I have noticed that it is women who most often attribute all their success to "God", "The Lord", "Jesus", and other deities. Men usually claim victories, even those not their own, like those of their favorite sports teams.

It is time that women give up our false humility. When we act in concert with our most Sacred Energies, we should tell these stories for all to hear. This is how sacred scriptures are written, by those who believe that the voices that guide their actions are those of The Sacred Spirit (Energy) of humanity. Until we women are willing to claim our own actions as sacred, there is no hope of humanity moving beyond blood-thirsty deities.

Blood, Bonding, and Religious Rituals

Living in South Louisiana, I have been on many plantation tours. In point of fact, my mother's sister brought her family up on a plantation owned by my aunt's husband. There were no signs of the slave quarters on the land, but there was still what was called "the big house" on the property. We were not allowed into "the big house" without adult supervision. I think I saw the inside only once.

I have toured plantation "big houses,"great and small, and have heard so many tourists saying, "I so wished I lived back then." I have often stopped to remind them that, unless they were of the wealthy class, they would not have lived like the wealthy plantation owners. I have also reminded them that there was no air conditioning back then, and there was no mosquito control.

I still live in the southeast of the United States of America, where there remains prejudice about the color of one's skin, even among people of color. The plantation tours are mostly presented as "the good old days" of our nation when "coloreds" knew their places. For this reason, I have recommended the Laura Plantation tour above the tours of the more opulent plantations. Laura Plantation preserves and explains the plight of the enslaved individuals.

Today, I toured Whitney Plantation, restored as a museum of enslaved humans.
http://whitneyplantation.com/  Viewing Forrest Nash's clay replicas of enslaved children, taken from actual enslaved children's photographs, kept me on the verge of tears, even without their narratives.

On the grounds, there are several memorials to the plantation's slaves, presented much like the Vietnam Memorial walls. The big difference is that the enslaved individuals' real cultural names are not listed; neither do any of those honored on these walls have last names. There is no way for any of these names to lead to the origins of one's family.

The most heart-wrenching space was the Field of Angels, a courtyard with walls naming children who were born into and died in slavery. "The Angel" by sculptor Rod Moorhead depicts an obviously black angel cradling a baby on which the angel looks with anguish. If my heart hadn't already been broken, this would have destroyed my composure.

I look at my World Pulse sisters in Africa and I see their faces and those of their children in the faces I saw today. I read stories from my World Pulse citizen journalist sisters about human trafficking still happening on our shared earth, and I want to vomit out the evil of those who call themselves human.

I retain hope because I see my sisters of color standing up and making changes in their own areas. I remain frustrated by those who continue to follow ancient religious beliefs that adore deities with blood lust and rage against their own creations.

My greatest ambition is to bring the voices of all who live by The Sacred Spirit of responsible compassion to one conversation with those who believe in rule by fear. Bonding of Spirit is so much stronger than blood bonding or sharing of religious rituals. This is the lesson that must be taught to all who wish to be, not only homo sapiens, but fully human.

The Bible and Beatings

I was taught, from before birth, that God is a jealous and vengeful father who uses brutal force as a way to keep his children in line. The early books of the Roman Catholic Bible were full of instances where the men who drew the most blood from their children were favored most by God. Abraham even assented to kill his own son as an offering to his Heavenly Father.

Our churches, school rooms, Bible, and “holy cards” were full of images of the wrath of God . We had  pictures of Jesus brandishing a whip to rid the temple of money changers.  The power and authority of God the Father was passed on to us by the priests, whom we were to call “Father” and our own male parents, uncles, grandparents, and brothers.  

Just like Abraham, males were considered immune to the rules of monogamy and chastity. The “Divine right of kings” to deflower virgins filtered from God to our male authority figures. Women were to constantly seek ways to purify themselves and their children, in order to please the fathers, both in Heaven and on earth.

According to my mother, the first time I was beaten by my male parent was at the age of nine months. Is it any wonder that I kept silent as my male parent drew blood with beating of his many other children with belts, whips, and shoes? The wrath of our mother was filtered through our male parent, adding to the wrath he already displayed.

Is it any wonder that I kept silent as my mother counted our transgressions and devised tortures, such as drinking our own urine and kneeling for several hours at a time in gravel;  reporting all her “injuries” from her children to her husband so that he could beat them into submission to her and her church.

What power did I possess to stop our male parent when he kicked my oldest brother across the room while our mother silently looked on?

Is it any wonder that I kept silent as the eldest son began to taste my feminine flesh as I slept and demand that I taste his male flesh upon my awakening?

Is it any wonder that I kept silent as the priests placed their hands and lips on private places of me and my sisters?

Is it any wonder that the full six-year-old class, including the teacher, remained silent as the “Mother Superior” and principle of our school, took down a classmate’s pants and beat his naked flesh with a yardstick, in front of the whole class?

When I did attempt to speak out, I was told that the sanctity of the family and the church were more important than the actions of any man. I was told that I was arrogant and that I had a “big mouth.” I was told that I must keep quiet about what happened in the privacy of the offices of the priests and our home.  My mother and the other mothers in the family warned that I was endangering my mother’s tenuous hold on sanity.  In short, I was told to “Shut up!”

When I became a wife, I made sure that I married a man without a violent temper. Unfortunately, he also expected me to shut up and serve him and his family and friends whatever favors they wanted.  I thought this was what a “good wife” was supposed to do, until his friends started demanding sexual favors.  I became afraid in my own home.

