Very belated Friday Five: Surprised by Joy

From RevGalBlogPals, which I, err, seem to have joined.

Jesus said to them, "Children, you have no fish, have you?" They answered him, "No." He said to them, "Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some." So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, "It is the Lord!" When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the sea. (John 21:5-7)

Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning. (Psalm 30:5b)

This week I've been watching parents of the young people slain at Virgina Tech trying to make meaning out of the lives of their lost children, and each one seems to begin by focusing on something joyful about that child. It's a gift that most humans have brains wired to respond in that way. For some of us it can be harder to work our way out of dark places, but I believe joy remains the key. It is the spirit of resurrection.

Tell us about five people, places, or things that have brought surprising, healing joy into your life.

This is a particularly appropriate day for me to finally get round to this post. Half of yesterday and all of today I've been buried under a crushing 'cannot do anything' depression; I have the feeling that it's a crash from the up-and-down emotions of the weekend. Not surprising on reflection but I wish I'd realized it might happen.

I've been forcing myself into a semblance of usefulness anyway. I'm at work, and have done most of the things the boss wanted me to get done today (saving a bit of pricing, as I can't find the bloody pricing gun). I did a logo for my mom earlier, and a bit of jobhunting. So not a day entirely wasted, though at times it feels like I'm dragging myself through molasses to move; at times I have to remind myself to breathe.

So why joy, on a day which doesn't hold much joy for me? Because I need the reminder. It's good for me to think about what is good, at this moment when it feels like there is so very much that's not good. So herewith my five.

1) Shanti, who came into my life entirely unexpectedly. Back when I worked in Boulder, Tim and I were outside taking a smoke break (well, he was smoking, I wasn't) and saw, trotting across the field, a beautiful long-haired black cat. I made pss-pss-pss noises (I am rather a sucker when it comes to cats) and she ran over, crying, and began to rub furiously against my legs. I bent to pet her, and found that she was skinny, and her fur was terribly matted down her sides.

Needless to say, I now have a lovely, long-haired, spoiled, well-fed, frequently-brushed black cat. She walks between me and the monitor, and then lays down on my wrist rest so that I simply cannot type. She's nearly shredded her way through one of the two window screens in my bedroom. She's escaped upwards of fifteen times, never longer than ten minutes at a time since she usually runs a little way and then lays down. She's not a lap cat, won't lay down on top of me or on my pillow when I'm in bed, but consistently lays curled up next to my pillow. She goes for walks with me, on a leash, and if I'm not going to the apartment office anyway she'll drag me there so the apartment ladies pay attention to her. She poings. She zooms. She tries to chase birds, dragging me clumsy and loud along behind her, and I always scare them off. And then she'll come back to me and rub against my legs just to let me know she loves me anyway.

2) The people I've met, mostly here at blogspot and more generally through my blogs here. Hedwyg and her daily gratitude posts, reminding me that there's still joy to be had. Plain Foolish who brought me here in the first place and never fails to make me think. Wulfila for reminding me that you can be Christian and something else at the same time, and make it work. Brian and his inspiring, and fascinating, quest for equality and understanding. Mother Laura for constant encouragement and the occasional well-placed provocation. And so, so many others; check my blogroll, and I know I'm missing people who should be in that list, too.

3) Ray. I knew what I was going to get from Tim when I moved out here, more or less. We'd known each other for years, after all; talked online incessantly, met for brief, intense and all-too-rare flings a few times a year. Ray and I? Had met once, talked on the phone a few times. Only knew each other through Tim. I had very little idea what to expect and I don't think he did either. And we drive each other nuts, we've had our snippy moments, days of avoiding each other, total lacks of understanding. And we've also had moments of encouraging each other to keep moving, days when each dragged the other out of the house for a bike ride or to go work in the garden. Shared laughter and sometimes tears, worked on dinner together. Joined forces in jollying Tim out of a bad mood. Walked the dog, and chased Shanti across the parking lot. (Repeatedly; Ray no longer walks into my apartment without crouching down to catch the cat). It's been a lot of frustration, some heartache, but mostly? A lot of fun.

4) All the many, many things I can do on my own. Go grocery shopping and plan meals. Make a budget and stick to it (more or less). Make the money to pay the bills. Decorate an apartment, and keep it clean and livable, and change things around when I like, or when it makes sense to. Get to work on time and work until the work is done. Get car insurance, investigate health insurance, do my own taxes. Get my own apartment in my own name after discovering that my credit score was not only not craptastic, but actually really, really good. Keep that credit score good.

