission at St. Stephen's is "To Know Christ and Make Him Known in Word and Deed" and I think they are doing a wonderful job in fulfilling that mandate!
And, of course, the service was beautiful. In many ways it was similar to a Catholic mass, with which I am more familiar. It included a Eucharist of both wafer and wine and incense and a scripture based homily. The congregation at St. Stephen's was friendly and I thought that the priest seemed very approachable. I enjoyed his clear and down to earth sermon and wished I'd had more time to visit.
In the same spirit, St. Stephen's outreach programs remain impressive. The Church offers a clothes closet, dental clinic, medical clinic and food pantry for local residents. And believe me when I say that many people here are in desperate need of those kind of services.
The mission at St. Stephen's is "To Know Christ and Make Him Known in Word and Deed" and I think they are doing a wonderful job in fulfilling that mandate!
And, of course, the service was beautiful. In many ways it was similar to a Catholic mass, with which I am more familiar. It included a Eucharist of both wafer and wine and incense and a scripture based homily. The congregation at St. Stephen's was friendly and I thought that the priest seemed very approachable. I enjoyed his clear and down to earth sermon and wished I'd had more time to visit.
St. Stephen's offers multiple services including a Wednesday healing service. The church hosts the King’s College Summer Choir Training Course, sponsored by The Royal School of Church Music in America and offers a total of nine public choral services a week. The music on the Sunday I attended was lovely.
In summary, St. Stephen's is a great church for anyone who loves beauty and music and the spirit of Christian service and giving. I enjoyed the morning I spent there very much. I am very sure I will visit again!
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| The Ruins of the Great Library of Alexandria |
Said to house as many as half a million documents, the Great Library at Alexandria represents the first concentrated effort to assemble the sacred wisdom of the world at a single site. Buyers for the library traveled by land and by sea, collecting the wisdom of the ancient world - a world far wider than we might imagine - to bring it home to Alexandria.
Founded by the Greco-Egyptian Pharaoh Ptolomy I Soter, in 283 BCE. the museum was a shrine of the Muses modeled after the Lyceum of Aristotle in Athens. It was a place of study which included lecture areas, gardens, shrines for each of the nine muses and even a zoo. The library was known to contain thousands of ancient scrolls from Assyria, Egypt, India, Greece, Persia and many other lands. Over 100 scholars were said to live at the site full-time performing research, lecturing upon or translating the precious documents it housed.
The great library survived for several hundred years before it was lost completely. Four possible tragedies are considered partially or wholly responsible for its destruction. These include an accidental fire during Julius Caesar's Alexandrian War in 48 BCE, the attack of Aurelian in 270 CE, the decree of Coptic Pope Theophilus in 391 CE and associated Christian riot, and the Muslim conquest on or around 642 CE. While historians debate the specifics, all agree that much of the great library's wisdom was irretrievably lost.
From the temples of ancient Sumer to the forests of Native America, the owl appears as a frequent and remarkably consistent symbol of the spirit world.
First drawn on prehistoric cave walls, the owl can be associated with religion as early as 2000 BCE as evidenced by the The Queen of the Night Relief, a 4000 year old terracotta base relief presently located in the British Museum in London. The relief depicts a winged Sumerian goddess flanked by two large owls and the owls are not decorative but highly symbolic.
The goddess was called Inanna or 'Divine Lady Owl'. She was strongly linked to the underworld through The Descent of Innana.
The story is told on a series of clay tablet from the Queen of the Night period and tells of Inanna's descent into the underworld during the dark of the moon.
In Pagan Europe, the ancient Celts also saw the owl as a symbol of the underworld while in other cultures the symbolism centered on the soul. In Australia the aboriginal people believed owls to be the souls of women. The Ainu of Japan held the Eagle Owl to be alternately a a divine ancestor or a messenger of the gods. In Romania, folk tales say that forgiven souls fly to heaven in the guise of Snowy Owls.
In the Americas, the Aztec god of death, was often depicted with owls and the Hopi god of death was believed to be an owl. In Mexico, the Little Owl was called "messenger of the lord of the land of the dead", and flew between the land of the living and the dead. In the Sierras, native peoples believed that the Great Horned Owl captured the souls of the departed and carried them to the underworld. Several different Native Northern American traditions including the Mojave believed that the soul turned into an owl at death.
