Book Of Mormon Stories

I used to write about my deconversion from Mormonism a lot more than I do now — I guess I don't really think about it much anymore. But something that Bill Shunn tweeted earlier this week caught my attention and triggered a memory from years ago, in the days when my deconversion was still fresh and new.

I spent quite a while online this evening, searching for the particular video clip from the Animated Stories of the Book of Mormon™ that I blogged about back in July of 2004, but it doesn't seem to be posted anywhere.

Still, even without the accompanying video clip to illustrate, I wanted to repost this excerpt from the recesses of my blog:

- - - - - - - - - -

A couple years ago, I actually picked up Volume I of the Book of Mormon Stories VHS set at Goodwill. I made Aaron watch it, too—actually, he was kind of curious. And he was flabbergasted when the climax of the story came about, too. To capitulate: Nephi and his dad and brothers are about to split Jerusalem, but they have to get the record of their family (inscribed on a set of brass plates) from this evil dude named Laban, who owns them. So, Nephi is scared shitless, but he knows he has to come up with something. And, lucky Nephi—when he walks up to Laban's house, guess who is shitfaced drunk? Yup. Now, in the words of 1 Nephi, Chapter 4:

10. And it came to pass that I was constrained by the Spirit that I should kill Laban; but I said in my heart: Never at any time have I shed the blood of man. And I shrunk and would that I might not slay him.

11. And the Spirit said unto me again: Behold the Lord hath delivered him into thy hands. Yea, and I also knew that he had sought to take away mine own life; yea, and he would not hearken unto the commandments of the Lord; and he also had taken away our property.

...

18. Therefore I did obey the voice of the Spirit, and took Laban by the hair of the head, and I smote off his head with his own sword.

At which point Aaron says, "What?!" Having assumed, of course, that it was only a test, and that God wouldn't ask Nephi to kill the drunk dude, then put on his clothes and pretend to be him to get the brass plates from his servant. Heh.

We Are All Connected

We are all connected
To each other biologically
To the earth chemically
To the rest of the universe atomically

...

I'm this dot
Standing on a planet
And really I'm just a speck
(I'm just a speck)
Compared with a star
The planet is just another speck

To think about all of this
To think about the vast emptiness of space
And billions and billions of stars
Billions and billions of specks

...

The cosmos is also within us
We're made of star stuff...

symphonyofscience.com

So Help Me Flying Spaghetti Monster

Image by Dante Shepherd at Surviving the World.
(Brought to my attention via Jesse Galef at Friendly Atheist.)

Not only is it disappointing that there is only one openly nontheistic representative in Congress, but it's amazing that there are laws in several states prohibiting nontheists from holding public office.

It's also disappointing that there are "closeted" atheists in public office, both in Congress and (likely) around the nation. The unfortunate truth, however, is that many atheist public servants would be voted out of office by their Christian constituents, just like many atheists who "come out" to their families are shunned or disowned (not me, thank goodness — my Mom is loving and understanding, if confused by my lack of belief).

I look forward to the day when believers and nonbelievers alike can get past their personal beliefs and coexist openly in society, without fear of discrimination or prejudice.

The Atheist Tenor

The first atheist I ever met — knowingly, anyway — was a boy named Aaron Roberts*. He was two years behind me in high school, and was a Sophomore when I was a Senior. We both sang in the chamber choir, which was a small, tight-knit group of about 16 students. We got to know one another well and to feel comfortable being ourselves, and it was in that context that the rest of us learned about Aaron's atheism.

I honestly don't remember it being a problem, or even how it came up in the first place. He never made a fuss about any of the "sacred" songs we sang, and his non-belief was really just kind of a running joke amongst all of us. I don't remember any of us seriously chastising him for not believing in God — which, looking back on the ultra-conservative cornfield that encompassed our school, is surprising in retrospect. We engaged in a brief high-school-level discussion about proof and reason, and we all (as I remember it) agreed to disagree, with no hard feelings. (Aaron Roberts might remember it differently, I suppose.)

The only time I distinctly remember his atheism coming up, other than the initial discussion, was near the end of the school year. One of the pieces of music we were learning had been photocopied on the reverse side of some letterhead for a Lutheran church, and Aaron was one of the first to notice. He joked about being offended by the photocopies, and we all laughed, and went on singing. The end.

As for myself, I do remember being a little sad for Aaron. After all, I knew God's Plan. I imagined that Aaron's life must be so sterile and bleak, not believing in the Hereafter... but Aaron actually seemed quite happy and sure of himself, if still a little introverted and geeky at age 15. (Weren't we all?)

Before the midpoint of the school year, the chamber choir suffered a tragic loss: Scott, one of our tenors, died in a car accident. For many of us, it was our first experience with the death of a peer, and we didn't really know how it was appropriate to react. I didn't, anyway.

Our choir director, Ms. Beall, was sensitive to our feelings, and knew how we would deal best: she led us in "The Lord Bless You And Keep You," then let us have the class period to cry and talk and deal as we felt best. That was a Monday, as I recall; on Tuesday, we had to get back to work, and the tenors suddenly found themselves underbalanced, with one less member. I think that having to deal with the immediate ramifications of a missing member may have helped us deal with the fact that he was gone for good.

At least half the school went to Scott's funeral later that week, and I'm pretty sure that the vast majority of the choral program and the sports program turned out to pay their respects. Honestly, I don't remember if Aaron dealt with Scott's death any differently than the rest of us — outwardly, at least. If he did, I probably chalked it up to the awkwardness of dealing with strong emotions in front of other people, since I definitely had that problem myself.

Life is so short. So precious. Even more so when you realize that there IS nothing else. This is all we have. In all the eons of time, of all the potential people who could have lived, but didn't, we get to exist and be present and alive and conscious for a tiny fraction of eternity. Whether that's 16 short years or 90 short years, we've still beaten the odds.

It's amazing.

* I couldn't for the life of me remember Aaron Roberts' name when I sat down to write this, and had to look him up in the choir photo in my high school yearbook from 1994. Funny how people look different in photos than they do in memories, especially from high school.

Shaped By Today's Culture

From the Associated Press, via USA Today:

Lutherans move toward more open view on gays

Delegates to the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America's nationwide assembly in Minneapolis on Wednesday approved a "social statement on human sexuality." The vote was a prelude to a bigger debate Friday, when delegates will tackle a proposal that would allow individual ELCA congregations to hire people in committed same-sex relationships as clergy.