When I became a mother, men continued stalking me, threatening to harm my child if I didn’t succumb to the sexual demands.  My mother was sure that I was bringing these issues upon myself. I was at a crossroads where I did not know how to be an obedient wife and a monogamous marriage partner. My moods became very erratic

When I realized that I was taking my frustrations out on my small daughter, I sought counseling. The counselor, a “Christian” hospital chaplain, also thought that I should be shared in sex.  My obstetrician/gynecologist told me that I should stop thinking and take up tennis. After the birth of my second child, a son, I ran away from my husband and my mother. I had no education, no work history, and no voice, but I thought I could at least bring up my children to follow a different family design than that in which I was brought up.

Little did I know that most of the earth was still telling women to “Shut up!” Only my children were forced to hear my voice. I struggled daily with fear of my own children, as my daughter was favored by her father and my mother; and my son was a male from a family of men who acted as sexual predators. The hardest thing in parenting is knowing that one must break from the mold in which one has lived all one’s life, especially when there is no support network in place to teach a different way of working and being. Every minute of every day, I had to question my own actions.

My mother is dead, as is her husband, and our oldest brother. As a last stroke of evil against her children, our mother gave a gift of cash upon her death to one favorite child, demanding that her injustice be kept secret.  Secrets are never really safe in families.

The ongoing cycle of family favoritism and hatred is well-documented in Biblical texts, yet we continue to follow the lead of the ancestors that came to power through infidelity and brute force.  Isn’t it time that we redefine what it means to embody The Sacred Spirit upon our shared earth? Isn’t it time that we admit that violence, in any form, is anti-sacred?

Isn’t it time that we stop stooping to the paradigms of power accepted by those who were just learning what it meant to be called upon to be something more than animals? Full humans don’t act only on instinct, following the alpha members of our tribes. Full humans bond with others on earth, based on a set of social contracts that promote harmony with all on earth (in the whole universe?)

Isn’t it time that we take compassionate responsibility for ourselves, our actions, and our shared earth? To give one’s life is to faithfully serve, not to offer one’s life’s blood in one great show of martyrdom.  If we discipline ourselves, the examples we set will draw others to us. This is how we create peace on earth, one baby step at a time. Commitment in continued action is what love is really all about.

I have officially defected from the religion of my parents and have broken with all my siblings. This is the only way that the evil energy of our parents isn’t still visited upon me and my family. I have discovered that there many who want to hear my voice, and I will continue to speak out for a new way to define what it means to belong to The Sacred Universal Embodiment of Energy.

We Are All Infinite

PeaceNext, the Facebook presence of The Council for a Parliament of the World’s Religions, presents an organization “Faiths Against Hate.” It is my belief that hate comes from fear, and that fear has been the central power among religions for centuries. The question in my mind is, “How do we move from fear-based authority to compassionate bonding-based authority and partnerships?”

Parents do need to enforce boundaries based on our beliefs, which are enforced by our rituals. To expose our children to beliefs and practices that we don’t understand causes fear. How can we protect our children from influences that we don’t understand?

I know that many don’t believe in evolution, but I believe it is important to believe that with each succeeding generation of homo sapiens, we have passed on knowledge not available to previous generations.  Our offspring do not only absorb our animal instincts, but are also taught what we know and pass on to them. Why would we teach hate if we were not afraid of losing our children?

Understanding of each other and all that we encounter is the answer to fear. This is why I am constantly looking for common values among those who claim to be religious people. Understanding and responsible, responsive compassion is the only core of religious practice that seems to cross all ethnic and religious boundaries; the rest is divisive tribalism.

I will always be protective of the boundaries in which I am comfortable. Now that I am finished bringing up my own children, I am free to expand the boundaries in which I live. I am secure in my own values; therefore, I can freely move, without fear, among many other sets of values. My comfort with expanded boundaries creates discomfort in many of my former “tribe,” but this is not a source of discomfort for me.

I will not follow anyone or system that controls or leads with fear. I will welcome death before I accept a life of fearful submission to a jealous, angry, vengeful, or blood-thirsty figure of authority. I Am ∞ because we all are.

Sacred Secrets of Love

The miracle of the relationship I share with my husband is a source of constant gratitude and amazement to me. Our life partnership is the center of our sacred space. We have lost several physical homes, but our spiritual home is in each others’ aura. Through our lives together, I have come to define “Love” as responsible and responsive compassion for another.

 The secret is that we are both totally naked emotionally.  We have been able to use the wounds in our individual spirits to find places to graft on the strength of each other.  We are truly one tree that puts out great amounts of the fruits of our combined spirits.  We are well-grounded in a community of friends who help nurture us.

The mark of a sacred love, in my opinion, is how much it branches out to shelter and feed others who come in contact with the couple.  This continued giving of ourselves requires that we set aside times to celebrate and renew the intense energy of our bond. In this manner, we assure that we don’t lose sight of the fact that nurturing and celebrating our relationship is the first priority in our ability to serve others.

Just as we do with important other people in our lives, we make appointments to be alone with each other. We honor these appointments like many honor religious gatherings or business meetings. Neither of us has any problem telling people that I have certain times set aside for our private time. He is, after all my partner in every area of my life, including financial aspects.

Success in life and love all depend on placing and honoring our priorities. Perhaps if we stopped calling each other husband, wife, father, mother, and simply called each other life and parenting partners we, and others, would take our relationships more seriously.

Would one do any less to maintain a Fortune 500 company? I think not. 

The Sacrament of Sustaining Life

Somehow, I'm always out of step with everyone else I know. Just as I settled into the role of dutiful wife and mother, the feminist movement came roaring through my life and the lives of all the children born to those of us wondering how to always please our husbands, our breadwinners and family protectors.

During those times, there were two opposing, equally loud, voices. One was telling us to wrap our naked bodies in clear plastic wrap and meet our husbands at the door. Another was, just as stridently, advising us that we don't need men; we can do everything important for ourselves. Both bombed in my experience.