All really basic simple life stuff, right? And stuff I hadn't done on my own before, much of it stuff that scared me white at the thought of doing it by myself. Nobody else to do it for me, though, and so I'm doing it, pushing myself out of the house to get things done at times, but doing it and getting it done.

5) Faith. I'm still not entirely sure what I believe in, or at least all of what I believe in, but I've come to realize that yes, there are things I believe in, and that still comes as a total shock to me, miss skeptic, miss unbeliever, miss Created Without Faith. But I believe that both Ganesha and St. Michael are keeping an eye on me; I believe that there's a Something out there behind them, there's a light beyond the darkness. How it expresses itself in my life is still up for debate (a lot) but that? Is okay.

And the mental repetition of 'I only ever wanted to come inside' has been replaced by 'Domine, non sum dignus' with the occasional reply of 'neither's anyone else; your point?'. I keep wanting to look over my shoulder to see who They're talking to, but Tim rolled his eyes at me, so.

The weekend, and a lot of babbling.

When we left our hero, she was about to go find a local church, therein to kneel and pray and in general try to come to terms with my baptism and confirmation. With my belief, or lack of same, or unsureness about it, or...whatever state I'm in, which I'm not sure about. To pray for what I need to become who I need to be.

What I hadn't considered was the difficulty of finding an open church at seven on a Saturday evening. Apparently they lock the things these days, which I have to admit surprised me, though it shouldn't. People are as likely to steal things out of a church as anywhere else, after all.

I tried the one closest to work, and then another down the street; both were locked up tight. So I sat down on the back porch of the second one, where if I leaned up I could look in the window and at least see the altar, and got started.

The prayer was for transformation -- Let us look within ourselves to see that which needs to be transformed so that we may become the people God has called us to be, and fitted to perform the work He has called us to do. I hadn't thought at all, ahead of time, about what that might be; and as I finished the prayer and started to think, the thing that came to my mind was 'faith'. I need faith, and that's what I prayed for.

And wound up, to my total surprise, sobbing. Bawling my eyes out. I don't cry too much, see, as I mentioned recently. So, yeah, erm. What?

And what kept going through my mind was 'I wanted to go inside, but the door was locked.'. The door was locked. I wound up kneeling in front of the back door of the church, crying, and repeating 'I only ever wanted to come inside, I only ever wanted to come inside'.

This is the point where, if this were a Chicken Soup story or something in Reader's Digest, there would have been a click, and when I tried it again, the door was mysteriously unlocked; or the kindly minister came up, held me while I cried, and unlocked the door for me. This is real life, so none of that happened (and I did try the door again, just in case). What happened was I cried for a while, and then stopped, wiped my eyes, and said okay, this is what I have, now let's see what I can do with it.

I prayed the closing prayer and went back to the car. Blew my nose a couple times, called Tim to let him know I was on my way and he could start the pasta. He asked if I could pick up wine to go with dinner; I told him I had some at my place already, and that I'd grab it before I came over. I'd kept my voice level up until then, and the crying had mostly retreated, but I almost burst into tears again -- at the image, fleeting but powerful, of my hands, pouring wine.

By the time came to actually pour wine I was fine and the whole thing was retreating into fuzzy memory. Dinner and wine helps with that sort of thing, too. I didn't get a chance to tell Tim about it that night, so I locked it all away and figured I'd just see what happened at church the next morning.

--

Got not-quite-enough sleep, decided to eat breakfast because it was going to be late by the time I got out of church and I didn't plan to go up for communion anyway. Changed what I was going to wear five times, settled on a simple black linen skirt and a light blue sweater. Got the directions and drove.

The congregation shares the building with the local Lutheran church, who has their services at ten-thirty. Usually there's a pretty good gap between the two, but the Lutheran congregation had two baptisms that day and ran late. So I milled around with people heading out and people heading in, confused and feeling very out of place, quietly hoping someone would come up and say something to me. Eventually someone did -- an older woman, part of the Lutheran congregation, who asked me if I was with Light of Christ and apologized for their service taking so long. I hesitated a bit before I answered her question. I don't know if I'm with Light of Christ yet, but simpler to say 'yes, I am' than to launch into explanations. And besides which, I had an image of Peter denying Jesus three times and not wanting to do the same.