I was pleasantly surprised by the dialog and open-mindedness that the Lutheran church is welcoming. However, one dissenting opinion in particular caught my attention:

Opponents of the social statement said it ignores clear scriptural direction that homosexuality is a sin. "We are asked to affirm a description of sexuality based on a reality that's shaped not by Scripture but by today's culture," said Curtis Sorbo of Adams, North Dakota, a convention delegate from the ELCA's Eastern North Dakota Synod.

What a different statement that would be if we replaced one word: "We are asked to affirm a description of slavery based on a reality that's shaped not by Scripture but by today's culture."

Today's culture does indeed shape the reality of slavery, as opposed to what was shaped by scripture.

There are so many potential examples of how Mr. Sorbo's statement is indeed true, but not in the way I think he intended. What else could we plug into that sentence? Racism. Apostasy. Diet.

What right have Christians to interpret their most holy scripture like Swiss cheese?

Religious Denominations of the World

Aaron and I spent yesterday afternoon in Ann Arbor. Ate some delicious food of various ethnic origins, stopped into some interesting stores, and generally had a good time hanging out in a different town.

One of our standard stops in Ann Arbor is the Dawn Treader Book Shop. We've picked up some interesting books there in the past, and it's always fun to just look around. This time, I came across this 1872 publication, Religious Denominations of the World, compiled by a Vincent L. Milner. The title page states that it is "a general view of the origin, history, and condition of the various sects of Christians, the Jews, and Mahometans, as well as the Pagan forms of religion existing in the different countries of the earth: with Sketches of the Founders of Various Religious Sects."

This looks like a fascinating read. The Table of Contents includes dozens of religions I've never heard of before, and some I've only heard of in passing. It should be interesting to read about these religions from the point of view of a Christian from the year 1871 who is attempting to be as impartial as possible (per the Preface).

The only disappointing thing about this book, from a research standpoint, is that it claims to have been "carefully compiled from the best authorities on the subject," but it never references who those authorities are. What I've read so far seems to be factually correct, though, if a bit more biased than Mr. Milner might have thought.

Expect to hear more on my blog about Mr. Milner (if I can find anything) and his take on Mormons, Atheists, and obscure religions of the 1800s.

Published

Many thanks to the fine people at Tricycle Magazine for offering me my first real opportunity to be officially published. My photo, Zen Altar with New Bowl, was printed in conjunction with a brief article on Setting up your home altar in the Spring 2009 issue of Tricycle.

I'm published!

Alone Time

I want you to try something.

Yes, you. I'm serious.

Take five minutes out of your day today — it doesn't have to be right now, but it really should be sometime today — and make it your time to be alone with yourself. Just five minutes. But make sure you won't be interrupted or distracted — don't let your quality time with yourself be upstaged by a TV commercial or your e-mail. Set a timer on the stove or on the microwave or something, so you won't even be distracted by looking at the clock every 30 seconds.

You don't really have a goal in mind, or anything to think about in particular. Just be with yourself. Chill out on the couch or in a chair (or in bed, assuming you won't fall asleep) and let your eyes kind of focus on a spot on the wall or on the ceiling. But keep them open.

Oh, and here's something to keep your mind occupied: count to ten with your breaths. Breathe in, count one; out, count two; in, count three; and so on, up to ten, then repeat. Thoughts will kind of float in and out; don't really focus on them, but allow them to exist for a moment. Imagine each thought is a helium balloon: hang onto it for just a second, then let it drift off and stop worrying about it.

You're seeing through my ruse now, aren't you? "You're trying to get me to do some of this hippie-dippy Zen shit, aren't you?" Well, sort of. Hanging out on the couch and staring at the ceiling for five minutes isn't exactly zazen. If you've never spent any quality time with yourself, though, this is a good start.

Seriously. Try it, just once, and tell me it doesn't make you feel more at ease with yourself.

Ritualistic, Yet Mindful

At the service for Grammie last week, I was really taken by the concept of the prayer book. Not just what the rector was reading, but the call and response portions of the program — or the "audience participation," if you prefer, a la Rocky Horror. It was almost unnerving to hear the muttered and mumbled responses coming from the back of the church, where the normal parishioners were sitting during the service. I wondered if they really paid attention to what they were saying, or if they were just mumbling, "And also with you" because that's just what you say when someone says, "The Lord be with you."

When I gave it some thought, though, I realized that was a little hypocritical of me. After all, I go to Zen every week and chant sutras and gathas and whatnot, and any casual observer or listener (like, say, my husband) might not even realize we were speaking English, much less saying something like, "The Dharma, incomparably profound and infinitely subtle, is rarely encountered, even in millions of ages." And we bow to the Buddha on the altar (graven images! false idols! o noes!), and we sit on little cushions and make little shapes out of our hands. That's no weirder than having little padded flip-down contraptions attached to your pews for kneeling, or reading responses out of a red prayer book.

It brought me back to something Sensei had said a few months ago about being mindful:

"One of the things that people run smack into when they come to a place like this for the first time is, there's a bunch of ritual happening. What's that all about? What's the deal with all the bowing and the incense and all that kind of thing? These are moments of re-awakening, if they're used well. They're supposed to be moments of re-checking-in to the moment, to the now."

We as a society, and as human beings in general, tend to cling to ritual. It's something comforting, a thing that we always do and always know and always expect the same returns from. The danger is forgetting why we do these things, or what they mean.

I remember growing up Mormon — it seemed to me that people made a big deal out of our not having predetermined prayers (except for "important" things, like sacrament and baptisms and temple work and whatnot). Still, though, people (and children especially) would get into a groove and say the same prayer for, say, blessing the food or going to bed. This was quite embarrassing when someone would be saying the opening prayer in Sunday School, and accidentally slip into "we thank Thee for this food that Thou hast set before us..." (which I don't remember doing myself, but was done more than once by others).

There's nothing wrong with having rituals, spiritual or otherwise. The challenge is to keep your rituals meaningful. They're important — they're touchstones for what's important to us, either literally or symbolically — but we can't let ourselves get hooked by the comfort of the ritualistic repetition itself, or it becomes meaningless.