Nobody talked about what was best for, or what would happen to, our poor children during this transition. Where were they to be when we were hopping to the door, incapacitated by plastic wrap around our bodies to our ankles, and making wild whoopee with our husbands? The woman who gave this advice must have missed the part of the cultural revolution where middle class families lost their slave-waged servants who would remove the children to the nursery when Big Daddy arrived on the home scene.

That other, a flaming feminist who told us that we didn't need men was also promoting free "love," as if there should be no emotion involved in opening our bodies to the bodies of males. I don't think she took any anthropology courses; nor do I think she understood the power of hormones over our minds. It seems to me that a great number of women, because of hormonal influences, mother anything that comes between their legs, whether going in or coming out. The only "cure" for this tendency seemed to be drugs or drunkenness, both of which anesthetized the woman enough to be oblivious to what she was doing. Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll were a substitute for automatic mothering.

Birth control and finding our own clitorises was the accepted answer to all the problems that we were told we created for ourselves by seeking out male members of our species. No pregnancies, we were told, equaled no problems. Self-induced orgasms were as good as a girl could get; no wet spots, and no need to ask a man for anything. Women worked at becoming as callous about compassion for others as were the men that we had so long criticized.

Not all was evil about this transformation of society. The children of divorce, and women without life partner parents of their children, forced the fathers of our many offspring to become something other than simply breadwinners, Our children would settle for nothing less than love from each parent. We women had to "man up" and do some of our own heavy lifting; except it took at least two of us to lift any box that we had formerly counted on one man to manage.

Our society still expected us to bake cookies, even while we were winning bread for the support of ourselves and separate households, with children in residence. The fathers of our children no longer automatically assumed that there were others to whom they could hand their children while they sought their own fulfillment devoid of emotional entanglements. We women assumed that our children would acclimate to less need of our attention.

We may not like to admit it, but heavy lifting is a big part of what life's work is all about. Even a big baby is a heavier burden than most women want to carry across a continent without some brute strength to help her. Men don't like to admit it, but baking cookies in small batches without anyone to laud you as a great chef can feel rather thankless. Male-run businesses thrive, while family life dies. The businesses overwhelmingly staffed by females, such as health care, day care, and teaching continue to be run on slave-wages. The males who actually do the heavy lifting for the big bosses continue to receive not enough pay to support themselves, much less families.

Why do we pay so much to those who pray, and so little to those who do for us as we live and die? It is a mystery to me. When will we face the fact that there is no substitute for labors of love, and that those labors should be honored with pay that adds dignity to the laborers' lives? When will we, as homo sapiens, learn that the most sacred jobs of all are the ones for which we currently pay the least? It is not a lower caste assignment to take care of the basic needs of life, in all of its manifestations.

I didn't bear children to take care of their parents, but to proceed on their own paths. While some women would prefer to sexually pleasure themselves and pick up the poop of a dog or cat for companionship while waiting for, and paying a person, to come to their aid with each heavy box that needs transport, I would rather face the possibility that I may, one day, be picking up the poop of the man who has helped me to help my children, at my request, for many years.

I know the difference between giving a hug and getting one, as do the deeper recesses of our children's spirits. I'll take my husband over a hound any day. And as for baking cookies, I believe the making of sustenance for life is the greatest sacrament of all. I never feel more like a high priestess than when in front of my stove.

Sustainers of life's positive energy, here and beyond, is the greatest blessing we can. These are the gifts for which we should be willing to most highly pay. There are more things in life that I will do for love than there are that I'll do for money, though many of these same things I did for money to show love for my children when they were my responsibility. When will we reclaim money as simply barter for labors of love for those to whom we pledge undying responsibility? When will we realize that those who share responsible compassion are the only fully human homo sapiens?

Mazel Tov at Mensch Manor

We were incredibly honored by an invitation to an intimate dinner party at the home of the cardiologist who was instrumental in saving Richard's life and his wife, who plans elaborate parties for a living. They live in the home in which he was brought up, and are both devout Jews who honor all the Jewish holidays in their home. 

Juliet was brought up Roman Catholic, but converted to Judaism before marrying Moshe and combining their families. Some of their children are practicing Jews; others are not, but what they all have in common is that they all grew up in uptown New Orleans. Being a New Orleanian, raised in the heart of one of the oldest areas of New Orleans is a religion unto itself. Most people from uptown even pronounce New Orleans with three syllables, rather than the usual two used by suburbanites.

Moshe's mother, in addition to being the matriarch of her own large family, was a renowned New Orleans art critic, patron, activist, and connoisseur. The home in which Moshe and Juliet live is Old New Orleans at it's very best, showcasing some of the greatest of New Orleans artists' works. Though the children of this home are all grown, there are always people other than Moshe and Juliet in residence. Grandchildren, students seeking a warm welcome when studying in one of the nearby universities, dozens of Godchildren, and any friends who want to bring their pajamas (or not) and stay for the night.

We really didn't know what to expect when we got the invitation. We have been to dinner at their home on more than one occasion, when it was only the four of us. Mostly we've been to their home when seemingly several hundred people were dancing and partying to beat the band...often with their formal parlor turned into a bandstand. Juliet and Moshe are much younger than are we, so we have never been able to stay long enough to see the ends of the evenings, except when it has been only the four of us.  Age is not the only reason we can't keep up with them, but it makes me feel better to pretend this is so.

Juliet and Moshe simply love to celebrate the very air that they breathe, and nobody does it better, or with more variety, than they do. They simultaneously decorate their home for Hanukkah and for Christmas. I won't be surprised if we arrive one day to find Kwanzaa included in the decor and celebration, as their home, year round, Certainly exemplifies the spirit of Kwanzaa.

