I wanted a cool spirituality. I wanted to say I was a Zen Buddhist, and everyone would look at me like I was an athlete, knowing I could count my breaths, swim long distance in impermanence and not get sentimental and soppy with prayer or neediness. I’d talk about “being mindful” and people would look at me like I was a rock climber or a black diamond skier. I could even ride on the media friendly cache of the Dalai Lama.
But no, I had to be drawn to a personal insanely loving God or Universe. I fell in love with A Course in Miracles, something some say is “channeled” or “contains the voice of Jesus” and I still cringe, 21 years later, maybe the Jew in me feeling the need to daven or the Harvard lawyer burying her face in Nietzsche. I’m not proud of my reaction. And I’m not proud of my attraction. I’m just sharing the mud, because I believe many of us have conflicted feelings about what we believe. Or what we want in life. Or who we love. Our truth, often makes us squirm. Sometimes the soul isn’t acceptable to the ego.
It’s worth the squirm. It’s worth going past your image into your identity. It’s worth expanding your possibilities. It’s worth taking a left turn off a dirt road that isn’t on the grid. It’s worth shedding conditioning and even some sanction. It’s worth trading in familiarity for vitality.
You won’t lose anything–once you find yourself.