Odd...

Mass was...I don't know. I guess I want a little more joy in my worship. There was music, a two-member choir, a few members of the congregation who specifically spread out around the room to support the (rather quiet) singing. But it was still quiet, the choir looking more businesslike than joyous, the lady who read the lessons solemn. Perhaps it's just that they're small. Maybe they got thrown off by the other congregation running late. I don't know.

The gospel reading was strong, and I liked the sermon. And then communion. I like how they do it; everyone goes up front and makes a circle around the priest while he does his thing (sorry, tired and not remembering of proper words). One of the ladies who greeted me waved me up, but didn't push when I shook my head a little. I appreciate both. I did wish that I felt as if I could, but...I didn't feel that way. I wanted to go up. I just didn't feel right doing so.

After Mass I asked to talk to the priest when he had a moment. He said yes, of course, cos that's his job; on the way to his office we talked a little about light stuff, where do I live, he's moving up here soon with his family, they'll be moving close to me...

And when we got to his office, I didn't know how to say what I wanted to say. I finally stumbled through it all, the baptism and confirmation, the fact that I didn't believe but said I did anyway, that that I didn't feel right coming up for communion because of it. That I wasn't sure that they counted.

He talked about the Sacraments, told me that for all we try to understand them, they're a mystery, we can't entirely understand how God works. Did they count? Only God knows, but it was his belief that surely they must. He told me about his confirmation, that the only reason he did it was so he could stop going to CCD. I chuckled a bit; sometime later, I'm sure, I'll ask him how he came to the priesthood.

He said that of course I'd've been welcome at communion, and I reassured him that I didn't feel that anyone there would have kept me from it -- it was something internal to me, something I had to deal with before I felt like I could receive. Something I had to make right, and I wasn't sure how.

He smiled at me. "I don't know how this will work for you," he said, "and I don't mean to push, but I think you just did."

I thought about that one for a while. And, you know? I think he's right. Confession is a powerful thing if done right, and though this wasn't a formal confession (I don't even know if the ECC does them) I think it helped me a lot.

So...that was that. No huge revelations, but I did leave with a good feeling about things.

--

Gardening that afternoon, and then dinner, and finally got to telling Tim about it all pretty late Sunday night. Told him about 'I wanted to go inside, but the door was locked' and 'I only ever wanted to come inside' and my hands, pouring wine. Told him about mass and how I might change things there if I could. About talking to the priest. And the whole time he has this little smile on his face.

Told him about the dream I had a few weeks ago and blamed on Mother Laura, in which I got ordained. Still that little smile. Musing, now -- about belief, about faith. He tells me that Ray's nervous about my whole turn towards religion, worried he'll say something wrong and offend me. That Tim's not so worried about Ray offending me as he is that the Awakening that Ray had planned for my Mage character might just mess with my head, given my fairly fragile mental state when it comes to religion.

I'll skip the details cos I don't figure most of you do any roleplaying and simply say that what Ray had planned for my character was something involving archangels. I chuckled and told Tim, hey, I might not be entirely sure about this whole God and Jesus thing quite yet, but I know where I stand with Michael. I'm good with the archangels; no danger there. He chuckled and said, yeah. That's because you have faith.

I think I blushed; I know I threatened to whack him on the head. But whatever; I guess he's right though I certainly never expected anything like faith to appear in my life. More musings; I told him about Mother Laura confessing to me in comments on another post, and my discomfort with that -- not with her telling me about a thing she felt she'd done wrong, just with the format of it. I can't hear confession, I'm not... but I'd always been good at counseling people, a good listener; it's always been one of the things I do. Never felt any urge to go into social work or become a psychologist or anything much like, though, and what else is there to do for someone who's a listener at heart?

Still smiling. Verging on a smirk.

What do you think, I asked him (and I blush to even type it here; it seems so presumptuous), this is leading to? I dream of ordination, of pouring wine; am I heading towards...I couldn't say it then, I can't type it now. It just feels so improbable...

Pretty much, he said, he's been waiting a few years for me to figure it out.

I really did almost hit him that time.

Right now? Really have no idea where, if anywhere, this is going. It might fade in a couple weeks, never to be thought of again (though Tim expressed his opinion on the likelihood of that). I figure I'll find out as I go, and I'm okay with that. I'm...serene, heading into the unknown. It's been a long, long time since I've felt that way. It's gonna be a good journey.