We found a parking spot in the very front of their home, feasting our eyes on the lights draping the iron fence and covering Moshe's treasured Sasanqua azaleas that bloom every winter here in New Orleans. I had to smell the garlands of greenery on their old brick steps' black iron banister to know that they hadn't hung real evergreen that fall apart within a week in our heat. The decorations on their door and porch welcomed us with lots of gold intertwined in the green. (Add a little purple and they will be ready for Mardi Gras.) 

We had to knock several times before Moshe, looking harried, answered the door. He apologized that we had to "act like family and hang out in the kitchen" acknowledging that were right on time, but that he could not yet offer us cocktails. Moshe is an accomplished mixologist and takes great pride in doing drinks the way the greatest bars in New Orleans do them. With the deft handwork of a surgeon, he was peeling an orange into one long spiral of skin and studding it with whole cloves.

As we passed through the dining room toward the kitchen, we were absolutely stunned by the opulent tablescape, set with green Venetian glass and gleaming gold charger plates on which were setting exquisite fine china. Candles glowed all around. I felt like we had stepped back in time to the early twentieth century in New Orleans, when servants were in abundance to cook, iron the linens, shop, cook, set the table, serve, and wash the fine crystal, china, and silver. The amazing thing is that we knew that Moshe and Juliet were doing it all, and that we were included in the small group invited to celebrate Moshe's latest success. 

It wasn't long before another couple arrived, one whom we didn't know from previous parties. They, too, were treated to watching Moshe's handwork with the orange. Moments later, Moshe called us all to follow him into the living room, where on the bar he proudly displayed a bottle of port which he had been saving for several decades and the contents of said bottle decanted into a Baccarat carafe. He announced that this was all about celebrating his recent success. 

As the third, and last, couple arrived, Moshe was ceremoniously pouring perfectly made Manhattans into the proper stemware. Juliet arrived and requested a glass of claret. We had known for months that Moshe was studying for an esoteric and new area of Cardiology care. Though he is brilliant and imminently accomplished in all he attempts, his nerves for these months were strung as tightly as piano wires. He announced that he had gotten the results and he passed, to which we all offered great sighs of relief and raised our glasses to having our friend so happy. We had never doubted his success.

The last couple to arrive, Mona and her husband Mickey have been at every function we've ever attended at this home, so they really are family. Mona took one look at the table and asked, appropriately, "Where are you putting the food?" We noshed on hors d'oeuvres in the parlor for a while, sipping and basking in Moshe's glory; then Juliet began to lay out the buffet.

As we were seated, Moshe poured both red and white wines, the Claret for some and Vouvray for others of us. He also poured water all around. Timothy, who was seated next to me, received from the hands of Juliet a bowl of freshly steamed haricot verte and what looked to be falafel patties. It seems that even vegans get what the wish for in this home.

The salad was spectacular, and had the gourmet touch of prosciutto in place of bacon bits. The sweet potatoes were firm and in a syrup that was just sweet enough; not cloying like so many sweet potatoes. The stuffed merliton was pure New Orleans goodness; I'd challenge any chef, in or out of New Orleans, to beat Juliet's version of this dish. And the crowning touch (pun intended) was the crown roast of pork with gold foil tips for the standing bones. There is nothing more elegant in presentation, in my opinion, than crown roast. The pork was slightly pink in the middle, as it should be, tender and juicy...in other words, roasted to perfection. This was accompanied by a side dish of applesauce, as if it needed more embellishment.

Before we ate, there were three blessings spoken over us and the table, two in Hebrew by Moshe and one the Roman Catholic grace before meals by lifelong friend Mickey. The conversation was lively and laughter was good-natured. Any subjects that were brought up to break the mood were gently, but firmly put aside for later by Moshe. I kept waiting to see servants standing at the ready, knowing how much work went into this moment in time. 

As the dinner dishes were cleared, Juliet brought out champagne glasses and ice cream with three different toppings. While we ate ice cream, Moshe appeared with what appeared to be a small silver punch bowl and ladle. As we watched, he raised the clove-studded orange skin spiral out of the bowl, picked up the ladle and poured a liquid over the end of the spiral. Fire leapt out of the bowl and traveled up and down the spiraled skin. 

We were now witnessing the Old New Orleans performance art form of flaming desserts and coffee at table side. Moshe was using what he said used to be given to all New Orleans brides as a wedding gift, his mother's sterling silver cafe brulot bowl, and what a show he put on! The highly spirited coffee was served in fine china demi tasse cups. Timothy announced that he had enjoyed cafe brulot in several of the best New Orleans restaurants, and that this was the finest he had ever had.  It was spiced and spiked better than any I’d ever tasted.

Juliet, once again appeared from the kitchen, with yet another vintage recipe, perfectly prepared: baked in an iron skillet buttery pineapple upside down cake. We ate for hours, it seemed, but the evening was still young. The champagne flutes were filled with Veuve Clicquot, tasting to me of sparkling fresh pears, to wash down our cake before we retired to the parlor for 40 year old port and aged  Montrachet cheese and chocolate. 

It was time to bring out the parlor game that we had given Moshe and Juliet as a gift. Questions were asked and hilarity ensued while Moshe offered everyone liqueurs. I don't know when was the last time we stayed at a party this late, but the time simply flew by. One of the questions asked of Juliet was, "What is your favorite time of year?" She replied, "I love this holiday season because everyone is so nice to each other. 