Remembrances

Luckily, I don't attend funerals very often. Before Grammie's service last week, the last time I'd been to a funeral was in 2003, when I attended a string of services: my Memaw's in May, a drum corps acquaintance's in October, and Amy's grandpa in December. Each remembrance is different — Memaw's, for instance, was held in a small room in a funeral home in Parma, with only close family and friends, while the service for Steve (a well-known and popular drum corps / drumline instructor) was held in a large church that held hundreds.

Never before Grammie's service, though, had I considered the very different healing properties of a viewing or wake versus an actual funeral service. I think that, as atheists, Aaron and I ended up getting much more out of the viewing than the funeral.

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The Spirit is Willing, But the Joriki is Weak

I've found myself being very irritable lately, and unusually quick to anger. I get defensive at the slightest phrase — and, oddly enough, this has been the most pronounced with the person I want to hurt the least. It seems like I'm excessively sensitive to his quips and backhanded comments more than usual lately, even the ones that aren't even meant. I magnify my own guilt for being lazy or judgmental or what-have-you, by nature of it being brought to my attention, however slight or in a roundabout and completely unintentional way.

This weekend, I resolved to draw on my own inner personal energy to keep myself from reacting poorly in these situations. I told myself that I would focus on my center, take a deep breath, and deal with these situations more calmly and less hastily than I have been.

Sure enough, situations came up a few times. Once or twice, I did manage to take a deep breath and calmly (I think) verbalize what I was feeling, or what I had meant to say, or even backpedal and explain why I initially reacted in a certain way. Finally, though, I came upon a situation that angered and confused and irritated me more than usual, and I took a deep breath and tried to draw upon my personal energy.

It wasn't there.

So I slammed the car door instead. I slammed it so hard, I thought I'd broken it when the window wouldn't roll down easily. I sat in silence and calmed myself, the loud noise having jarred some sense into me, making me realize how juvenile I was acting and how superficial the cause was.

Later on, I remembered something Sensei had said at last week's Sangha meeting. He'd said that only by sitting zazen can we build our joriki, our personal energy, so that it will be there for us to draw upon. I've known for some time that I need to actually start sitting daily and practicing on my own, but this was the first time I'd actually seen proof that, yes, if I'd cultivated that inner stillness and concentration before now, this specific outcome could have been changed.

Improving my relationship with my spouse and with myself is enough of an impetus to get me practicing on a regular basis, I think. I don't know what's causing me to be like this, but I know what can help me fix it.

Knowing the "Pat Answers"

I remember being in church as a young lass, and coming to the realization in my early teens that the answers to many of the questions posed to us by Sunday School teachers were all the same. Questions like, "How do we strengthen our relationship with our Heavenly Father," or other similar, almost rhetorical questions. The answers were always things like read the scriptures, go to church regularly, pray daily, give tithing, go to seminary (early-morning bible study), and go to the temple (or at least remain temple-worthy, so no hanky-panky). I forget who brought up the phrase — possibly my mother? — but these all came to be known as the "pat answers."

I've found, as I've gotten older, that many related questions in a field have the same set of pat answers. How do you get better in school? Go to class, do your homework, take notes, pay attention, ask questions. How do you get better at an instrument? Practice. Practice. Practice. (Oh, and take lessons, which then applies the answers above, as well.)

Zen has pat answers, too, but I haven't learned all of them yet. The most important seems to be: Just sit. Practice zazen daily. I need to start doing this; maybe then, I'll learn some more of the pat answers of Zen. Maybe they involve attending sangha meetings regularly, and going on sesshin retreats, and studying koans.

What I really need to figure out, though, are the pat answers about me. I know they exist, but it's hard to see myself from the outside. Maybe some of the pat answers for what ails me include breaking large tasks into small ones, and making lists, and going for daily walks. Maybe sitting zazen regularly should be one of my pat answers.

I'll figure myself out eventually.

Zen vs. Freethought

Maybe it took me actually becoming an official member of my Zen community for me to even contemplate sitting down and determining where I stand, spiritually speaking. Seems kind of back-assward, I know — but I had been so sure that Zen, being a nontheistic religion, would be a perfect fit for my atheistic views. And it can be, I think.

My identity-crisis of faith started when I heard about the “meta-practice” that had been discussed at a meeting I’d missed. One of the sangha members referred to the practice as a “meta-prayer,” which set off my internal BS Meter. It turns out that this practice basically consists of mentally wishing a particular person well, which I can understand and appreciate on some level, if not the literal level that everyone else seems to understand it. Still, her unfortunate choice of vocabulary raised a red Zen flag for me, and that had to be dealt with before I could have peace of mind again.

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Hooray For Tax Returns

Funny, isn't it, how something really spectacular — a vacation, or a great meal, or even just a fleeting feeling — can hang so heavily over the rest of your life? Nothing else will quite measure up to that moment of wondrousness, and it would be easy to spend the rest of one's life searching for that elusive something that would match or exceed that one golden moment.

That's the trap. When Shakyamuni Buddha postulated that life is suffering (dukkha), he also explained that part of this suffering is being stuck on the happy moments that fail to last. It's not healthy to keep chasing after the next big thing.

That doesn't stop us from trying, though. It doesn't stop me from going to Red Lobster and ordering some expensive lobster tail, knowing full well that it won't hold a candle to the whole steamed and stuffed lobster I had in Boston during our honeymoon in 2003. It doesn't stop me from looking fondly at the memorabilia I bought and the photos I took during our week in Tokyo last year (note to self: still need to finish blogging that trip).

And it doesn't stop us from planning new vacations with our tax return money.

Let's segue now, shall we, from the realm of the spiritual to the realm of the worldly, and talk about things like TurboTax and NWAWorldVacations...

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Jill Bolte Taylor: My stroke of insight

Neuroanatomist Jill Bolte Taylor had an opportunity few brain scientists would wish for: One morning, she realized she was having a massive stroke. As it happened -- as she felt her brain functions slip away one by one, speech, movement, understanding -- she studied and remembered every moment. This is a powerful story about how our brains define us and connect us to the world and to one another.

This is a fascinating and powerful talk. I will warn my normal readership that the content drifts from the interestingly scientific into what some would call... well, I'm not sure what some might call it, but if you don't consider yourself a spiritual person, you may scoff at Dr. Taylor's interpretation of her experience.

Still, if I had felt I had achieved Nirvana and lived to tell the tale, I would probably share it in quite the same way.

TED releases this video under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial No-Derivatives License. Please download and share this video freely in its entirety.

