Today was a day of shifting. More than I understand. For it came in the most unsuspected way. And I’m still spinning.
Last night I had the strangest flight. In the late hours the captain’s voice rang on the loudspeaker twenty minutes after we were meant to land, delivering the phrase, “I’m afraid I have bad news.”
I didn’t feel panic, though I generally would be inclined to. Instead I felt a spark of curiosity. How interesting.
He went on to announce that we weren’t allowed to land in Adelaide, instead we were returning to Melbourne, where we would be landing at 12:30am. There had been a miscommunication between airports. He apologized along with a request for grace and patience. Energy heightened, but only a bit. Most of us chuckled.
Not sure whether we were dreaming, a long line of sleepy people stumbled out of the plane and back into the airport we came from. I was struck by how kindly we interacted. We stood in a line that barely moved from 1am to 3am, getting to know our neighbors.
It reminded me of a natural disaster. When I was a teenager, my neighborhood in Brainerd, Minnesota experienced a tornado. None of the houses on my block were damaged, though an F4 swirled over, then touched down a tenth of a mile away. There was a distinct grace period after the storm. One in which the strangers on my street became my neighbors. I became theirs. I got that same feeling in the service line of a dim hallway in the wee small hours this morning.
Then I got a luxury stay in a city I’ve always wanted to visit. Melbourne.
I went walking. It was cool and breezy, and the streets were full of cultural festivals. A man stopped me on the street to ask if I was willing to talk to him. I was, though I felt a bit of caution. I opted to stay standing while he invited me sit on the bench.
He offered me a beer, which I turned down. He nodded. Then told me he felt ‘lost in the bottle.’
“Are you a Christian?” His eyes were wide as he asked.
I shook my head. “I’m spiritual, but I don’t like to call it God.”
He nodded. Then told me the reason he feels like he can’t cope and has to drink.
I thanked him for sharing and listened as he talked about what helps. Which was going to groups. He paused for a minute, then his face changed a bit. “Carry on, now,” he said. “I’m done talking.”
I got a bit nervous as I quickly stepped away. But soon felt good. Not sitting, not drinking a beer, and not getting caught up in taking things personally all seemed like a step in the direction I belong to most.
I am shifting. I put my hand on my heart and took a deep breath. As I looked up, I saw the gothic spires of a stunning cathedral, St Paul’s. A giant banner hung from the top: The Voice Calls From the Heart. We Say Yes.
With my hand still on my heart I walked toward the front door. A combination of cautious, surprised with myself, and yet committed. This is strange turf for me. I’ve been in incredible churches in my lifetime and I’ve been uncomfortable with organized religion. When I toured Italy as a teenager, I detached from the spirituality and appreciated the architecture. Though, my first out-of-body experience happened while I sang with my high school choir in Venice. In a beautiful church while singing a song called Sicut Cervus, I felt like I was floating in the rafters looking down on my physical self. I was 17 then. 20 years later, I walked into the same feeling and deeply listened to myself.
The first thing I came across was this.
I couldn’t hold back the tears as I read it. I still can’t. I took this in, said thank you, and walked on. Grateful and touched and yet still a little scared.
I have always felt uncomfortable in the Catholic Church. Since I was a little girl. Sitting in pews felt like I was being punished and I really didn’t like that women were not allowed to be priestesses. I felt like I wasn’t allowed to have a voice.
At this point in my life…I pretty much identify as a voice.
How then, do I walk deeper In?
Then I read this…
I cried a whole bunch more. Sat down in a pew willingly for the first time in my life. And prayed.
I’m ready to forgive.
Dick Lourie and Sherman Alexie
How do we forgive our Fathers?
Maybe in a dream
Do we forgive our Fathers for leaving us too often or forever
when we were little?
Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage
or making us nervous
because there never seemed to be any rage there at all.
Do we forgive our Fathers for marrying or not marrying our Mothers?
For Divorcing or not divorcing our Mothers?
And shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth or coldness?
Shall we forgive them for pushing or leaning
for shutting doors
for speaking through walls
or never speaking
or never being silent?
Do we forgive our Fathers in our age or in theirs
or their deaths
saying it to them or not saying it?
If we forgive our Fathers what is left?
Wow wow wow WOW! Love this one soo much!