Juliet and Moshe stretch this holiday season to include Hanukkah and Christmas. They then roll right into celebrating the carnival season of Mardi Gras. They do so much for so many that we were inspired, for Moshe's last birthday, to give them New Orleans style tiles saying "Mensch Manor" Their home is what humanity is supposed to be about, whether one is Jewish, Catholic or simply of homo sapiens who wish to be considered full parts of humanity.

We were celebrating Moshe, and he and Juliet were waiting on us! This was a sacrament, in my eyes. The good will we shared will be transubstantiated into good will and good works by all who were at the table and all who enter their home.

This was our Christmas dinner. Thank you, Moshe and Juliet.

Abraham's Adultery and Islam

by Y  | September 25, 2014 at 1:34 PM

 

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Do the world's three religions branching from the tree of Abraham really differ so much in what they believe creates a peaceful place for families to thrive?

Abraham was not a strong man. He used his wife's sexuality to save his own skin. While married, he fathered a child with a servant girl, and allowed the servant and his own first-born son to be sent to the desert to die. Why is it that the three religions constantly killing the mothers and children of each other in bloody wars, insist on calling a man with Abraham's type of behavior their Patriarch? The descendants of the first-born son are still attempting to reclaim their birthright, and until all are willing to admit to the wrong done to Ishmael and his mother, I can't see that we have a chance of peace on earth.

It seems to me that Moses, with the Ten Commandments streamlined a way for the sons and daughters of the earth to create peace among themselves.This peaceful "place" was to be called "Israel," and exists wherever people honor the rules of living in peace with each other. These same rules seem to be at the core of what all humans want in creating communities.

This is what I believe Jesus came to say, "Taking care of each other and the less strong is what's important; the rules are for forming committed communities." I also believe Jesus came to model the way humans can manifest The Eternal, Universal Sacred Spirit of responsible, committed compassion in our own actions on earth. This Sacred Spirit is available to all with ears to hear and eyes to see. I find it most obvious in the eyes of a baby, just after birth and in the eyes of the dying as they long to see their goodness in the eyes of another.

In my opinion, Abraham should not be the role model for how husbands treat the most vulnerable in their lives.Maybe we need to let Abraham go finally to his grave, so we can stop sending so many of his children to theirs.

To the Pro-LIfe Liars

Why is it that no religions are based on being awake and available to our own children? Why is it that we worship those who act as if children are to be seen and not heard? What is the attraction of the majority of religions to the philosophies spouted by those who spend their time meditating on issues other than the ones in the lives in which they manifest in physical forms?

I am sick, almost unto death, of those who spend their time seeking nirvana while ignoring the eyes, voices, and cries of their own children and the children of their neighbors. I am sick, almost unto death, of those who attribute sainthood to those who bear the most babies, with no ideas of how well the mothers and fathers have paid attention to their own children's individual needs.

Homo sapiens should not be brought up in litters, unless we want the offspring to simply manifest as feral animals. The fallacy of the religions that promote large families is that no human mother (or father) is able to nurture another child properly without sufficient time between births. The religions pretend that "the church" will make up the difference, but this is simply not the reality.

How many individuals will willingly give up their free time to console the colicky baby, not their own? How many will stay up all night, sober, to make sure that the teenagers of others are safely tucked in after their explorations? How many will live responsibly in order to show the example to the young, for as many years as it takes to bring homo sapiens to fully human adulthood?

Every homo sapiens child deserves to be born into a family and community of responsible, committed, compassionate fully human adults. If their conception can't lead to this, we shouldn't be surprised that the new homo sapiens turn out to simply be feral animals.

I am sick, almost unto death, of the hypocrisy in humans. Humanity takes many years to nurture one  homo sapiens animal into a full human. To all who are against conception and birth control: Either put your own time, resources, and love on the line, or shut up, go home, and stay quiet.

What's Tugging at My Heart

What is tugging at my heart is the inability to find common words to describe The Sacred Spirit, as embodied in our universal experiences.

Some call this energy love, but what is love? To many it is synonymous with sexual attraction; to others it is an emotion similar to longing; in the understanding of others it is the willingness to suffer for another. In my world, love is shared committed action toward a common goal, right here on the physical plane we share in this lifetime. Not very romantic, is it?

Religions have all sorts of names for this universal energy. Seemingly, the most long-standing common term is "god(s)" or "God." In my 63 years on earth I have encountered so many explanations of what people commonly call "God" that I know they can't all be talking about the same being. It seems more like the elephant and the blind men. Depending on which small part you encounter, you describe it as a different being.

I am increasingly uncomfortable with the tendency to believe that whatever we see in our own communities is the only way that people should live. I understand the desire for stability, but not at the cost of continued life. Any living organism that stops growing begins losing its individual existence.

The only way I believe we'll get past the "tribal" impasses that our ancestors have inflicted on us is to open our eyes to the difference in homo sapiens as animals and those that are full humans. Full humanity is the only higher plane we can use to change the future of our earth. If we don't adapt, we die; this includes our understanding of The Sacred.

If we can't even find a universal word for the Spirit of Full Humanity, what hope do we have for communication and cooperation? My spirit longs for a word or phrase that defines responsible, committed compassion for our present and future universe, one that is free for the taking. I have been calling this life force that I feel "The Sacred Spirit." I'd love to hear other suggestions for an all-inclusive term for what enables us to be the best we can humanly be.

Purification of the Physical Process.

It seems odd to me that so many communities frown on speaking of conjugal bonding, even among responsible, committed, compassionate couples. Where did those who call themselves religious miss the many references in their own accepted sacred scriptures, the comparisons of the ultimate in Eternal Love to the love making of humans?

I am so tired of being an outcast, a "scarlet woman,"so to speak, in the company of women who call themselves mothers of the churches and temples. This problem is greatly exacerbated by the attention I draw from the males who can see that I am often in agreement with their points of view. I have tried almost everything, short of killing or crippling myself, to break this curse laid on me from the time before I could speak. Nothing has worked, so I keep mostly to myself.

