God and I part 1

Not absolutely sure about how many posts there will be here but have become more and more conscious lately of being pulled back towards God (Spirit, the I am that I am, the Source) and noticed my great reluctance to call Great Spirit ‘God’, probably because of the very negative connotations that that name had acquired for me over the years.

So I felt it a good idea to describe that journey from being a child that loved God to the much older woman that loves God again, with all the stages in between where God and I had a very difficult relationship. I will be the first to admit that it was me having problems with God and unlikely to have been God having problems with me.

As a young child growing up in Holland, the predominant religion in the part where we lived was Protestantism (both Lutheran and Calvinist) with a fair number of Roman Catholics as well. My immediate family (mother, father and siblings) had no particular religious affiliation, which means we were sort of Protestant, and indeed we attended a Lutheran protestant Play-school and primary school. I also attended Sunday school, not sure if that was for my benefit or the benefit of my parents to get a bit of peace on a Sunday afternoon.

I perceived God as a sort of Super-father, probably more interested in my well being than my real life father (who could be said to be of the absent type – he earned the money, we saw him for a few hours before it was bed-time and he was largely occupied with bringing home the bread and butter). Jesus was my friend. I really liked him, he went around healing people, he was nice to animals and children and I loved him. He was my imaginary friend that I used to chat with on and off all day and when I went to sleep at night.

Imagine my horror at the age of five, when we were told that we had in fact killed Jesus and that tomorrow he would be killed again, BECAUSE we had been naughty and he had to be murdered again and again until we stopped being naughty. I clearly remember coming home in tears on the Thursday before Easter, and my mother’s laughter when she heard why I was so upset. Despite assurances that it was all symbolic (which is not something I understood at that age) I remember going to bed that night being 1. very angry with God for allowing us to murder his Son and 2. asking if I could not be the one to be killed instead of Jesus since I had been much more naughty than Jesus could ever be and it seemed only fair. It made me question what this God, who was supposed to be ever-love, could have been thinking of, and I felt that if that was love, I did not really need it. I laid in bed that night with my arms stretched out as far as they would go and imagined being crucified (I think I was a morbid child looking back on it) and decided that any father who could voluntarily allow that to happen to his child, was worse than an absent father who earned the money to buy food for us.

I think that Easter was the first separation I ever felt from God and even from my friend Jesus, because apparently he was in agreement with what God had said had to happen, and so he agreed that I should have been responsible for his killing. I felt a guilt (though I did not really call it that at the time) and largely withdrew from God and Jesus and just started seeing religion as being largely like a history lesson with gruesome examples of cruelty against people and animals being encouraged. A couple of years later I stopped healing with my hands as well, because it seemed like a weird thing to do.

 

 

 

And We Laughed

So yesterday I was feeling great and full of confidence. I had started my website finally and the internet connection had lasted long enough so that if people entered this site there was at least something for them to look at. I had had a very interesting and fruitful day at work on Monday and was full of confidence that this would be repeated again yesterday. The sun was shining, I had had a peaceful and fruitful morning and arrived at work, brimming with the idea of success and love.

And then, out of ‘nowhere’ – it happened. Running around and around in my head were these thoughts, telling me ‘they do not appreciate me’ – ‘life is not fair’ – ‘this place is unfair and dragging me down’ – ‘they change the rules specifically to pick on me’ and on and on and on. In the space of a few minutes my peaceful and loving mood was changed into one of unadulterated rage.

At going home time I stormed out in my most dramatic fashion (and believe me, I can be super dramatic) and got to my car to drive home. As I sat in the car, the seat of my jeans, which are my favourite old pair, finally gave up the ghost and a big hole appeared in them. Clearly my jeans were conspiring with the rest of the universe against me!

Then I drove home and as I entered the house (which I call La Casa de los Abuelos) I suddenly became aware of what was happening. All the way home in the car I had been repeating negative messages to myself and working myself up into a state of anger and an overwhelming sense of the injustice of it all. As I entered La Casa one of the first things I saw was Eckhart Tolle’s book ‘A New Earth’ which I am now reading for the umpteenth time, and I realized that somehow my ‘Pain Body’ had activated itself and that it was feeding on all the drama I myself was creating in my head.

I grabbed the dog, and we went for a walk in the orchard. Some of the palm trees surrounding the orchard had just shed their seed pods, and a lot of these seeds were lying on the driveway squashed by cars. And a little voice in my head said ‘Do you think the trees are in the same rage you are? They have spent all year producing their seeds and now your car has squashed their offspring. They are probably standing there hating you for driving your car over their seeds and not acknowledging how hard they worked and thinking your are conspiring against them’.

I sat down in the orchard, underneath a raging tree and told it my story of the day and it told me that it makes thousands of seeds in case silly people like me drive over some of them, and it makes those seeds simply because It Does and It Is and that it never really knows which one of its seeds will bear fruit and which ones will not, and it cannot be overly preoccupied with it. We sat for a while in companionable silence and when my Pain Body made one last attempt at coming back to go over the whole silly thing again, I looked at the tree and the tree looked at me, and we laughed.