The mythology of multiple cultures places the symbolism of the owl firmly in the spirit world. His mythic role however is largely positive. As a messenger of the gods he is sacred, a bearer of divine knowledge and a facilitator of communication between the worlds. As a guide, he bridges the gap between life and death, but more correctly: the space between this reality and the next.
This is the herb garden (okay life) of my dreams. I know the foreground is actually a lavender field but I do think I spy a small herb or vegetable garden on the right, near the chateau!
This is my herb garden circa 2015. Yes it is modest and right now it is a mess. But I wanted to share this image AND a commitment to share more pics when it is as I imagine it will be later this summer.
This is my herb garden circa 2015. Yes it is modest and right now it is a mess. But I wanted to share this image AND a commitment to share more pics when it is as I imagine it will be later this summer.
This spring we began to meet at a new beautiful venue - Inner Peace in Wilkes-Barre - and I wanted to take this opportunity to invite all my local readers to check out our meetings AND the Inner Peace Summer Psychic Fair!
Tarot Circle July 20th
Tarot (and Oracle Card) Circle is a fun and non-threatening way to learn how to read for yourself - and others. We focus on one major arcana card and 4 minors each month (this month - the Hanged Man and the three's) plus oracle cards. We also do fun exercises and practice giving readings as a group.
Please join us on the 3rd Thursday of the month (which is tomorrow July 20th) at Inner Peace. RSVP through our Meetup group or the Inner Peace event page!
The Summer Psychic Fair July 23rd
Check out the Summer Psychic Fair at Inner Peace this Sunday July 23rd!
There will be lots of great readers of every description (including yours truly). Please take a moment to stop by my table for a reading, to sign up for my free reading give-away, or just to say hi. I will have plenty of brochures on Tarot Circle, the NEPA Metaphysical Society and my services on hand.
RSVP and info here!
The NEPA Metaphysical Society August 3rd
The NEPA Metaphysical Society meets on the first Thursday of the month at Inner Peace.
Each meeting focuses on a different topic. We offer group meditations, practice sessions, films, presentations, and discussion. Please join us for our August 3rd meeting. Owner of Inner Peace, Donna Will, will be presenting on the topic of the human aura. Following the presentation, we'll do a short guided meditation and put what we've learned into practice - reading auras!
RSVP via the our NEPA Metaphysical Meetup Event or the Inner Peace Facebook Event Page (coming soon)!
by Edgar Cayce is an A.R.E. publication which presents the Cayce readings on Atlantis, in their entirety. While not written by Cayce directly it is a direct transcription of his words, as recorded by his stenographer, Gladys Davis, and edited by John Van Auken.I was initially reluctant to order this 160 page volume because I thought it might not have enough info to justify the cost. I needn't have worried. There is no fluff in the Cayce material and, while this volume isn't especially lengthy, it delivers a wealth of highly specific information.
The book begins with readings performed for Cayce's own spiritual study group on the topic of Atlantis and progresses through a series of life reading performed for Cayce clients who had experienced past lives in Atlantis.
The past life readings are complete readings and contain content related to Atlantean and non-Atlantean incarnations. I found it interesting to trace the development of the the individual through various incarnations. A person less interested in doing this however can find the Atlantean information toward the end of the reincarnation material in almost every instance.
The Atlantis Readings proper (done for the Cayce study group) are almost entirely focused on the topic of Atlantis. The contain specific information about the long history of Atlantis, including its origin, religion, politics, culture, religion and eventual demise. The readings are surprisingly detailed, as well as comprehensive, making Atlantis a fascinating resource for anyone with an interest in this fascinating subject.
From the text:
"In this temple, we find these of large or semi-circular columns of onyx, topaz, and inlaid with beryl, amethyst, and stones that made the variations in catching the rays of the sun... In this the sacred fires burned..."
About My Grandmother
My paternal grandmother was a widow before I was born. And while I didn't realize it when I was a child, I don't think she had a lot of extra money. I guess that's why instead of visiting often or even calling on the phone she sent me things. Like letters and clippings and eventually a binder.