Transformation

Tonight my dear friends in the Order of St. Michael at the Order's annual Retreat will be doing a ritual of Christian Transformation. Though I can't make it to West Chester to be with them, I'm planning on attending in spirit.

I've come a long, long way since the baptism and confirmation I was stuck with. I didn't agree with them, then, but didn't see a way out -- but I've gone through that elsewhere and don't need to rehash it yet again. I'm guessing that my repetition of the whole thing is a bit of guilt over the lie of it; tonight I'm hoping to inch closer to making it the truth.

Because I don't feel right taking communion while that lie is still on me. And the only way to change that is to make it the truth. And that's going to be a long and slow process; but tonight, I think, will help.

So will tomorrow. Mother Laura found me a local Ecumenical Catholic Church which looks very welcoming and has services late enough on Sunday morning that I might actually be not only conscious, but actually dressed. And I'm going to go. I emailed their outreach lady, so now I can't wuss out. Again. Like I've been.

I'm nervous as anything. You'd think I'd got a date with the hottest guy on the football team. "The level of 'OMG what if I say the wrong thing and he hates me forever' is, uh, pretty high.

Because yeah, I'm going to church. And I could dress conservatively and go up for communion and not say much of anything, and nobody's notice a thing. But I'm not (well, I am going to dress conservatively, but). I'm going to ask, after the service, if people aren't too busy, to talk to the priest and see if I'm really welcome there. Yep, bisexual. Polyamorous. Currently, in fact, in a relationship with two men. Interested in Hindu spirituality and not planning to change that (in fact, my next move after this will be to find the local Hindu temple and make a similar exploratory trip). And then I'll see what he says.

It's about seven; about nine Eastern. Time for me to go, and see about that transformation.

Okay, shooshing now.

Lyons, Colorado is the kind of little town where on any given day there's a fair chance you'll be able to stand in the middle of Main Street for upwards of several minutes without worrying about a car coming past any time soon. Which is exactly what I just got back from doing, because bang over Main Street, perfectly circling the little church a block away, was a rainbow.

Those worries in my last post? Less worrying now. Because if I don't take this hint, then next one will likely involve a brick to the forehead.

Desirous of communion

A nice little quote from Quaker Pagan Reflections:

I'm trying to remember in whose blog I read, recently, about a woman who found herself crying in meeting when worship gets deep for her, and I was so glad to read it. She wrote, too, that she wishes she didn't--she said she chooses to sit in the balcony in her meeting so as to be as unobtrusive as possible, and the tears that come make her feel painfully visible. It was freeing to read this, because I feel that way, too. Not always, but often enough I also find tears running down my face. (They were during Beethoven's 9th today, for sure.) And I always feel awkward about it, as if it is some kind of boast of specialness, or posturing for attention.

It occurred to me that it's been a long, long time since I've felt comfortable enough in my skin to allow that kind of reaction to something emotionally powerful. I can't blame it entirely on Lewis, either, though it certainly got worse during that time; it started before I was with him. In fact, I'm not entirely sure when it started.

It's starting to ease, though. Little by little, bit by bit, as I heal. I cried like a little girl over a lovely compliment someone gave me recently, and I can tear up a bit at the sun over the mountains, or a touch of welcome rain, or snugglings from my kitten.

I'd like to get to the point where I can feel that in worship. I don't know if it's possible; Christian or pagan, worship services have generally elicited more eye-rolling than eye-tearing in me. The pagan ones, especially, always felt ... silly, I suppose, though that's not entirely the right word. And I've enough bad history with Christianity (or, at least, people who call themselves Christian) that it's hard to feel comfortable at a Christian service.

At the same time I find myself wanting the Eucharist very, very badly. Is it tacky to say 'I want it so bad I can taste it'? I remember the taste and the feel, the crisp little bit of not-much that took just long enough to melt away that I always chewed, and then wondered if I was supposed to or if I was breaking some obscure point of canon law. But it never felt, never tasted, like communion, like the body and blood of a God made man who gave his life for all of us (which concept I am only now beginning to really understand thanks to some dear friends of mine). It only ever tasted like thin, stale bread, unfilling and unsatisfying.

I want more than that. I wanted more than that, even then, and the lack of it was a lot of why I drifted away from the church. There were plenty of other reasons, mind you; reasons I've mostly worked through in the years since then. But this one? I don't know if it'll change. I want it to, badly.

