What Does The Holy Spirit Look Like to You?

Most modern, educated people accept that all history is an interpretation of events by itse tellers, writers and translators. How is it that we can't admit this about the bible accounts without quaking in our boots? (St.) Augustine believed that the story of Genesis was allegorical; how could he believe otherwise when Genesis 1 and 2 give two different descriptions of the creation of Eve?

If we all understood the exact same thing from reading any historical account, we'd still believe that it's acceptable to own other human beings.If we all understood the exact same thing from reading any historical account, we wouldn't need bible studies and preachers, or professors in different disciplines to help us interpret long-ago events in order to apply them to our modern world.

The old model of education was based on rote repetition of an accepted body of "facts." In a global nuclear-powered world, we realize that we must be open to new information coming in at an incredible rate in order to stay alive, physically and mentally. The new information is based on the old, but seen through many complex facets. If we don't honor the old, we continue to walk in the same circles back to past failures, but we cannot continue to be afraid of the new input.
 
Living history is history that is looked at from many angles, by many people, in different world circumstances. As we become more enlightened, we can see different facets of the same sentences. Our language is a living, evolving thing. There are always new words based on new discoveries and insights.

We now know that not all plants or animals are limited only to being "he" or "she." There are many variations in the amounts of gender-producing hormones in individual creatures. While we were taught "rules" about what makes an animal a mammal, we were also taught that there are exceptions in those rules. One of my granddaughters (then eleven years old) and I once had a spirited discussion on where plants and animals cross the lines of absolute classification into one or the other.

My manifestations of The Almighty allow for many exceptions to the "rule" of God always appearing only as a male. What does The Holy Spirit (The Spirit of Holiness, The Spirit of Wholeness) look like to you?

People of Positive Power

A man I have never met, other than through his comments on my blogs and the blog of another one-time Pentecostal preacher, answered my blog about seeking peace with this:

"One of my learned secrets to having JOY and peaceful sleep.
J - Jesus first.
O - Others second.
Y - Yourself last.
It works for me."

This man is a retired Pentecostal minister and preacher since his early twenties, even rearing his family in Africa to allow the Muslims there to "taste" of his family's living faith (and many fine meals prepared by his wife). He and I have many spirited dialogs about the bases and practices of our faith journeys, along with another his friend and former Pentecostal preacher, who retired from the US Navy that I only actually  met once. Both  of these men are "in-love" long marrieds, with grown children, and seem to radiate their "Joy in Jesus."

How lovely it is that their religious backgrounds were rooted in a sense of gratitude, and that unlike many people who think it dangerous to show joy, gratitude, and humility, they fairly vibrate with their Holy Spirit energy.

I am so fortunate to have so many Holy Spirits accepting my invitation to share how this Spirit manifests in their lives. For this I am almost overcome with gratitude. Unfortunately, if I open my window and shout to the laborers below, "I got that joy, joy, joy joy down in my heart...," I'll be in the loony bin for my bedtime prayers tonight.

Aging and Engaging

I've read that the brain's limbic system makes us aware of the emotions of others.
Is this the beginning of compassionate relationships with our sisters and brothers?
Unfortunately, our society has taught us to turn off the signals of others' pain;
We have been programmed to only seek our own earthly, greedy gains.

I admit that I am too sensitive to the atmosphere that surrounds me;
The degree to which I need emotional input of others often astounds me.
Call it PTSD, enmeshment, or extreme compassionate caring;
I pick up on signals people don't even know they're sharing.

All I know for sure is that I absorb many energies of those
Who don't even know that, in my radar, they are exposed.
I don't mean to intrude on their most private spaces;
It's simply that my intuition, their boundaries, replaces.

I love to have people that are hard-working near;
My animal intuition, for their dedication, cheers.
Yesterday, I had the pleasure of many laboring men
Outside my window, into which my soul can blend.

The hardest thing to handle as I age and become less able
Is the feeling that I've been excused from life's bountiful table.
At least I can vicariously feel a part of what is still alive,
When  I'm allowed to observe the tasks on which others thrive.

Soul Mates and Soaring Spirits

 I have so missed the soul mates from my youth;
As I grew in years, I didn't grow in truth.
The Spirit that spoke to me when I was a child,
Was, sadly, hidden from me for too long a while.
I am walking back into the faith of my childhood,
Though the religion of my mother is  lost to me for good.

The insistence on dogma instead of Divinity
Simply didn't seem right, just, and true to me.
Those who have loved me since I began my journey Home,
Honoring The Spirit in me that they have known,
Have never faltered in their prayers that I would find
An eternal peace in my body, soul, and mind.

I know it's painful to many that I walk a different path,
And for this reason, some relationships didn't last.
Even as I walked a path of terrible immorality,
My soul mates shared their Spirit lights to be a guide to me.
Like Tinker Bell in Peter Pan whose life spark almost died,
The love of my soul mates has kept my Holy Spirit alive.

Some have been women, and my and their husbands;
Some of them have been my children who are also friends.
The love of my children did most to heal me;
The souls of our children are never from ours fully free.
I sing a song of gratitude and and lift my voice in awe;
I'm finally feeling the redemption their Holy Spirits foresaw.

Praying For My Peace

I was taught to examine, at the end every day,
The hurtful and sinful things I think, do, and say.
Is it simply selfish to insist on making amends,
As I've been told by several of my friends?

Every day is exciting, if we simply set our minds to delight,
But we can feel and think so much  that we can't sleep at night.
This is how I feel after talking with my daughter or son,
And before and after spending time with people who are fun.

Part of the problem is I'm afraid that I may do something wrong
Even though I try to share only the singing of joyful songs.
Sometimes grief and anger simply pop out of my mouth,
Even knowing this is not what my people want to talk about.