The binder came with only a couple pages but then she started sending me more pages to fill it. And so several times a year I'd receive a package of 2 or 3 or 4 photo album pages filled with brightly colored pictures.
Those pictures weren't anything special by ordinary standards. Most were simply cut from magazines and carefully arranged under the plastic film that covered each page in the album. But somehow those pages impressed me so much that I still remember the pictures. A pile of leaves raked up by group of kids. A little dog in a bright red coat. A school bus in the rain.
My grandmother came to visit us once or twice a year and when she did she slept in the spare room next to mine. And I remember how one Christmas Eve we sat together on the bed in that room while she told me the story of the nativity. I will never forget the chills that ran up and down my spine when she told me the story of nativity.
And I have long thought that the presence that was there with us in the room that night was angelic in nature.
My Grandmother's Gift
The next day, on Christmas, my grandmother gave me a little white Bible. I don't remember getting it and I suspect it didn't impress me as much as the other presents I received. But I did read it - off and on, all through my childhood.
I would like to say that I kept reading that Bible or that it was one of my prized possessions but that would not be accurate. What is accurate is that my life veered off the rails and I returned to the Bible my grandmother had infrequently. and that it spent most of the years between now and then in a succession of dresser drawers and boxes.
And yet, somehow, out of the things that mattered more and all things that have come and gone, that little Bible is one of the few things I've hung on to.
In 2012 I moved into a new (old) house. I was still deeply involved in New Age spirituality. But when I was unpacking I decided to put the Bible my grandmother gave me into my china cabinet alongside my tarot cards and crystals.
And, in 2017, when I began to make my way back to the Faith those things went the way of other mistakes, great and small, and the little white Bible stayed.
And there were in the same country shepherds watching, and keeping the night watches over their flock. And behold an angel of the Lord stood by them, and the brightness of God shone round about them; and they feared with a great fear. And the angel said to them: Fear not; for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy... - St. Luke 2:8-10
This video does a great job of explaining the 26,000 year global cycle known to our ancient ancestors and raises some very interesting questions!
Why I Left
I began to feel a pull to return to Christianity in May of 2017. I was wary of returning to the Catholic Church and unsure about Christianity in general so I decided to ask God for a sign.
I prayed a lot that week and on Saturday, the 22nd of May, 2017, I prayed more.
The next day I went to the flea market as I did most Sundays. I had forgotten to stop at the ATM on the way and had only eight dollars with me, which was much less than I usually brought. But I didn't really care. It was raining - a slow steady kind of rain that promised to continue all day - and I didn't expect there would be many vendors or much of anything to buy.
When we pulled into the parking lot I saw that I was right about the vendors. The large open area that was usually full of tables and tents was practically empty. The few sellers who had set up were spread out and the gravel lot was full of puddles. But we decided to put on our slickers and see what we could find.
One of the first things I spotted was a chalkware Blessed Mother. For some reason I couldn't really explain, I'd been wanting one of those big old Mary statues for some time. Over the course of the last two summers I'd kept an eye out. But all those I'd seen were chipped or expensive or both.
The one in front of me that day was almost two feet tall and had no significant damage. So I was surprised when the woman on the other side of the table said it was mine for five dollars. It wasn't really my style but I liked the blue of Mary's cloak and the graceful curve of her neck. I bought it without any negotiation at all.
A little further on, I saw a cold cast bronze St. Brigid's cross that had been made in Ireland. I asked the vendor the price and he said a quarter. And then, when I couldn't find any change, he refused my dollar and insisted I take the cross for free. I was happy that I was able to tell the a bit about St. Brigid and what she had done so long ago in Ireland. And I started to get a good feeling about the day.
The next thing I saw was a bright silver crucifix shining through the rain, When I got close I could see that it had a glass holy water font and a place on either side of the cross for candles. I thought that the seller would probably want at least ten dollars for such a nice item, but she didn't. She wanted three. So I got the crucifix too.
On the long damp ride home, I realized that I had bought three Christian items on an unlikely day and for a surprisingly good price. But what struck me most was that I had bought all three of them for the exact to the penny amount of money that I had with me.
So I considered it sign. And decided that I should give Christianity another shot.
