Religion vs. Spirituality

July 25, 2024 / Lisa / 11 Comments

There was a period in my life when I wanted badly to be religious. I attended church with friends. I attended a Bible study class. I tried writing religious articles for a local newspaper, which got good feedback but left me feeling like a fake. I read up on different denominations and different religions looking for the right one.

When I was little, Auntie, who was more like a grandmother, took us to church. If we were good, we got to sit in the chapel with her instead of going to the children’s classes. I worked hard at being quiet and sitting still so I could be in the grown-up chapel. I loved the smell there, of wood polish and musty books. I loved the songs where everyone knew the words. I loved the sermons, but more the sound of them, the cadence, than because of any understanding of the words. And of course, I loved dressing up and the grown-up clacking sound my shoes made on stone.

When I was a young adult, going to church with friends, I loved the Presbyterian church with its stained glass and simple pews, and it appealed to me because of my Scottish ancestry. I loved the simplicity as much as I loved attending a traditional Catholic mass. I learned that what I loved wasn’t religion but ritual.

But in spite of loving all those aspects, nothing resonated with me, no matter how much I tried. And then, during a Bible study, the teacher read the following verse from Isaiah 55:12. ‘…the mountains and the hills shall break forth into singing before you and the trees of the field shall clap their hands’.

The sudden image of mountains singing and trees clapping their hands resonated. I could just feel the joy in the earth from those words.

My sister introduced me to poetry and Kahlil Gibran’s words ‘And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair’. There, again, words gave me a sense of kinship with the world around me.

Yet I thought I had failed because what I felt couldn’t be religion. I still don’t feel religious. Plus I’m too analytical/skeptical. It’s weird to try and reconcile skepticism with belief.

There’s a difference between religion and spirituality though. One is defined as a specific set of organized beliefs and practices and one is defined as not having those specific organized beliefs. And who knew? There’s even an acronym. SBNR. Spiritual But Not Religious. While I’m not sure that’s me, either, it seems a little closer. Maybe. On the days I can quiet my skeptical thoughts.

I’m proud of my friends who believe with passion and who live their lives according to those beliefs. I love that the practice of religion gives them peace. But I don’t aspire to be that anymore, and I no longer feel like I’ve failed some far-distant male God by not believing, or that I’ve let down my friends.

What I do aspire to is that some day, when I am out in the woods, with my feet on loamy soil and wind in my hair and rain on my face, I will hear the mountains singing and the trees clapping their hands in joy. I will feel the ancient energy of stones and see dreams in clouds and feel the heartbeat of earth under my feet.

That will be my religion and my spirituality.

Hypnopompic Hallucinations

February 19, 2024 / Lisa / Leave a comment

I dreamt that my son, who just turned 28, was still a toddler. It was a simple dream – he had climbed up in my lap and fallen asleep with his head on my shoulder. For those of you with kids, do you remember how the little one fit you so well? How they just molded and melted into you? That hot little body sleeping so heavily against you? It was a sweet dream.

But then I clearly heard him, in his adult voice, say loudly and firmly, ‘mom!’ and it woke me up.

This happens often to me, either in the middle of the night or right before waking. I’ll hear my husband clearly say my name. Or sometimes it’s one of my sisters, including the one sister who has passed away.

I then have a hard time getting back to sleep because my imagination kicks in. Was my son just in an accident and called out to me? I have to turn the volume up on my phone just in case. Is my husband having a medical emergency? I hate it when I hear his voice and he’s not in the bed next to me. I have to go look for him. Is something wrong with a sister? One sister stays up late most nights so I can text her and make sure she’s okay. That one, in particular, makes me nervous when I hear her because she and I have shared dreams in the past.

This time I decided to go to the internet.

Hypnopompic hallucinations happen as a person is waking up, between the stages of sleep and fully awake. It happens in about 12% of people.

Hypnagogic hallucinations happen as a person is falling asleep, and happen in about 37% of people.

