Religion is always a touchy subject, at least to me, because I don’t want to insult anyone who might be especially sensitive or defensive about what they believe. I’ve learned that people who can take a joke about their big ears aren’t always the same people that can take a joke about their god. Anyway, that said, I am not so sensitive, and as long as someone isn’t try to recruit me or convince me of something, then people can do their thing, and I’m good with my made up religion.
I went to Catholic school until high school gradation. It wasn’t a uniforms-and-nuns Catholic school, but in Elementary school we learned about Jesus stories (parables) and how to have mass, and got the sacraments as they came (Penance, Communion and Confirmation). In high school, our school would still incorporate Catholic practices and morals, celebrate mass and all, but the actual Bible teachings slowed down the older we got. A world religions course was offered too, making sure we had the chance to learn about what else was out there in terms of organized religion. I thought this was fair.
I don’t agree with many of the tenants of Catholicism, but I am really thankful to have been raised with a formal belief system. I am glad that I was taught ideas of heaven and hell, sin and moral responsibility. I am glad I was given the chance to question teachings freely and draw my own conclusions. I wouldn’t call myself a practicing Catholic today, but I still practice prayer and I like going to Church at Christmas and Easter, if not to worship Jesus than to at least reflect philosophically on the basis for the celebrations, like family, love, forgiveness and such.
I don’t believe that Jesus died on the cross and literally was raised from the dead, but that doesn’t make me sad. I still believe he was a guy that had some profound teachings and incredibly wise guidance that is still applicable today. To me, it doesn’t change things or matter if he literally walked on water or cut one fish and fed a hundred. I look at it as a way to tell a story, and the message is what’s important. I don’t believe in an Immaculate Conception, but that doesn’t change the way I think of Mary as the mother of all mothers, the sort of female talisman or figure I can worship. I don’t think a man-made religion like Catholicism is without flaws and logical holes, like how women cannot lead religious celebrations, or how priests cannot get married.
I like to think what I practice is a tailor-made religion that helps me to be morally accountable for what I do and say, and helps me to live a meaningful life with spiritual foundations and faith. It goes something like this:
I say prayers every night to thank God for all the wonderful blessings in my life. I also ask him to help me with anything I might be struggling with. Usually this goes something like, “I’m having trouble with this, please give me the strength and courage and/or wisdom to get through it.” I’m still responsible for my actions and outcomes, I’m just asking a higher being for some help, you know?
I pray for other people, if I think my prayers or good vibes might get to them and help them in some way, whether by actual “prayer power” or by my transmission of positive energy. I guess that sounds hippy-ish, but I definitely believe in good and bad energies.
I also think yoga, when practiced as a form of worship, totally brings me to a higher appreciation of God. It helps me see the beauty of a breath, a tree, the building blocks of the universe. It makes me look at things as incredible intricate and fascinating creations, and I worship the dude behind all that. I am not sheepish to say that while doing yoga, and focusing all my energy upon the higher power, I have definitely had out of body, euphoric experiences. That is the closest I’ve ever felt to God and I can’t deny that power.
I wanted to be married in a Church, because even though I have reservations about the Church as a political body, I absolutely wanted God to be a part of that union, of that declaration that we would be together forever. I am not so stubborn or set that I could not get over the bureaucratic aspects of the Catholic Church.
That is the difference, I think, between being inclusive and exclusive. I am not a practicing Catholic because I do not agree with a lot of the decisions church leaders have made. I don’t think there needs to be that kind of dividing line: If you believe in abortion, or sex outside of marriage, you can’t be a true Catholic. Well, maybe not to you, but I can still believe in God and practice religion, spirituality, right?
I am more than pleased to attend different Churches: Baptist, Lutheran, I am not against any Church. I would gladly worship God and the beauty of the universe at a synagogue, or in meditation like a Buddhist. I think there are so many ways to just be thankful, to appreciate the beauty of what God and the universe have put together here, and that a religious label doesn’t necessarily need to be stamped on top.
That said, I am all for those of us that do call themselves Christians, Catholics, because their lives are made better by their Church. That’s what it’s all about! Find what works for you and go for it. But if someone does something different than you, don’t be so quick to tell them they are wrong. Let them do them.