I started with a church tour of several local churches. Afterwards I picked an evangelical church that was not a good fit and then a Pentecostal church I liked better. I didn't spend any real time thinking about the Catholic church I had visited in the early days of the church tour or the fact that each of the items I bought that day at the fleas market were Catholic in origin.
Until, almost three years later, just after my return from Israel.
It began with car problems. Getting to the new Protestant church I had joined was impossible. Finally, after several weeks, it occurred to me that there were two churches within a short walk of my house and that one was actually just a block and a half away.
So I walked down the street and went to Mass for the first time in what seemed like forever. And the next week I went back and I just kept on going.
As the weeks passed, I thought about the spiritual journey I'd made and the enormous circle that has brought me back to a place that is, and always was, just around the corner.
The items I bought that day at the flea market are gone and I know that there is some kind of lesson in that. And while I'm still not sure just what that is, I think that it might be that God doesn't want me to be the kind of Catholic I used to be. Or the kind of person I used to be.
I think that maybe he wants me to be something new.
I prayed a lot that week and on Saturday, the 22nd of May, 2017, I prayed more.
The next day I went to the flea market as I did most Sundays. I had forgotten to stop at the ATM on the way and had only eight dollars with me, which was much less than I usually brought. But I didn't really care. It was raining - a slow steady kind of rain that promised to continue all day - and I didn't expect there would be many vendors or much of anything to buy.
When we pulled into the parking lot I saw that I was right about the vendors. The large open area that was usually full of tables and tents was practically empty. The few sellers who had set up were spread out and the gravel lot was full of puddles. But we decided to put on our slickers and see what we could find.
One of the first things I spotted was a chalkware Blessed Mother. For some reason I couldn't really explain, I'd been wanting one of those big old Mary statues for some time. Over the course of the last two summers I'd kept an eye out. But all those I'd seen were chipped or expensive or both.
The one in front of me that day was almost two feet tall and had no significant damage. So I was surprised when the woman on the other side of the table said it was mine for five dollars. It wasn't really my style but I liked the blue of Mary's cloak and the graceful curve of her neck. I bought it without any negotiation at all.
A little further on, I saw a cold cast bronze St. Brigid's cross that had been made in Ireland. I asked the vendor the price and he said a quarter. And then, when I couldn't find any change, he refused my dollar and insisted I take the cross for free. I was happy that I was able to tell the a bit about St. Brigid and what she had done so long ago in Ireland. And I started to get a good feeling about the day.
The next thing I saw was a bright silver crucifix shining through the rain, When I got close I could see that it had a glass holy water font and a place on either side of the cross for candles. I thought that the seller would probably want at least ten dollars for such a nice item, but she didn't. She wanted three. So I got the crucifix too.
On the long damp ride home, I realized that I had bought three Christian items on an unlikely day and for a surprisingly good price. But what struck me most was that I had bought all three of them for the exact to the penny amount of money that I had with me.
So I considered it sign. And decided that I should give Christianity another shot.
I started with a church tour of several local churches. Afterwards I picked an evangelical church that was not a good fit and then a Pentecostal church I liked better. I didn't spend any real time thinking about the Catholic church I had visited in the early days of the church tour or the fact that each of the items I bought that day at the fleas market were Catholic in origin.
Until, almost three years later, just after my return from Israel.
It began with car problems. Getting to the new Protestant church I had joined was impossible. Finally, after several weeks, it occurred to me that there were two churches within a short walk of my house and that one was actually just a block and a half away.
So I walked down the street and went to Mass for the first time in what seemed like forever. And the next week I went back and I just kept on going.
As the weeks passed, I thought about the spiritual journey I'd made and the enormous circle that has brought me back to a place that is, and always was, just around the corner.
The items I bought that day at the flea market are gone and I know that there is some kind of lesson in that. And while I'm still not sure just what that is, I think that it might be that God doesn't want me to be the kind of Catholic I used to be. Or the kind of person I used to be.
I think that maybe he wants me to be something new.
Why I Returned to the Blog (2024 Update)
That new thing didn't happen right away however.
I explored a range of Christian traditions, finally returning to Catholicism. But I had trouble reconciling my past spiritual experience with the faith. So it made sense to return to the Mystic Review.
