Last night, I dreamed that one of the first people to love me unconditionally died. I woke up with a sense of urgency. I wanted to contact this beautiful, evolved, spiritual man to thank him. Upon further reflection, I realized that there have been several of these "spirit guides," if you will, who have come into my life. I'm certain they come into all of our lives in various ways.
We start our journey as spiritual beings in a physical world slightly before we are born. The poet, Wordsworth, suggested that as children we are still "trailing clouds of glory," bearing some memory of another, spiritual origin. My childhood, as did so many childhoods, left me ravaged by loneliness, lack of love, and terror. My child's understanding was that parents were supposed to love their children. I believed for most of my life that my parents did love me; I deduced that what I received from them was love. I lived my life with the understanding that "love" was defined by loneliness and terror.
In my home, there were occasional bright spots that I now think of as sent by a higher good. There was my next door neighbor, a little girl named Terri, with whom I spent every free hour. She gave me the gift of imagination as we played out innumerable myths and fairy tales of our invention in the nearby woods. There was my grandmother who lived with us briefly. She taught me not to take my mother too seriously and that I was an angel. There was Aunt Helen. She taught me to ward off the threats of my brothers by ignoring them. There was Aunt Agnes, whom we affectionately called "Anya," who taught me that I was beautiful and had gifts and talents to give the world. She taught me to appreciate the beauty of nature and she loved me unconditionally. Finally, there was my dad, a workaholic for sure, who loved me as best he could and, over time, confirmed my perception that my mother did not love me. "It's not you," he used to say. "It's her. She can't love." This did help although it also sealed the coffin of my growing understanding that, for some reason, the gods had bequeathed a paranoid depressed mother upon me who played out her fantasies and delusions on my little psyche from the moment I was born until she died.
In high school, there were more such guides in the form of enlightened teachers and friends. My best friend and lifetime ally, Joan, entered my life in a deeper way and we overtly explored new avenues of spirit life. Two teachers, Dominican nuns, really showed me new paths. Sister Michaelene, the math teacher, gave me two amazing elixirs. She told her classes that evolution and creation were not mutually exclusive and she explained both scientifically and spiritually how they could easily co-exist. That tool enlightens my journey to this day. She also demonstrated to me my teaching gift. I was failing Algebra II and she called me in and said, "Don't tell me you can't learn this stuff. I know you better than that. Here's the thing. I have to have surgery and I'll be gone for three weeks. You're going to teach the class. We're going into negative numbers; go home and catch up and be ready to take my place on Monday." This was a miraculous intervention. What teacher does this? I taught my peers Algebra II for three weeks, everyday. I became a teacher because of her.
The other nun, Sister Amadeus, gave me the gift of creativity. She was my senior English teacher, a young, passionate, rule-breaker, who forced us to write poetry. I remember a poem I wrote for her called "Toast." She showed me how it was a really good poem and made me see that I had the gift.
And then, in college, I met the man I dreamed about last night. He was a priest of great influence and prestige in the Detroit arch-diocese. I had a major crusth on him like every other girl I knew. There was only one difference. He blew up my fantasy crush by actually falling in love with me. For several months, I walked on air. No one had ever loved me, ME, so completely before. He would leave the priesthood, he said. We would marry. I dreamed of dark-haired babies with big eyes. And then, I lost my nerve. The memories of my mother's curses, her belief that I was evil, that I should not have been born rose up and I found myself, quite simply, suddenly and terribly unable to sleep at all and then ill. I began losing weight and eventually I told this amazing man that I would die if I continued the relationship. He knew it was true although neither of us really understood why. I left him. His wisdom and love never left me. He launched me on the next phase of my spiritual quest.