And it's not that my church experiences have all been without meaning. Christmas Eve services at the church I grew up in were always lovely -- the candles, the singing, all of the energy focused on the return of the light -- I found them very moving. Even in my least-Christian phases I always enjoyed Christmas, and not just because of the presents. The birth of the Son, the rebirth of the Sun, however you wish to put it; it meant, and means, a lot to me. Maybe that experience will help.

I keep not actually going to church, though. I was telling myself it was because I'm usually up late on Saturday night (it's the only day none of the three of us has to get up, so we tend to stay up late the night before) but honestly? I think I'm nervous. Partly that I won't be accepted; I was baptized and confirmed, yes, but I've rather fallen apostate since then and frankly, neither baptism or confirmation meant anything to me. I only went through the motions because my mother wanted me to. Partly, though, it's worry that the experience won't be what I so desperately want it to be, that it'll again be dry, tasteless, unfilling.

I've told the tale before, in my Livejournal: how I wanted to believe, and couldn't find it in myself to do so. It's my Letter of Intent for joining the Order of St. Michael, and I'd locked it so that Lewis couldn't read it. He's got issues with Christianity, it seems, and despite the fact that he's got plenty of friends in the Order, he 'preferred' that I didn't join, because somehow the good people he knew individually became Bad when gathered together as a group of (mostly) Christians. I joined without telling him (his 'prefer' is more 'I will blame the next six months' worth of problems on you not listening to my wishes on this if you join') and only now had the nerve to unlock the thing.

So now? Kinda nervous. What if it doesn't do anything for me...again? What's left to me?

O God come to my assistance; O Lord make haste to help me.

I'm just not used to asking for help, I guess.

For the last year and some I've been involved in a lay order of (mostly) Christians, exploring that aspect of spirituality. Most of what the mailing list winds up being is prayer requests, and I'm careful to always take a moment to honour each request. I'm not entirely comfortable with the how of this yet, so I just think about each request for a bit, and hope that something good will happen. But despite the many upheavals I've gone through in the last year, it took almost running out of money (and a couple of well-meaning whacks upside the head from dear friends of mine) before I got around to asking for help for myself.

It's not (I hope) that I'm too proud to ask for help. I just tend to think that my problems aren't big enough, or that even if they are I haven't done enough to solve them on my own to be asking anyone else to put effort into it. So I don't ask.

I ran across the following prayer today, while reading an occult-related novel which some of you may be familiar with: "O God come to my assistance; O Lord make haste to help me." It's from Psalm 70:1, and it's presented as "an impregnable wall for all those struggling against the onslaught of demons, an impenetrable breastplate and the sturdiest of shields." I'm always interested in that sort of thing, have been for years, so I did a little bit of digging around to find out more.

I came upon an article advocating use of the psalm under any circumstance -- indeed, all the time, as a form of centering prayer. Use it when you're worried about finances, when you're sick or distracted, when you're tempted to do the wrong thing. Use it when you just got a raise, when you're watching a beautiful sunset, eating a lovely meal. Use it at all times.

And I just have a hard time with that. Not with the concept of thinking about God/dess at all times; I'm down with that. Where I find I have issue is with the thought of asking for help. "O God come to my assistance; O Lord make haste to help me." That's a request for help in my book, and yeah, I'm going through some tough times, but I'll make it more-or-less on my own; it's certainly not bad enough that I need to go bugging anyone to help me out.

I went looking for the whole of Psalm 70, in the hopes that it would put things in perspective for me:

Hasten, O God, to save me;
O LORD, come quickly to help me.
May those who seek my life
be put to shame and confusion;
may all who desire my ruin
be turned back in disgrace.

May those who say to me, "Aha! Aha!"
turn back because of their shame.

But may all who seek you
rejoice and be glad in you;
may those who love your salvation always say,
"Let God be exalted!"

Yet I am poor and needy;
come quickly to me, O God.
You are my help and my deliverer;
O LORD, do not delay.

Still asking for help, as I read it. But also praising God/dess: "May all who seek you rejoice and be glad in you". I can seek, I can rejoice, I can praise. But asking for help? I don't want to be a bother.

I don't know how to resolve this one.

Seeking for the way, or at least one of them

Been thinking spirituality a lot lately. Trying to find something that fits me. It's been difficult; more selecting the one right thing, honestly, than finding something that suits me. A lot of things seem to suit me.