Hippie Shit

1.) Meditation Accessories:

I ordered a zafu (meditation cushion) from Four Gates last week, and it arrived today. I got my first choice of color, Zen Black, and it's quite tall for a zafu — almost overstuffed. I like it, though. I haven't given it a full half-hour sit yet, but the ten minutes I've spent on it leads me to believe that the days of my left foot falling asleep 20 minutes into a session of zazen may well be over. The novelty of having my own zafu may even get me to practice zazen at home on a more regular basis, which would be helpful in so many ways.

2.) Yoga:

Saturday's Aikido class left me sore as all hell, both yesterday and today (and probably tomorrow, too). Shoulders, arms, glutes, hams, and quads, mainly. To balance out my stiff soreness, today's evening exercise was working out (well, I guess you could call it "working out") with my Yoga for Dummies DVD. Damn, yoga makes me feel good.

My only beef with the DVD is that I'd like to be able to do the practice with the instructor leading, but not explaining every single move. I needed that the first two times I watched the DVD, but I don't need the explanations anymore; I do want some sort of instructor-led something, though. A happy medium between the super-explainy Basic practice and the bonus Intermediate "sun salute" practice would be nice.

Still, though, I feel awesome. Still a bit sore in places, but awesome overall.

3.) Macrobiotics:

After Aikido on Saturday, Sensei and I sat down and connected for a while. It was very pleasant, and a little unexpected. I sometimes assume that he's a busy guy with other concerns and lots of stuff on his plate and lots of students senior to myself, and it makes me feel just a little more special to be invited to sit down and chat. Among the things we talked about were my new job, Mormonism, and macrobiotics.

I'm not sold on the idea of going whole-hog into whole foods. I'm still a product of my environment, and I like my convenience foods. Even so, I don't know much about macrobiotics; as a student of Aikido, though, and in our lineage in particular, it seems highly recommended to at least know what it's all about. Sensei recommended a book called The Hip Chick's Guide to Macrobiotics as a very cool and accessible introduction to the subject, so I Googled it. Turns out that the Hip Chick has a website and a blog, which is hip indeed.

Don't worry: I'm not turning all hippie on you all. There's nothing weird or counterculture about wanting to a.) be in touch with oneself, b.) not be sore and stiff, or c.) not feel like crap.

New Year Zen

On Wednesday, the Toledo Zen Center held a special New Year's liturgy, in lieu of the normal weekly service. According to Chikyo Sensei, this was the first time the sangha was large enough to do the New Year's liturgy. We even had a couple new people in attendance, which was fun; we all got to do new things together this time.

Our usual service involves a brief chant (usually the Heart Sutra), then seated meditation (zazen) for about 30 minutes, then walking meditation (kinhin) for something like ten minutes, then a talk by Chikyo, then a community discussion (usually over some green tea).

The New Year's service was very different. It was basically two services in one; one to close the old year, and another to open the new. Without going into too much detail, we chanted while each individual in the sangha offered incense at the altar, then Chikyo offered a dedication, followed by another chant. We did this sequence twice: once for the old year, and once for the new. During the close of the old year, the theme seemed to be not only compassion for others and their struggles, but atonement for our individual karmic deeds over the past year. The new year was also dedicated to compassion; to serving others, helping them along the path, and all of us realizing the great way together.

Being raised in the Christian tradition, I always thought "atonement" had to involve pain and suffering, or some sort of punishment — "Christ atoned for our sins" and all that. I'm now coming to understand a new meaning of the word: to literally become "at one" with what you've done and said and thought, to repent, to make amends. It's both simple and complex. It can be a challenge to accept what you've done and stop beating yourself up over stupid mistakes or bad outcomes. Become at one with it and move on.

The New Year's service also helped me to realize that 2007 was, for me, a year of blessings in disguise. Something sh!tty would happen, but that sh!tty thing would open the door to something new that I hadn't even considered before. Some opportunities involved major life changes, others just helped me realize the direction I should (or shouldn't) go in the future. It's hard to have regrets or hold grudges when cause and effect work to make me thankful for the sh!tty event that started the dominoes toppling.

In terms of the service itself: offering incense was a new experience for me (and for most of us). During the discussion afterward, one person mentioned that he was taken aback by the energy he felt in walking up the center aisle, surrounded by the chanting of fellow sangha members. I agree. Even though I'm not a "religious" person, and I'm not keen on going to church to worship a greater being, I find that I still crave gathering with spiritually like-minded individuals, all working toward a common understanding and a betterment of oneself. Knowing that a dozen other people are wishing you well — YOU, and only you, right now at this moment — essentially praying for you, but more directly, not via a greater being as a third party — being in the middle of that understanding and goodwill is a special thing.

I look forward to becoming an official member of the sangha shortly, and to realizing the great way with them this year, together.

No Preferences

"The Great Way is not difficult for those who have no preferences," wrote the Third Ancestor, a.k.a. the Third Zen Patriarch of China (d. 606 AD), in a poem commonly known as The First Zen Poem. We discussed the verse at our Zen meeting last night. It's not saying that you shouldn't give a shit about anything; rather, it's suggesting that a fuller experience is possible if you don't prefer one outcome to another. As I understand it, anyway.

For example: today at work, I really didn't get much accomplished. My boss wants me to start on a test project, and I can barely grasp the first step of the process. Today was spent flailing about in an application with no one to help me: no helpful intern (who attends class Tuesdays and Thursdays), and no experienced mentor (who is on maternity leave).

My first inclination is to think that I had a shitty day. Why? Because I experienced frustration at not understanding, and because I got very little accomplished.

Still, why? Because I prefer to have a measurable and substantial work completed. Because I prefer to understand and be productive. If I allow myself to appreciate the frustration and the very basic learning experience as much as I would have appreciated a massively productive and enlightening work day, then the day becomes less shitty in retrospect.

One thing I can't let go of my preference for — or, rather, my aversion? Being tired. There's still stuff I need to do tonight before bed (like cleaning up for Saturday's "Diana's New Job Party," which may actually be relatively well-attended), and there are things I didn't even get to (like burning CDs for the sangha), and I don't like it. I get anxious and grumpy and irritable when I'm tired (who doesn't?), and I feel like I have to continue to be productive when I should just freaking go to bed already, and damn the consequences.

*sigh*

Off to clean the dining room table, and straighten and dust the living room before I crash out.