There are moments when we see our life in all its dimensions--its good and evil, its strenth and weakness, its love and hate. This is such a moment. A moment when I know I can hold within me the human condition and still be aware of my spiritual nature. I came into the world trailing those "clouds of glory," as do we all. Now and then, we catch another glimpse of them in later life. They leave us warmed and shaken. With thanks to my friend, Father Tom H. Roxie
We start our journey as spiritual beings in a physical world slightly before we are born. The poet, Wordsworth, suggested that as children we are still "trailing clouds of glory," bearing some memory of another, spiritual origin. My childhood, as did so many childhoods, left me ravaged by loneliness, lack of love, and terror. My child's understanding was that parents were supposed to love their children. I believed for most of my life that my parents did love me; I deduced that what I received from them was love. I lived my life with the understanding that "love" was defined by loneliness and terror.
In my home, there were occasional bright spots that I now think of as sent by a higher good. There was my next door neighbor, a little girl named Terri, with whom I spent every free hour. She gave me the gift of imagination as we played out innumerable myths and fairy tales of our invention in the nearby woods. There was my grandmother who lived with us briefly. She taught me not to take my mother too seriously and that I was an angel. There was Aunt Helen. She taught me to ward off the threats of my brothers by ignoring them. There was Aunt Agnes, whom we affectionately called "Anya," who taught me that I was beautiful and had gifts and talents to give the world. She taught me to appreciate the beauty of nature and she loved me unconditionally. Finally, there was my dad, a workaholic for sure, who loved me as best he could and, over time, confirmed my perception that my mother did not love me. "It's not you," he used to say. "It's her. She can't love." This did help although it also sealed the coffin of my growing understanding that, for some reason, the gods had bequeathed a paranoid depressed mother upon me who played out her fantasies and delusions on my little psyche from the moment I was born until she died.
In high school, there were more such guides in the form of enlightened teachers and friends. My best friend and lifetime ally, Joan, entered my life in a deeper way and we overtly explored new avenues of spirit life. Two teachers, Dominican nuns, really showed me new paths. Sister Michaelene, the math teacher, gave me two amazing elixirs. She told her classes that evolution and creation were not mutually exclusive and she explained both scientifically and spiritually how they could easily co-exist. That tool enlightens my journey to this day. She also demonstrated to me my teaching gift. I was failing Algebra II and she called me in and said, "Don't tell me you can't learn this stuff. I know you better than that. Here's the thing. I have to have surgery and I'll be gone for three weeks. You're going to teach the class. We're going into negative numbers; go home and catch up and be ready to take my place on Monday." This was a miraculous intervention. What teacher does this? I taught my peers Algebra II for three weeks, everyday. I became a teacher because of her.
The other nun, Sister Amadeus, gave me the gift of creativity. She was my senior English teacher, a young, passionate, rule-breaker, who forced us to write poetry. I remember a poem I wrote for her called "Toast." She showed me how it was a really good poem and made me see that I had the gift.
And then, in college, I met the man I dreamed about last night. He was a priest of great influence and prestige in the Detroit arch-diocese. I had a major crusth on him like every other girl I knew. There was only one difference. He blew up my fantasy crush by actually falling in love with me. For several months, I walked on air. No one had ever loved me, ME, so completely before. He would leave the priesthood, he said. We would marry. I dreamed of dark-haired babies with big eyes. And then, I lost my nerve. The memories of my mother's curses, her belief that I was evil, that I should not have been born rose up and I found myself, quite simply, suddenly and terribly unable to sleep at all and then ill. I began losing weight and eventually I told this amazing man that I would die if I continued the relationship. He knew it was true although neither of us really understood why. I left him. His wisdom and love never left me. He launched me on the next phase of my spiritual quest.
There are moments when we see our life in all its dimensions--its good and evil, its strenth and weakness, its love and hate. This is such a moment. A moment when I know I can hold within me the human condition and still be aware of my spiritual nature. I came into the world trailing those "clouds of glory," as do we all. Now and then, we catch another glimpse of them in later life. They leave us warmed and shaken. With thanks to my friend, Father Tom H. Roxie
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