My mother told the story of how "You trained your father when you were nine months old." According to her, after my father hit me, I turned over in my crib to avoid looking at him for three days. According to her, from this time forward, he never hit me. I believe this to be true...not only because I knew he wanted me to look at him, but because I also know he never again hit a crying girl. My mother always admitted that she was jealous of me for this "control" I had over men, especially my father.

Don't focus on why a father would hit a nine-month-old baby and why the mother of the baby would, not only stay married to him, but bear seven more children with him. Focus on the fear that others have of a woman-child with the ability to stop a dragon in his tracks. Focus also on the number of women who have come to me to back down the dragons in their lives, only to shun me in order to please their dragons or their dragon's offspring.

Being a dragon slayer without encouragement to brag on one's successes in love or in war is the loneliest existence for a woman. Would that I had been born a man, except for the blessing of the one man who neither worships nor seeks to control me. With him, I have discovered the divinity in sacred bonding. I only wish we had a group with which to share our ecstasy without invoking jealousy, which leads to competition, rather than community celebration.

Even Adam and Eve chose jealousy over contentment. Isn't it time to stop following in their footsteps and form footsteps of our own. The "sins of the fathers" stopped being passed on when the joyful Jewish Jesus was walking the earth.  Pentecost made it possible to celebrate without ancestral guilt, jealousy, greed, retribution, and mindless competition. The Sacred is in what we celebrate in the physical manifestations we were given. It is the purpose of each of us to continue purification of the
physical process.

Families of Faith and Religion

I respectfully submit that it is time that we draw the real line between faith and religion.

It seems to me that religions have always been about rituals and rules for behavior. Whether or not the people in the religious communities actually shared the same faith was, and is, immaterial. Religions, at best, create civil societies that can trust each others actions and commit to the same rules of bringing up offspring. The punishment for crossing the boundaries, at best, is banishment and restitution to the those harmed in the community.

The worst of religion is the formation of tribes who will watch as other members break all the boundaries of responsible, committed compassion and go to any means necessary to keep the community together. It is easier to hide the perpetrator than to admit that the hypocrisy of this behavior will destroy the bases on which the religions were formed. This is especially true when the leaders of the "tribes" are, in plain sight, the ones breaking the rules.

It seems to me to be okay to form community around any rules one wants, as long as the rules are consistently enforced. If a church doesn't want sex to happen outside of marriage between two opposite sex married-in-the church people, that is their prerogative, as long as all are held to the same, "no sex outside of church marriage" rules. The only way this should become a civil issue is when the religion is receiving support, in any form, from the civil society in which they operate.

One of the cardinal rules of civil disobedience is that those engaging in it must be willing to suffer the civil societies' rules for restitution.  There are too many hiding behind religious immunity while breaking the rules of the civil societies that are supporting them. This is the hallmark of hypocrisy.

Families of faith are something altogether different than religions. Families of faith share value systems by which they openly live their lives in community with like-minded others. It seems to me that our United States is becoming more a family of faith in the value of fairness as it moves away from religious self-righteousness. The beauty of democracy, as we purport to live it, in our country, is that anyone can become an entrepreneur and write their own rules for fairness in hiring and trade.

My faith is in the ideal of fairness, and those who treat each others in that manner are the only ones I wish to call family, friend, and fellow citizen of this earth.

Healing Wounds From Our Ancestor, Abraham

Wouldn't it be a nice move toward world cooperation if we divided the Sabbath into the three days that coincide with the three religions that seek to honor them?

Businesses could give Muslims the day of rest on Fridays until just before dusk (perhaps beginning on Thursday at sunset). The same businesses could give Jews the day of rest between just before dusk on Friday until nightfall on Saturday, and the Christians would be given their day of rest between nightfall on Saturday and dusk on Sunday.

In this manner, each of the branches (spiritual cousins) of the family of Abraham would be able to take the serving places of each other on the individual's Sabbaths. This could also be the case on the holy days celebrated by each "sect" of Abraham's religious descendants.

Good-bye to Gods and Goddesses

Nothing angers me more than the people who take for granted that my daughter will watch me die as they simply sign checks for my medical care. My daughter studies long and hard to be a professional, award-winning teacher of children, not a nurse's aid. She will not give up her vocation to tend my body as it turns to earth's fertilizing ash.

I hate goddess mythology almost more than I hate god mythology. The problem, as I see it, is that both women and men refuse to be fully understood, so they are always seen as something other than human. I want to be neither adored nor enslaved; I want to be known and loved as I really am.

My husband used to complain that all the neighbors who had lived beside him for years when I met him never even invited him in for a cup of coffee, though they all came to tell me what a hero he was as a doctor. It occurred to me that this was because they saw him as above them, a god, not a flesh and blood human being. Gods really don't need anything, and what we have to offer would surely be too inferior to be accepted.

Gods and goddesses have no needs. They are magic beings that can pull fulfillment of the wishes of others out of the air. It is so much easier to believe this myth than to watch for what a person really hungers for in his or her life and seek to partner with him or her in filling the most basic desires.

I have had husbands who treated me as each, within different marriages; I will not settle for either way of treatment in this last partnership in my life. I want my husband to be my life partner, as I have been to him, in every way humanly possible, including the shit, piss, and blood of my illnesses and old age.

We have convinced ourselves that there are gods and goddesses outside of us that need our sacrifices and adoration, while ignoring the cries of those who carry The Sacred Spirit in their earthly bodies. How convenient it is to imagine that there are births without blood and god babies without dirty diapers! Only a bunch of celibates and royalty with slaves to serve their real bodily needs could dream up such drivel.