In both things, people will hear, see, or feel things that are not actually there. It can happen alone, or with sleep paralysis. It differs from mental illnesses because the person is aware that it isn’t real. It differs from nightmares which occur during REM sleep because it’s typically vivid, short, and straightforward, and has no storyline. Of course, if this happens along with other symptoms, such as when fully awake, or with narcolepsy, then obviously you should see a doctor.

While it’s not uncommon, has a medical name, and is straightforward, still, no one knows exactly what causes it.

The name doesn’t make it any less unsettling though, when you hear your son call you in the middle of the night, clearly and vividly, and as if he’s standing right next to you.

One time I even heard our old dog Arwen, singing her happy song that she reserved for when her favorite people came to visit. I reached out for her as I woke, fully expecting her to be next to me on the bed.

*Caught in the act – stealing and eating radishes*

Will having a scientific name for this along with a description make a difference the next time it happens? Definitely not. I’m still going to text my sister. I’m still going to get up to see where my husband is. Because after all, they still don’t know what causes it.

Why take the chance?

How Old Are You?

January 25, 2024 / Lisa / 3 Comments

We have new neighbors with young children. Their son asked me the other day how old I was. His parents, mortified, tried unsuccessfully to interrupt him. When I told him, he said ‘Wow! That’s really old!’. His parents were even more mortified. I thought it was funny.

Recently, my great-nephew was asked if he knew who his oldest relative was, and he said me. When asked how old he thought I was, he said 100. I thought it was funny.

*That little cutie with the red shirt. Right there. Thinks I’m 100.*

Then I started thinking about age. I’ve mentioned this before, but I remember when I was about nine, the teacher telling us we would be twenty-one when Haley’s comet flew by. I still remember thinking I’d never be that old. One of my sisters just reminded me of the Beatle’s song ‘will you still need me, will you still feed me when I’m sixty-four’. I’d never be that old. Except, as of yesterday, that’s exactly how old I am. I still think that’s funny.

*The sister who reminded me of the Beatle’s. On a hike that is still one of my best memories.*

Do you remember the stages of aging?

There was the milestone of becoming double digits. Of turning sweet sixteen. Old enough to drive. Graduating from high school. Turning twenty-one (and Haley’s comet flying by). It seems like after twenty-one, the milestones changed and possibly became less important. Then it was turning thirty. Then forty. And, my god, turning FIFTY!

I wonder when a specific age changed from something that seemed like a huge milestone, a step to adulthood, a major shift in life, to something less important. I’m also trying to remember those early, big milestones.

*First campout with his environmental science class.*

Sixteen was embarrassing. Everyone asking if I’d never been kissed or never been missed. How are you supposed to answer that? Did you really want to admit to either? Were you supposed to be proud or ashamed?

Twenty-one has good memories. The Scottish dance group I was involved with held a party and gave me a giant cardboard key. It was a tradition that a young woman received the key to the house at that age. My parents took me to an expensive restaurant which was a very rare event in our household. I remember feeling like a threshold had been crossed into adulthood. My brother was more thrilled because I was legal age to buy beer. Somewhere along that path I realized adulthood was still on the horizon.

*The big threshold of turning ten days old.*

Thirty was a huge milestone. Actually, to be more accurate, twenty-eight. That’s when I moved to the mountains and realized I’d always been meant to live in the woods. The thirties was when I found where I was meant to be, met the man who would marry me, had a child, came out of the closet about writing.

Thinking about this though, makes me wonder when we lose that sense of excitement. That next goal, next horizon to look forward to, next marker in the stage of life to reach for. What age were you when birthdays changed from milestones that marked looking forward to milestones that marked looking backward?

I’m still looking forward. I laugh when people hear how old I am and tell me I don’t look that old. I laugh when little kids stare at me in awe because their great aunt is ancient. Do I have an age to look forward to now? I wouldn’t say I’m looking forward to a specific age because I don’t really pay attention normally to dates.

But hey! Senior discounts!