Labels: love, reflection, thought, yoga

Because it’s summertime, (meaning a weather forecast that doesn’t linger at two degrees) and the living is easy (read: few social or entertainment outlets), I am happy to say I have time to do the things I always said I’d do “later” or “when I have a bit more time.” Indeed, there are no newspaper deadlines for me, no Monday night council meetings or Wednesday night aerobics classes.
Not that my life was so crazy bad. Like, I was nowhere near the point of an overworked, intervention level. I am an A-type personality who accomplishes much with a packed-full schedule and thrive in busy days planned by the hour. Some cringe at such a daytimer, but not me. Now? Now, when I have one thing, one errand to accomplish, it’s a days-drawn-out affair of “tomorrow I will drop off that application.” Then, “Oh, maybe the next day I’ll swing by the post office.” Slowed right down.
This is where the little angel on my shoulder pops up. Or as I like to think of it, a little Buddha, wearing spandex shorts and sweatbands. He reminds me now that there is this “time” I was always waiting for, it’s time to work on me.
Yikes, I even hate how cliché that sounds. I don’t mean in the twentysomething “I have to FIND myself” kind of way. I mean there, alright, we have very little to do, so let’s use that time to accomplish some personal shifts. As in, shift back into daily yoga, shift back into the kind of dinners that take awhile to prepare from scratch but taste soooo good because of it. The kind if shift that prompts me t read on the back deck rather than watch another damn episode of Tila Tequila’s Shot at Love 2.
I’m re-reading books I remember as interesting, even…get this…SCHOOL texts! I know! I am catching myself in bad habits, or trying to, like touching my face all the time. I had no idea how much I rested my face on my hand, or swiped at my forehead. Near crazy levels! I’m writing letters to friends and family, by hand of course, and even pitching quirky columns to the Whitehorse paper again, just to keep journalistic. And, of course, to get paid for writing again, which is nice.
More importantly though, I’m doing all these hokey hippie things like Feng Shui and meditation and having smoothies with weird things like what germ in them. Things that I think make me a better, more mindful and healthy me. Hence, the spandex-clad Buddha on my shoulder.
It’s my happy-healthy tag team against the general sadness vibe of Ross River. I’m going with the “I’ll smile at you until that one day you might smile back at me” practice.

Labels: reflection, Ross River, yoga

I never thought I’d say it but my trip into Whitehorse, i.e. the social milieu with which I’m most recently familiar, was actually overwhelming. It was odd to be amassed with a group of people I knew. I found it kind of odd and uncomfortable having people talk to me for lengths of time. Me! The journalist of only a month ago! It surprises me how much even a month in a small northern town of first nation land has changed me.
I can feel it, kind of like Spiderman realizes how he’s changed after the spider bite. I can feel myself slowing down, taking it easy. I can tell I am more reflective and certainly more appreciative of simple things like special cheeses (what a treat!) and hugs. I can also feel myself being pulled away from who I used to be. Not that this is a bad thing, I know I will always be changing, or evolving, as I like to say.
I can feel my skin thickening as I learn to deflect misguided anger and discrimination. I can feel myself becoming more independent and self-sufficient because I have to solve problems myself, there are no yellowpages full of answers. I can feel myself humbling, finding joy in things that, only weeks ago, would have gone unnoticed, unappreciated. I live for quiet moments petting my sleeping kitten and sharing a meal with the husband.
I learned more about what’s changing inside me by returning to Whitehorse for the weekend, where the familiar settings and routines seemed different. They are unchanged, and it is me who is seeing things from a changed perspective. Call it the self-discovery of a twentysomething on her own in unfamiliar waters, but I like how difficult life in Ross River can be. I enjoy that it challenges what I know, what I once believed. It does come with tough days, and feelings of despair and sadness I had not experienced before. But change comes slowly, it’s a process, and I am computing it all, figuring out what it means to me, how to deal with it, and where I stand.
The difficulty, I’m finding, is how best to articulate this change and describe it as I live it, not in retrospect. I’ll enjoy having you along on this journey with me as readers, and I hope that as it all unfolds, I can be clear in my descriptions. I don’t think it’s possible for me to paint a complete picture of what this huge upheaval and major life change is like from a personal experience. I’ll try, but there really is no way for you to understand what living here is like unless you do it. I’ll try, of course, but be patient, because I’m in an unfamiliar place, metaphorically and geographically, and as I maneuver my way through it, I may lose you just as I am confused myself.
But now that the initial shock has worn off and I keep moving forward with eyes and mind wide open, we’ll see where it takes me.
“The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it.” – Flannery O’Connor, American author, 1925-1964

Labels: reflection, Ross River, writing