On Community

Since I've volunteered to produce The Drinking Gourd Podcast for the Toledo Zen Center, Aaron has been reminding me not to let myself be used, or to get too much work on my plate again. It's a valid argument, and one that has helped me avoid trouble in the past. Right now, though, I only feel positive vibes about this project, and I think I know why.

Community.

It's been a long time since I really felt like part of a community. Work isn't really a community — I'm talking about someplace outside of the work and family environments, where people with a common thread in their lives meet regularly and talk frankly and feel comfortable with one another. I suppose this would normally manifest as a church group, or a support group, or even a user group. For me, the sangha (zen community) has been emerging as a community of which I feel I am a part.

Going back to religion: in the Mormon tradition in which I was raised, any member of the congregation can be "called" to a particular position in the church, be it Sunday School teacher, pianist, clerk, or bishop (head of a congregation). It is generally understood that, if you are called to serve, you don't turn down that calling. Some people do, sure, but it's generally frowned upon. Even if it's too much for you to handle, you trust that God (and the local Priesthood authorities) gave you the task for a reason, and that you will grow spiritually because of your calling, and you will receive blessings in Heaven.

In retrospect, I can see how serving a calling in the church can increase the feeling of community from each of its members. That's sort of how I feel now. I feel like I'm contributing to the community by doing my part, and I don't feel like the sangha is taking undue advantage of my skills.

It also doesn't hurt that, almost any night of the week, I can drive just over five minutes to the dojo/zendo and drop off CD-Rs, or pick up the digital recorder, or just talk with Sensei, and then drive home — and only have used up 20 minutes of my night. As cool as the internet is, I'm coming to appreciate human contact more and more. You don't get the same energy by reading someone's words as you do from hearing them spoken, not to mention the fact that some people don't have a proper mastery of the written English language.

So, even though I'm having to be reimbursed for the $30 I spent today on printable CD-Rs and printer ink, and even though I spend about two hours editing each podcast, and will probably spend another hour burning and printing CDs of each... I think it's worth it.

Couple Brings Zen to Toledo

I would encourage any Toledoans in my readership to check out this article by Blade Religion Editor David Yonke.

And not just because I'm quoted in it, either:

Diana Schnuth, 31, of Toledo, said she was raised in a Christian home but came to the realization that "I no longer believed what I was raised to believe."

She found that practicing Zen gives her a peaceful feeling. "I always come home from here feeling a lot better than when I arrived," she said.

Even though Mr. Yonke had a digital recorder with him, I think I might have been paraphrased or misunderstood rather than directly quoted. I don't think I would use the word "arrived" in informal conversation. I could be wrong, though — I *was* trying not to disgrace the sangha by saying something stupid.

I also know that I purposely did not identify the religion in which I was raised, not even to call it "Christian." I recall saying that I was raised in a "religious manner," but studiously avoided saying that I was a Mormon. The last thing I need is to have the missionaries knocking on my front door, trying to get me back to church.

Those minor issues aside, I thought the article was well-written, and I learned a lot about my Sensei between reading this article and Wednesday's article in the City Paper. The publicity definitely helped boost the attendance at yesterday's workshop on beginning meditation, as many people said that they had read about us in the newspaper.

Zen meditation can dovetail with your personal beliefs if you let it, since Zen itself has no mythology or belief system behind it, as Sensei pointed out. If you're interested, even just vaguely, I'd encourage you to find a sangha near you and check it out. It can be a little weird the first couple of times you attend a zazenkai, but that doesn't last long, and the inner stillness and acceptance of yourself and the world is well worth it, in my opinion.

Calm, Cool and Collected

Attended Eric's wedding reception in Columbus (photos to come) on Saturday. 2+ hour drive each way, but worth it for the multiple-course meal at Brio. Not to mention the adult contemporary pre-dinner musician. Hearing live covers of massive amounts of Jim Croce, Barry Manilow, Elton John and others was totally classic. Tells you how much of a goober I am that I could name title and artist for most of his repertoire, though.

Seriously, though, the food was the highlight of the evening. That, plus seeing Eric (whom I hadn't seen since we moved into our house in spring 2004) and meeting his wife (whom I'd only ever talked to via blog comments). Even though we were the only people representing BG, and we didn't know anyone there except Eric, we still enjoyed ourselves. And we enjoyed the yummy spice cake. Major kudos for having a cake that was neither white nor chocolate.

Sunday afternoon was a seminar on the basics of Zen meditation. We discussed our respective reasons for attending the seminar, learned about proper posture and options for sitting positions, and did a few brief sessions of zazen (seated meditation) and kinhin (walking meditation).

After both of these weekend events, I'm feeling refreshed and revived. Calm and alert. I think that, if I can maintain a daily zazen practice (and remember that I really do have friends, and keep in touch with them in a meaningful way), I'll be able to keep this stillness in reserve for when I need it.

Belief-O-Matic

The Belief-O-Matic test has changed a little since the last time I took it. The results are still similar to my 2002 results:

1. Unitarian Universalism (100%)
2. Secular Humanism (95%)
3. Liberal Quakers (88%)
4. Neo-Pagan (82%)
5. Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (81%)
6. Theravada Buddhism (79%)
7. New Age (77%)
8. Nontheist (77%)
9. Taoism (71%)
10. Mahayana Buddhism (70%)
11. Scientology (70%)
12. New Thought (70%)
13. Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (63%)
14. Reform Judaism (58%)
15. Bahá'í Faith (55%)
...
22. Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) (38%)

Apparently, Unitarians believe pretty much anything, so I'd fit in just fine there. Secular Humanism made a major jump on the charts, but all my other top ten have just rearranged themselves slightly in the past five years.

As a side note? Scientology should *not* be on that list. I'm not down with the aliens and Xenu and having religious tenets revealed to those who have donated a given amount of money to the church. Just my opinion.

Conformity

Once again, I find myself with some time on my hands here at work. I actually have a cache of blog topics to choose from, for just such an occasion.

When I was a young church-going lass, there was a boy who was several years older than me. The oldest of the Headrick kids -- I forget his name. Mom would know, since I think she taught him in Sunday School. At any rate, he was a "normal" kid: kind of soft-spoken, as I recall, and particularly tall. He had one thing besides his height that set him apart, though, and that was his predilection for bow ties. Mormon men and boys, as a general rule, wear standard neckties to church, so his bow ties made him stand out.