I never saw my menstrual blood as sacred, as I'm sure any women who don't deeply desire motherhood would not. Neither do I see semen as sacred, where wasting a drop is sacrilege. We are all simply animals with the choice to be more than creatures of our genetics and histories. Making these choices is what turns homo sapiens into full humans

I want nothing more than to be treated as an equal in relationships, balancing my weaknesses and strengths with those of my partners. Is this too much to ask while I remain on this physical plane called our earth?

Fear-Free Faith

I recently finished reading "Unbroken" in which religious zealotry replaced PTSD. Does psychic/spiritual peace require that we erase what we know, that which we wish to forget? Must we deny what we heard with our own ears and what we have seen with our own eyes?

I also recently went, with a lifelong friend, to see the movie "The Giver," in which a utopia was developed where only one person in the community was allowed to remember anything. I, for many years, held this position in the lives of many family and friends. How convenient it is for others to confess their pain and/or sins to one person and simply walk away, unburdened.  I can attest to the great burden it is to be the sole crier in the wilderness of denial. Is there any thought to how heavy the baggage of the confessor has become?

Prophecy comes from insight into the past. Anyone who believes that prophecy is a gift has never been the one to whom that ability was given. Those who wish to deny their past memories will kill the prophet rather than face the inevitability of repetition in those who will not remember. I wonder if prophets wish they could shake off what they know and awaken with innocence, once again? I know I wish that I could. Maybe a lobotomy is in order.

How will homo sapiens ever stop repeating the stories of our past murderous mistakes unless we are willing to look squarely and honestly at all of them? Because the history of humanity continues to circle back on itself, in generation after generation, doesn't mean that we are doomed to act as simple-minded animals, following the blind faith of our fathers and mothers. In order to save The Sacred Spirit in our universe, we must all stop and critically look at what we have become and how we got where we are.

Religions that enforce rules with inflicting fear have been the norm since the beginning of what we know of homo sapiens. Isn't it time that we stop confusing awe in The Almighty with fear of a punishing father (or mother)?

The Pharisees and those that came from them believed in a spiritual life, as well as a physical life, while on earth and for eternity. Religious practice was bound by rules and rituals, but these rules and rituals did not necessarily bind or define the spirits of the adherents. The spirit of every act we inflict on another is carried into the generations that follow us, not only in eternity, but on our shared earth. How many more generations of hatred and war will it take until we "get it"?

I seems imperative to me that we stop looking for The Sacred Spirit outside of what we see and hear in each other and our physical earth. This would be the best way to honor The Spirit that is perishing for lack of our understanding about our earth. What we have and what we see and hear is a part of the continuum of creation. What we bind here is bound in eternity; what we loose here is lost in eternity. Our negative actions may be denied, but their consequences are not loosed with the denial of our painful memories. The energy infects our earth and spreads.

I have been bound by fear for much too long; I have loosed my fear in favor of awe in what I see and hear all around me. It is not with fear, but with great sadness that I observe so many who insist on dragging others to "faith" through fear. In my belief system, there is no death; there is only metamorphosis, so there is no fear of the end of this manifestation of my energy on earth. My energies, both positive and negative will go on in the universal entities that I have impacted. My hope is that what I give will be received as more blessings than curses, for many generations in the future.

It is very freeing to fear not life or what others see as death. I also have no fear of my future in this physical manifestation or whatever manifestations come next. My mission is simply to be available, if and when called to be a blessing. I am finally free from religion and have found fear-free faith!

What if We Women...?

What if we women raised traditionally could take a year off from being anybody's anything and find out who we really are underneath all the "shoulds"? Who would we be? How would we act?

Not the Nicene Creed

I have been asked if I believe in the Nicene creed; the answer is that I do not. I am suspicious of anything created by the Roman church hierarchy in partnership with political power, as was the Nicene Creed. The Nicene Creed seems to me a one upsmanship in the religious power game.

I believe in God, the father almighty, maker of heaven and earth. (To put one human face on The Sacred Spirit diminishes the majesty of The Sacred Spirit's manifestations throughout the universe.)

And in Jesus Christ, his only son, our lord. (I believe that all who have ears to hear and eyes to see The Sacred Spirit share in the same Spirit that Jesus embodied on earth and freed up at Pentecost. We are told that Jesus said he was not our lord, but our brother and friend.)

Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, (as are all conceived in love).

Born of the virgin Mary. (I don't believe that virgin births were physically possible then. Even if a child is conceived without sexual intercourse, the act of giving vaginal birth breaks the seal of the womb, the hymen. I believe the fixation on virginity makes a travesty of the true process of sexual intercourse, gestation, and bloody births attended by frightened fathers.)

Suffered under Pontius Pilot, was crucified, dead and buried. (The fixation on the last three days of the life of Jesus are the stuff of warrior mythology. Jesus was a joyful Jew for many years; this is where I put my focus.)

On the third day, he rose again (who cares whether this was in his body or simply in the power presence those who loved him felt when they were gathered together?) and thence will come to judge the living and the dead. (While we live, we share our positive and negative power with all those we encounter. This energy lives on, so there is no need for judgement. It is all an eternal balancing act that we have no way to know, nor should we, how it ends.)

I believe in the Holy Ghost (Sacred Spirit), the Holy Catholic Church (not Roman catholic), the communion of saints (as all have the ability to be to some), the forgiveness of sin (through human restitution) and life everlasting (through metamorphosis). *This is what I believe.*

Jesus, the Man, as Mensch

Should we stop allowing only science to define when actual humans came into being? Should we redefine what it is that makes a member of the group of animals called homo sapiens fully human? Would we do anything differently, as a group of animals with varying abilities, if we placed new rules on human society and civilization? What if we stop believing that all homo sapiens are fully human?