While Christianity will always be meaningful to be, my current interests focus on dreamwork, Jungian psychology, and parapsychology. I hope this will be of interest.
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| My rainy day flea market Mary |
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| Another flea market Mary that I have kind of sadly given away |
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| St. John's (our town's "Irish" church) complete with spires |
Bought a big pile of old magazines at an estate sale with the original Life Magazine shot of the pic above (Life shot is a little different). She made a beautiful fortune teller, didn't she?
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| Photo by Ben Wicks on Unsplash |
One of the first unusually vivid dreams I can recall was a dream I had in high school.
In this odd, but memorable dream, a single bright section of an orange transformed into a tiny infant right before my eyes. At the mall a few days later, I saw an album in a record store window. On its cover was a dreamy sort of image of a baby. The name of the album was Tangerine Dream.
I made the connection and bought it on the spot.
Later, listening to my new album through my headphones, I had a vision. In it, a group of men in dark robes were trudging up a hill. Behind them, a grove of trees had been cut down, and on each stump a man had been beheaded.
I had an interest in King Arthur from an early which may be why I recognized the men as Druids. Given that interest, I'm sure a lot of people would just chalk a vision like that up to imagination, but because I have aphantasia visions are few and far between for me (and those I do have are not deliberately self-generated). So it was unusual for me to see any kind imagery in any state.
What really got my attention however was the emotion I felt.
The scene was grisly, but I wasn't the least bit horrified. Instead, as the hauntingly beautiful music built to its crescendo, I felt a bittersweet sense of loss. I understood those retreating figures. I knew their way of life was ending and that loss moved me.
It wasn't until many years later, that my interest in Celtic spirituality would move me to become a member of the OBOD (Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids).
Did my dream and the resulting vision predict this interest? Or is there something genetic that travels downstream through time that speaks to us? Or is it only coincidence?
That is the mystery.
____________You can visit the OBOD website at Druidry.org
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| A beautiful picture taking on a truly perfect day. Even if I didn't see it then. Next time I will. |
Today is Sunday, January 1st, 2017.
Today is number one of seven.
Today is number one of twelve.
Today is number one of thirty-one.
Today is the first day of 2017 and 2017 is 2 + 0 + 1 + 7 = 10. And numerologically 10 is 1 + 0 = 1. Making today number one of the next ten years.
And because I was born in 1957, today is the first day of the first year in the sixth decade of my life.
So, because I wanted to be ready, it made sense to me to wake up today, at 4 AM, and make coffee and open up my journal. Not the new journal, I'd bought in honor of the new year, mind you. But the old the journal I'd begun in Fall of 2016 because in that journal there were 24 empty pages remaining.
So, because I wanted to be ready, it made sense to me to wake up today, at 4 AM, and make coffee and open up my journal. Not the new journal, I'd bought in honor of the new year, mind you. But the old the journal I'd begun in Fall of 2016 because in that journal there were 24 empty pages remaining.
The new journal was right there next to my chair and the pull of starting fresh was strong. My first inclination was to close the old journal and turn my back on the old year and the season past and make a new start. But those 24 empty pages called to me. And I realized that it wasn't about wasting paper. It was about a space that had to be acknowledged.
That space between the old and the new is always the same for me and, whenever I encounter it, I'm reminded of a trapeze artist, letting go of the old bar and hurtling through thin air in the direction of the new one. I think of how everyone always has to let go of whatever it is we've been holding onto and trust - even though there is no hard guarantee that the next thing will be there when we need it.
Leading up to that space I worry about what will happen and think long and hard about how it can all go wrong. But once I'm in it, the uncertainty and fear fade. All at once I remember how vitally important that space is. In and of itself.
It is not the space of letting go, although in those 24 no longer empty journal pages I did just that. And it isn't the space of moving forward, either, even though towards the end of those 24 pages I did that too.
Instead, it is a space that is moving and still and empty and full all at the same time. It is a space of courage and of faith. A space of transition. A space where anything is possible and everything is in is motion.
So I encourage everyone to take stock of what was, by most accounts, a very trying year. I encourage everyone to sort it out and let it go and make that jump. I encourage everyone to embrace the space between what was and what will be. Because that space is freedom.
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