When he turned 18, he was called to be a missionary, as all good Mormon boys should be. He was sent out to the MTC (Missionary Training Center) in Utah... and the next time we saw him, he was wearing a normal necktie. Apparently, missionaries are required to wear neckties, and his cache of bowties were forbidden during his mission. I don't know whether he ever wore his bow ties again, after he returned from his mission two years later.

I always thought that was just a little tragic. I understand the need for uniformity, but I've always wondered if the MTC managed to completely eradicate that one facet of Elder Headrick's uniqueness.

I can't believe I've never posted this poem before. I searched my site for it, though, and apparently I never have. My mother taught me this poem when I was little, and I've seen slight variations of the poem and its backstory in the years since. I believe Mom found it in a newspaper article and copied it down back in the mid to late 70s. This is how I remember it (with some help from the internet):

This poem was given to an English teacher by a 16-year-old student. It is not known whether he wrote the poem. It is known that he committed suicide two weeks later.

He always wanted to explain things.
But no one cared.
So he drew.
Sometimes he would draw and it wasn't anything.
He wanted to carve it in stone
Or write it in the sky.
He would lie out on the grass
And look up at the sky
And it would be only him and the sky
And the things inside him that needed saying.
It was after that
He drew the picture.
It was a beautiful picture.
He kept it under his pillow
And would let no one see it.
And he would look at it every night
And think about it.
And when it was dark
And his eyes were closed
He could still see it.
And it was all of him,
And he loved it.
When he started school he brought it with him --
Not to show anyone, but just to have it with him
Like a friend.

It was funny about school:
He sat in a square brown desk
Like all the other square brown desks
And he thought it should be red.
And his room was a square brown room
Like all the other rooms
And it was tight and close
And stiff.
He hated to hold the pencil and chalk
With his arms stiff and his feet flat on the floor
Stiff
With the teacher watching
And watching.
The teacher came and smiled at him.
She told him to wear a tie
Like all the other boys.
He said he didn't like them.
And she said it didn't matter!
After that they drew.
And he drew all yellow
And it was the way he felt about morning
And it was beautiful.
The teacher came and smiled at him.
"What's this?" she said.
"Why don't you draw something like Ken's drawing?"
"Isn't that beautiful?"

After that his mother bought him a tie
And he always drew airplanes and rocket ships
Like everyone else
And he threw the old picture away.
And when he lay out alone and looked out at the sky
It was big and blue and all of everything.
But he wasn't anymore.
He was square inside and brown.
And his hands were stiff
And he was like everyone else.
And the things inside him that needed saying
Didn't need it anymore.
It had stopped pushing.
It was crushed.
Stiff.
Like everything else.

What Can I Let Go Of?

I was posed a question today, via the ZenCast: What can I let go of, to make me happy? There are things in life that we all obsess over, think about, worry about, that tie up our minds and drag us down. If we just let go of some of those things, no longer allow them to have influence over us, we reduce our suffering and therefore become happier.

Sounds like tree-hugging hippie crap to some of you, I know. I challenge the rest of you to read on.

I gave the question some thought. What causes me the most grief? What in my life makes me the most unhappy, and how can I release it? Here's what I came up with:

Expectations. I'm reminded of one of my first marching band performances, back in September of 1992. My high school was in the middle of a cornfield, and we played football against other schools in other cornfields, and went to band contests hosted by still other schools in other cornfields. I forget whether this was our first away game or our first contest, but I do remember being on the field and being disappointed that the grandstand was no larger than the one back at our school. I mentioned this to my best friend, Mel, when we boarded the bus to go home, telling her that the evening wasn't what I'd expected.

Her response? "Never expect anything."

I've held that piece of advice with me for all these years, although I'm not always good at following it. I always expect myself to pick up on new skills faster than I do. I expect myself to be generally more successful than I end up being. I set expectations of how things "should" go or "should" be.

I can let go of expectations, and my need for expectations. (Not to say that I can let go of aspirations or goals, although I suppose the true Zen practitioner probably would.) If I let go of my expectations, it becomes harder for me to be disappointed, either in myself or in a turn of events. It also becomes easier for me to be satisfied with whatever happens, because I didn't come into things with prefabricated expectations.

Being disappointed in myself brings me to the next thing I can let go of:

Self-judgment. Every morning, when I turn off my alarm clock and roll back over for just five more minutes, my conscience speaks to me in my mother's voice. "Come on, girly-girl. Time to get up." But I don't listen. I close my eyes once, twice, three times, often oversleeping to the point where there's no physical way I can get to work on time. Every morning, my conscience turns from sweet and motherly to caustic and abusive, taking on my own voice instead, a tone of voice I don't think I've ever used with another human being. I berate myself for being late to work, and hurl insults at myself for opting out of my morning shower in favor of getting to work only ten minutes late instead of 20.

I tend to take the Bible with a grain of salt these days. Even so, as with all holy books, there are still some nuggets of truth for all. Romans 14:22 is one of my favorites (emphasis mine):

Hast thou faith? have it to thyself before God. Happy is he that condemneth not himself in that thing which he alloweth.

Translation: If I allow myself to sleep in, I needn't beat myself up over it after the fact. Take note, come up with a strategy to avoid oversleeping in the future, and fix it. Don't be so judgmental of yourself.

I can let go of my self-judgment. I can appreciate that I am a work in progress, and I can give myself constructive criticism, but I can let go of the need to mentally flog myself over small things.

Which brings me to my final luftballoon:

Who I Am Not. Sometimes, I wish I were more motivated. Or thinner. Or that I didn't procrastinate. Or that my hereditary jowls weren't beginning to make an early appearance. Or that I weren't so self-deprecating. Or that I could rid myself of any number of negative qualities. I often find myself depressed over who I am not. Rarely do I celebrate who I am.

In line with the ideas above, I can still give myself guidance on how to improve myself and cultivate positive qualities to replace the negative. But I needn't obsess over who I am not.

I can let go of who I am not. She has no power over me. If she exists in another dimension, her life is much different than mine... and I wouldn't give up certain parts of my life for all the world. Just like I wouldn't want to change certain events in my life, because I wouldn't be where I am today, I wouldn't want to be who I am not, because I also wouldn't be where I am today.

I can let go of my expectations, and my need for expectations. I can let go of my self-judgment. I can let go of who I am not.

What can you let go of?

Zazen at Home

During my free time today at work, I did some Google searches on the various accoutrements involved in meditation at the zendo. Mainly, I was looking for places to purchase a zafu and zabuton, plus a bell to signify the beginning and ending of zazen.