It seems to me that wrongs that aren't addressed
Go on to create, in other relationships, a mess.
Why is it so scary to say, "I was wrong,"
Even where love has been very strong?

Some say Jesus took away all blame;
That all we need do is believe in his name.
I believe he gave us a prescription and examples
Of seeking peace that are are ample.

How have the religious ones gotten to this place
Where the joy of human forgiveness has lost its place?
There seems to be such a fear of punishment
That we are unable to truly repent.

What am I to do with all of the guilt
On which my religious life was built,
If I can't share my true remorse
And take the hurts back to their source?

I'd like to lay my head down every night in gratitude
That the evil I've wrought has been turned back to good.
I believe I'm commanded to approach those angry with me
And plead to be, from my guilt, set free.

I don't think that I can be right with my God
Unless I'm right with those on whose feelings I've trod.
"Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray that I'll find the peace I seek."

Ecstatic Expression and Ecclesiastical Executions

Why are we so afraid of ecstatic expression, even that coming from our own children? Is it because we are consumed with jealousy and fear that there's not enough to go around? And how many of us are actually willing to immerse ourselves in the deepest pain of those we love as they walk through or writhe in their anguish?

The hardest thing I have ever done is holding the hands of those who thought or knew that they were dying. The difficulty in some cases was that the dying person was not the one in anguish; it was my soul that was consumed with grief for which I had no outlet. Giving our lives for others means walking with them in feelings. Death seems easy to me, in comparison to this.

"(The Indian -- not the same as The Shakers) Shakers believe that the experience of the Gospel does not require a book, but rather is encoded in the mind and soul in accordance with the will of God."

"Practices reflecting Catholic influence include the use of hand-held candles, the ringing of individual hand bells (to a very loud volume), and the sign of the cross (usually repeated three times). Protestant influence is shown in public testifying and confession of shortcomings. Native elements include brushing or stroking to remove evil influence, counter-clockwise movement of service participants around the room (often with loud stomping), and spontaneous reception of songs from the spirit. Church members are expected to refrain from using alcohol and tobacco. Carefulness, kindness, and supplication to God for help are emphasized." - excerpts from Wikipedia on the Indian Shaker Church

Some of this should sound familiar to today's Christians in Pentecostal communities, and yet this religion too was persecuted: "The new religion encountered much opposition and hostility from Euro-Americans. As had happened with the Ghost Dance, there was much misunderstanding and Anglos feared an Indian uprising. For a time, all Indian religious practices were banned by law and the Indian Shakers were included. Many members were imprisoned and chained for their practices. Powell et al. (1976) show two notices posted by the US Indian Service at Quileute Reservation:

'Notice to the Shakers: You are hereby permitted to hold meetings... under the following conditions: on Sundays not longer than three (3) hours at one time and on Wednesdays not longer than two (2) hours at one time. The following REGULATIONS to be observed: 1st, Keep windows or a door open during all meetings. 2nd, Use only one bell to give signals. Not continuous ringing. 3rd, Do not admit school children at night meetings.

It has been reported... that there are some women who are violating the Rules... and that they shake at all hours of the day and night. You will therefore tell the women quietly to stop shaking at any other times than the times specified in the rules... If they do not stop,... you will lock them up until they agree to stop. Shaking of the sick must not be allowed... We do not want any trouble in this matter if it is possible to avoid it; but that 'continual and private shaking' must be stopped.' " - excerpts from Wikipedia on the Indian Shaker Church

One definition for religion is "Belief in and reverence for a supernatural power or powers regarded as creator and governor of the universe." Rules and strictly enforced interpretations of others' revelations are not the basis for my religion; shared joy, peace, and harmony are. The only supernatural power that I will seek is the power of positive energy radiating in those who have The Ways and Words of The Almighty encoded in their minds and souls.

Look into the eyes of a person who is also looking into your eyes, and you will see what is written on each others' souls. Fear, anger, drugs, alcohol, and greed all overshadow and can actually deaden the positive power. This deadening we can also see in each others' eyes, if we take the time to look.

When we impose our moral standards with fear instead of with bonding and walking with others in their peaks of delight and their valleys of darkness, we create collective rituals, but that's not the same as compassionate communion. Please don't pray for me as I suffer; hold my hand and walk with me a while. And when I'm about to shake apart in joy, wrap me in your arms and absorb some of the ecstasy from my soul.

Sing Out Our Spirits, Oh My Sisters!

How desperately my friends reach out to me,
Wanting to save my soul, which is already free.
It is such a source of sadness to them and to me
That we, on our faith, cannot agree.

My friends are bound by the words of men,
As if women's voices aren't part of salvation.
They defer only to the words that men intended
When the editors of the bible, women's words amended.

We seem to have the collective souls of slaves,
Who have been taught that their spirits are depraved.
And as the slaves hid behind their master's names,
We are afraid to our own enlightenment claim.

We have birthed new creation, fought the good fight
With love and compassion, and with earthly might.
We have been given long lives; after our work is done
We have the time to share our Spirits of Wisdom.

My God is mother, father, brother, sister, and friend;
My God is creation's beginning, middle, and end.
My God is the power to seek the best in all
And to begin again with new life whenever I fall.

So I'll sing my soul to all who will hear,
Those far away and those who are near.
I've thrown off the shackles of my mothers' shame;
Abraham, Moses, and Jesus are my brothers' names.

I believe they all have gone back to oneness with God;
They were true to their mission, as on earth they trod.
Just as we all will become one with the source,
If we are true to our Spirits and stay our course.

We have born the blame of the fall of man,
But we are equals in The Spirit's plan.
It is time that we sing out our Spirits
So that all creation can clearly hear it.