02.21.07
The complications of conversing about conversion.
A few days ago, Salon (a website I read regularly) published an excerpt from Sara Miles’ upcoming memoir, Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion. The account of Miles’ conversion to Christianity made the Letters page explode with surprising vitriol against religion, Christianity, Miles’ version of it, and Miles herself for being so audacious as to write about her own boring self.
My reaction was very different. I recognized much of Miles’ experience in my own:
My next question was not about God or church; it was nakedly about me, and my fears. What would my friends think?
About nine years ago, when I first began to have transcendent experiences, when I first began to believe, it was absolutely thrilling. It was also the most embarrassing and isolating event of my life.
Friends and roommates would question me disdainfully about the row of candles on my dresser, my midnight walks, the incense billowing from under my door, and what was under that tapestry? I would mumble a half-answer and change the subject.
The solitude of that time was painful, but necessary and generative. If I couldn’t take a walk with someone who found magic in every falling snowflake or see the good omen in a bright yellow bird, I found that I would rather walk alone. At the time, I was discouraged to find my best, most reliable companion in myself, but it ended up deepening the entire experience enormously.
I was no longer a nattering girl in her early twenties. I was something very different, something without a name. I was an experiencer. I was a practitioner. I felt others must be experiencing something like this. I felt sure that only if I could spend enough time with one or another of my friends, the eternal galaxy inside her would finally open like a starry lotus flower. This never happened. The conversations went on about boys, french fries, punk rock, Neil Gaiman novels, the best and least expensive kinds of acrylic paint.
There was no fault in my friends. The truth was that I didn’t know how to broach the subject, how to take the conversation to the next level.
Of course, I can do this now with my friends and my clients; the Tarot is a perfect vehicle for discussion. But sometimes, in the larger world, I want to clap my hands and say, “Look! We’re all human beings, connected by blood and breath and spirit! Wake up and stop honking your horn at me!”
I don’t know how to do that yet.
And if I did, maybe I’d be just another proselytizer.
janet said,
February 21, 2007 at 12:51 pm
Amazing!! I was the same way - the regular conversations were of no interest to me and yet I didn’t know how to articulate, nevermind, broach subjects that were more meaningful for me. In fact, I had no exposure to any “transcendent” topics so didn’t really even know why I felt so different from others. Unfortunately, I just shut down and spent many years of my life not talking or connecting much with people. Slowly, I made changes and now I’m the proud owner and user of an altar (my family knows I have it too!!!). I now have friends with whom we talk all the time about nature and spirit and growth and transformation. Such interesting paths we travel…..
Love your website - it is jammed packed full of good stuff. I check in every day to see what’s new!! Thank You!
janet