Yes, I realize that meditation can happen anywhere, and that all the trappings are not necessary. Still, I was curious about how much these sort of things might cost; were they inexpensive enough, they would be classy and unique items to have around, and would perhaps help me get in the zen zone.

Or maybe not.

Zafu appear to be prohibitively expensive for a simple pleated cushion, often costing around $40 (not including the flat zabuton that goes beneath). Zen bells and gongs are less so; I got to thinking, though, that I would rather have a timer that sounded a bell or gong for me, instead of me acting as proctor for myself as I try to meditate at home.

I'd read about zen alarm clocks — I'd love to have one, except that I'm afraid it would wake Aaron, too, just like having the blinds open would. (Either or both of which would be ideal ways for me to wake, were we not on opposite schedules... but I digress.) So, off I went to find a smaller, less expensive zen timer.

What I found was the Meditation Timer. It has multiple timer settings, plays a digital recording of a zen gong at the beginning and end of the given time, and has a bunch of other cool features. However... it costs $65, and that's with free shipping.

Finally, I decided that I need to start meditating at home without all the fancy zen accessories. I found a shareware timer program that can play a sound file of your choice when the timer hits zero; then I hit Google and found the zen bell sound I wanted to use. I set up the timer program, grabbed a throw pillow off the couch, lit some incense, found an appropriate piece of wall to stare at, and was good to go for my first successful home meditation session. (I say "successful" because I've tried it before and given up after only two minutes, being timerless.)

After an hour of a yoga DVD and ten minutes of zazen, I'm feeling pretty mellow. Not particularly productive, granted, but mellow and peaceful.

Maybe I'm on the right track for keeping a positive mindset and getting in touch with my inner self.

On Aikido And Zen

I wouldn't say aikido is getting easier, per se. I think maybe Sensei is starting with more basic techniques and building on them more slowly throughout the class. Plus, I've only been attending the Wednesday one-hour classes, so there's only so much one can fit into that teaching block. At any rate, I feel like I'm picking up on things quicker, physically recovering quicker after class, and not being as terrified that I'm going to screw up.

We've been doing some techniques that require rolling, too. I haven't gotten much better at it, but I have started to do it instead of wussing out entirely. At the suggestion of Taisho-sempai, I did about a dozen rolls by myself after class, and finally started to comprehend how it's supposed to feel. I think. It stopped feeling so awkward and clumsy, anyway, and I came up on my feet at the end, so that's an improvement.

After class, at Zen practice, I made a very, very important discovery: I can't sit for extended periods of time in seiza (kneeling, sitting on my feet). I'm not sure how long our session of za-zen lasted, but my legs went past asleep to downright numb. When the bell rang for the end of za-zen, I physically could not get up. My legs had NO FEELING. I flopped around to face in the general direction of the altar, to which everyone was bowing from a standing position, and massaged my feet. They felt rubbery and detached.

You can probably guess that I didn't exactly attain enlightenment during today's za-zen session.

Immediately after za-zen, we were all to head out to the aikido mat in the other room to do walking meditation, so I forced my legs under me and balanced on lower legs and feet that I literally could not feel. I swear, this must be how people with prosthetics feel when they walk. There was no small amount of luck involved in my keeping upright during the short walk to the mat. After a little bit of walking meditation (which started out embarrassingly wobbly for me), the pins and needles came in, followed by normalcy. Finally. After several minutes of walking.

Never. Ever. Again. From now on, I sit on my ass when I meditate. None of this kneeling in seiza shit.

After an evening of aikido and zen practice, I feel much like I remember feeling after church. Calm. At peace with myself and the world. In tune with those around me. Except, adding the aikido into the mix, I also feel physically different. It's like Sensei was talking about at the end of class today: training mind, body, and spirit takes more than just sitting and lighting some smelly-good candles. It takes effort.

I feel like Wednesday evenings are becoming my devotional to myself. Mind, body, and spirit.

Faith

Faith is belief in things unseen, I was always taught. It's that final step that bridges the gap between what you can prove is true and what you know is true in your heart of hearts. By definition, there is no proof for that in which you have faith.

Why is that OK? Why does our society place such a high value on unfounded belief? Why is it considered a noble thing to hold to your beliefs in the face of adversity and disproof?

read more...

Cleaning Out Keepsakes #2

I was looking for this handkerchief over three years ago, when I was preparing for my wedding. I only just unearthed it yesterday:

I received this at an activity with the Young Women's group at my church when I was in early high school. It reads:

The purity of this white hankie
  is symbolic of your life.
Live, to always be worthy
  of being an eternal wife.
May its whiteness be a reminder
  to please stay clean and pure.
As the linen - May you be strong
  with a testimony sure.

As the lace - May all your life be
  filled with feminine grace
May the inner beauty of your
  soul glow in your eyes and face.
Someday, I pray, you'll be married
  to a clean and worthy he.
May it be in the house of the Lord
  for time and eternity.
Carry this hankerchief with you
  on that special, wondrous day,
As a symbol of the girl you are
  and will forever stay.

I was genuinely disappointed when I couldn't find this to carry with me on my wedding day. Not because I'd remained particularly clean and pure (especially by Mormon standards), and not because I was getting married in the house of the Lord, but mainly because I was so proud of myself for having held onto it for more than ten years for that particular purpose.

A lot of the buzz words will be lost on non-Mormons. If you're wondering what the hell it's talking about, just leave a comment and I'll be happy to add an explanation to my post. For now, I'm going to go on the assumption that you've read enough of my previous Mormon ramblings to understand most of the stuff about eternity and purity and all that.

I still can't bring myself to get rid of this hankie. Am I a packrat, or what?

Share Your Opinions

So, here's how this random web of internetting came about: I read this post on Dooce's site in which she wrote about her take on a recent HBO series called Big Love. Apparently, this series is about a polygamist family in Utah. Being that Dooce is a popular "recovering Mormon," she ended up having nearly 300 comments — one of which, of course, was mine:

Diana Schnuth said at 09:09PM, 03.28.2006:

Back when I was a practicing Mormon, there was a woman in my Ward who had been widowed shortly after she was married, then had re-married and had several children. What bothered me was that she was still sealed to her first husband, and no amount of thrashing at red tape could get the Church to change that and seal her to her new husband and her family. Only men can be sealed to multiple spouses.