I submit that what we need to use as the basic criteria for being fully human is responsible, committed compassion, where an individual is willing to give over one's own survival to the survival of the responsibly compassion of the next generation. This would mean a definition of species/tribe by practiced values, not by blood, baptisms, rituals, or creeds. I await the day that we think through who is in our species/tribes, rather than acting on ancestral memory which exacts unthinking loyalty and revenge, or on our animal instincts of survival of the most physically fit.

My Jewish friends are fond of the Yiddish word "Mensch." My understanding is that this is the highest designation for a fellow member of the species homo sapiens. It translates to "a real human." We need to look back at all the erudition of the Jews, and the fact that Jesus came from a long line of this people. Is there anything higher to which a homo sapiens can aspire than to be a real "mensch?" This is what I believe Jesus came to show us how to be.

Free From Feelings

A story about our mother was told to me by one of my sisters; I think this explains a lot of my frustration with people and teamwork. The story goes that, when my sisters descended on our mothers disastrous mess of a home in order to prepare it for a huge family function, my mother crawled under the sink and began to clean the pipes with a toothbrush. How many people are so overwhelmed by the vast mess we see on our earth that we spend our whole lives under the sink, polishing the pipes that are working just fine in their present states?

They have no idea how to plan for a party and they won't ask anyone else for a plan because that would make the planner 'the boss." They all simply wander around without direction looking for some tiny detail on which to concentrate all their energies. Quite often they are busy feeding baby birds that have fallen out of trees while their own children scream in their cribs.

This is how I experience prayer: It seems to me that people are simply polishing their crowns for the future that they imagine will be so much better than this one, without ever rolling up their sleeves to straighten up the present mess. I can never understand how heaven will be any better than earth since humans will still be their individual selves after death. I prefer to think that all my energy will be reabsorbed by the Big Bang going backward into the pureness of a Universal, Eternal, Shimmering, Shared Sacred Spirit of Pure Life.

I am frustrated because all those who I had hoped would be part of this party are too busy polishing their own individual pipes (or crowns) to help prepare for the party. Even when I peek under the sink to ask if they need anything, they seem to think I'm spying on them and may somehow steal some of the shine off their pipes. They hide their toothbrushes and tell me to go find my own pipes to polish. So I do, and then they are unhappy because my pipes are now made into a pipe organ that is inviting too may to come hear the music.

When I turn to the kitchen to cook, and give the pipe organ over to others, they become angry because I "think I'm better than them" even though I am now serving the rest of them, as if I am a slave. They then invite me to celebrations at which I am told that I can't have any of what they are serving, and are angry when I get hurt feelings over this.

The only conclusion I can come to is that they don't want me at their parties, even in the hereafter. This is okay because I don't want to be in my own little house, with my own lonely crown, competing for who sits longest on Daddy God's lap or who is on the right or left hand of King Jesus, for all eternity. I simply want to be absorbed, with all those I have loved, back into the Sacred Spirit from which I believe I came. They don't want to do this with me; that's okay, but it still hurts my feelings. I hope not to have any feelings in eternity.

Attachment to Our Flesh

How can humans have so much attachment to our flesh while continuing to profess belief in the supremacy of The Sacred Spirit that is only housed in our exterior shells? There seems to be a disconnect between what we say we believe and the ways we live our lives, especially during times in which we are threatened by becoming, through physical metamorphosis of "death," existent only in our spiritual states. What are we to make of the differences between the ways the other animals adhere to their physical existences and the ways those who profess faith in eternal life adhere to theirs?

At least men are allowed to die with honor; while women with family responsibilities are blamed for our own deaths, as if we meant to abandon our posts as caretakers. Widowers become sainted; widows become prey. This seems to all originate with warrior and savior myths in primitive societies of homo sapiens. Is it any wonder that I reject the many gods to whom these people pray?  In my opinion, rising above these superstitions and bloody sacrifices makes homo sapiens fully human.

I am sickened by the idea that any of us have any culpability, either from our ancestors or ourselves, for the unearned pain that pervades our lives. Those who say that the pain put upon some and not others is all in "God's" plan are not earning any adherents to the religions of these ancient superstitious ancestors. They are simply making matters more complicated for those looking for justice as a meaning in life. There are no "gods;" there are only incarnations of Eternal Energy. Some of these manifestations are Sacred. How each of us exemplifies and inhabits every incarnation and experience creates an aura that lives along with, and beyond, our individual physical manifestations of life on earth.

Many years ago, a wise man told me that the problem with treating people in chronic pain is that so many take pain personally, as if they were given a specific penance on earth. I have also come to realize that many people invent pain because they feel that this gets them closer to their "God." How can either attitude be healthy for those of us on earth? Why would anyone want to be close to a "God" who demands pain and/or bloody death, especially as punishment for ancient transgressions of others?

My hunger for inclusion in the purity of The Sacred Spirit is so great that it takes away my breath. I have trouble interrupting the visions of complete inclusion to relate to the physical world around me. It is physically painful to have to continue dragging around this body that seems to be a barrier between me and all The Sacred Spirits of those who have come before me and impact my life every day. If I were a theologian or a saint, it would be called, "Holy longing," but for we mere mortals, it is often called craziness or depression.

There is no individual me; there is only a shell that walks, talks, sings, cries, laughs, cook, cleans for so many stranded spirits that can't do so for themselves. This is the life to which I was born; I only hope someone will be there to hold and absorb the last of my Sacred Spirit me when it is my time to let go of this flesh for good.