Came across this lovely set of guidelines, though. Posted by Real Life Preacher, pointed out to me by the lovely Hedwyg, they really make sense:

Listen, I'm just a guy with a bad haircut from a small church you've never heard of, but I hope you'll listen to me for a moment because I have something important to say. When it comes to God, religion, spirituality, whatever you want to call it, ignore just about everything you see on television or in movies. If you are serious about making a spiritual connection with a power greater than ourselves, try the following suggestions:

Let go of big things and embrace little things.

Ignore loud things and listen for quiet things.

Put aside obvious things and seek out hidden things.

Forget easy things and learn hard and ancient things.

Stop saving your life and start losing it.

Let your thinking and believing become doing and serving.

Quit trying to arrive and become at home on the journey.

Lose your road maps and find a wise guide to walk with you.

Love the idea of God with all your heart, soul, mind, body, life, work, and strength. And while you're at it, try loving other people as much as you love yourself. You won't be able to do either of these, but trying will be very good for you.

Do these things all of your days and forever. Do these things and live.

Regardless of what path I wind up deciding to follow -- or paths, for that matter -- they all seem to embrace the same general set of guidelines. So perhaps in a way it doesn't matter, as long as I'm doing the good thing.

What's the good thing? The basic rule I've tried for years to follow is don't hurt people any more than you can manage. It's a good start, but I've realized that it needs a corollary: help as you can. From helping the neighbor catch her dog to sending food and clothing to people in some faraway place who need it, it's what I do anyway, and it's the good thing to do.

Yes, it's pretty much Wicca's An ye harm none, do what ye will; it's also Christianity's And as you wish that men would do to you, do so to them (Luke 6:31 RSV) and the Hindu This is the sum of duty; do naught unto others which if done to thee would cause thee pain (Mahabharata 5:15:17 c. 500 BCE). It's the Golden Rule, the Ethic of Reciprocity.

So it's a matter of which expression of this is the right one for me. And honestly if I keep on the way I have been, I could be flailing about this for the rest of my life.

I intended to go to church (the local Episcopal church, specifically, as I haven't found an Independant Catholic church in the area) but entirely failed to get up until well after it was over. I'll try to go tomorrow, and with luck that'll work better since I won't have lost an hour overnight. It's been a long time since I've seriously considered Christianity but I have Hedwyg and Mother Laura, among others, to thank for it. Mother Laura's lovely inclusive liturgy, especially, has helped me reconcile my childhood view of an unloving, authoritarian and, eventually, irrelevant God with a God/dess who loves me and takes care of me. Some of Mother Laura's work:

http://juniasdaughter.blogspot.com/2007/02/sicut-cervus.html

http://juniasdaughter.blogspot.com/2007/02/i-will-go-to-altar-of-goddess.html

And a piece on Mary as priest:

http://juniasdaughter.blogspot.com/2007/02/our-lady-priest.html

Somehow the simple concept that the Christian God might just be a Goddess as well makes things a lot simpler for me.

I've also been looking at Hinduism, with thanks to and help from Devichan. Lord Ganesh, remover (and occasional creator) of obstacles, gateway to the rest of the Hindu pantheon. 'No one shall come to Shiva and Parvati save through me'? Just gets me thinking...and I rather like the thought of a portly, sweets-loving, cheerful deity, the personification of Om, whose chosen mount is a mouse. Got a sense of humour, that one. And a temper, but it doesn't seem to ever last long.

I have a pretty bowl I picked up a while ago, and since I can't draw worth anything much I drew an Om on a sticky note instead of trying to draw Ganesh, and I stuck the sticky note to the bowl, and I've been putting candy in it for Ganesh. I know he likes the stuff. And I've been chanting one of his chants, when I have the attention span. I'm going to look up the local Hindu temple and see how they'd feel about me stoppping by; I can't imagine they'd object.

I self-identify as 'pagan' in the little blurb at the top of this journal; I'm less and less sure it fits me, though. I suppose I could try to find a local circle or at least a couple of folks who play the same way. Or I could hang out with Tim, which I do some anyway, but these days it seems like if we talk about religion, it's Christianity. We'll see.

In any case, the journey's going to be interesting no matter where (or if) I wind up. And no matter where (or if) that is, I think it's gonna be okay as long as I keep doing the good thing.