BTW, kudos to you for keeping comments open on such a potentially volatile topic.

I got a few hits to my blog from that comment, as I always do when I post a comment on a high-traffic blog like Dooce or WWDN, but none of them involved hate mail (thankfully) or exhortations to rejoin the LDS flock (even more thankfully).

I did receive one e-mail, though. A Dr. Michael Nielsen contacted me and asked me to participate in his study on religion and attitudes about marriage — specifically, Mormonism and polygamy. It took me less than the 30 minutes he had estimated in the Informed Consent form, and I actually found it very interesting.

Well, it was interesting to me, anyway. I enjoyed answering questions about my history with the Mormon church, and how I feel that the teachings are mainly a bunch of bunk, but that I do categorize Mormons as Christians, and that one of my most frequently-visited religion-based websites is exmormon.org.

When I e-mailed Dr. Nielsen to ask him to update me on the findings of his study, he e-mailed me back (or maybe his bot did) and encouraged me to get other people of differing religious backgrounds to take his survey. So, here I am, encouraging you all to take his survey. I found it intriguing, and will be very interested to learn the results and conclusions.

Update, 9pm: Just found this website, which I may have to refer back to later: Mormon No More. It gives instructions as to how to resign from the Mormon church. Well, Mom, I guess you really didn't have to get yourself excommunicated, after all! :-)

I wonder if I can get myself removed from the rolls by my 30th birthday. That would be a grand present to myself.

Great-great-great Grandpa Cook

I finally found some microfilm I want to request from my local Family History Center.

I've had a really hard time locating the parents of my Grandpa Cook's grandfather, William Henry Cook. I almost thought I had them several years back — Thomas and Rachel — but when I got William Henry's birth record in the mail, there was this woman named Nancy listed where I expected Rachel to be.

All other evidence points toward Rachel being William's mother: census records, for one, and other genealogists' (undocumented) findings referenced online. Now, I've discovered that Thomas and Rachel were married on 3 March 1852 in Clermont County, Ohio, where all this research insanity is going on. I've also discovered that the Mormons have the microfilm. Clermont County Marriage Records, 1801-1910.

I'm hoping that getting some hard documentation of *something* that corroborates what I think I know will help me solve this puzzle. I'm still not sure who this Nancy person is, though. Hopefully, I'll find out soon.

On a related topic, the Genealogy Guys mentioned that anyone can go to a Family History Center, but non-Mormons will have to sign in as a guest. That made me wonder: how will I deal with that? Technically, I'm still a Mormon, although I'm what they once called "inactive." (Right before I myself went inactive, the more politically-correct term of "less active" was being popularized. Apparently, the less active members were being offended when someone would refer to them as flat-out inactive. Go figure.)

But do I really want to open up that can of worms? Explaining that I've been inactive for... *counts on fingers* ...ten years could bring the Mormons back to our door in droves. Moving to Toledo finally managed to shake them, and I'm not in a hurry to evade them again.

Still, though... it's like knowing the secret handshake. (Which apparently Mormons really do have. I kid you not. You learn it in the temple. I wasn't old enough to learn it yet when I went inactive, though.) It's hard to decide whether to disclose that I'm an inactive member, or just pretend that I went to the trouble of being excommunicated, and sign in as a guest.

I guess I'll decide once I finally get my ass down to the Perrysburg FHC.

Two Quick Tidbits

At the laundromat this evening, CNN spewed forth two unrelated but intriguing blurbs.

First: The President of the Mormon church (a.k.a. "The Prophet" of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints) is going to be on Larry King Live this evening at 9pm. I may have to see if I can watch it live online somehow, or check out a capture or transcript later, as we don't get CNN in our Very Basic Cable package. I'm interested in what Larry King might have to say to President Hinkley.

Second: A preliminary count of the Ukrainian re-vote shows Viktor Yuschenko has won by a landslide. Looks all the protesting and publicity was worth it. Congratulations to the dedicated voters of the Ukraine! (Makes me wonder if the U.S. didn't give up too easily on our own recent election... but that's neither here nor there at this late date.)

Edit: There's now a transcript online of the conversation between Larry King and Gordon B. Hinckley.

Reform Mormonism

If I still believed in God, I might give Reform Mormonism a go.

Mormons and their Holidays

Sheryl said:

do mormons have special holidays? or do they just have the weird underweartraditions?

Good question, Sheryl. And, before I go upstairs to wash the massive amounts of dishes that pie-making has dirtied, I will answer this good question.

I think Mormons may actually celebrate fewer holidays than "normal" Protestant religions—at least, I know we didn't do funky things for Palm Sunday or Lent or any of that. We had celebrations like Pioneer Days and attended the Hill Cumorah Pageant in upstate New York, but those weren't really religious holidays as much as festivals.

As far as holidays are concerned, Mormons are pretty much like the rest of the Protestants. Easter and Christmas are the biggies, as with any other Christian religion, although Mormons believe that Jesus wasn't actually born in December—I think they said it was actually in the Spring. I think that's actually a Bible scholar thing more than a Mormon thing, now that I think about it. Has something to do with the fact that Mary and Joseph were trucking along home to be taxed, and when that happened during the year, and all that.

But, anyway, that's not to say that Mormons don't have their share of weirdness. It just doesn't happen to be in their observance of holidays.

Weirdness of Mormons in a nutshell:
(in case I haven't harped on it enough in the past)
- sacred undergarments protect Mormons
- hot drinks (coffee/tea) are not for the body or the belly
- native americans came from jerusalem on a boat
- magic glasses helped to translate the book of mormon
- the dead sea scrolls are actually lost writings of moses
- the second coming of christ will happen in america
- god lives on the planet kolob

Please feel free to comment on your confusion and amazement on any of these topics. I will gladly rant for your reading pleasure.

On My Divergence From Mormonism

Interesting evening I've spent here at my computer. I started out normally, checking out my daily blogroll, and decided to check out Jason's xanga (even though I'd stated that I'd make myself scarce, due to his politically- and religiously-charged commentary). While I'd intended to read it and pretend I hadn't, I ended up responding to his response, and even blew the dust off of my old King James Version to refute some of his points.

It was not precisely a revelation to me to discover that all the scripture I'd had in mind was from the Book of Mormon, not the bible. Since informally leaving the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I've discovered that much of their dogma is in fact from the Book of Mormon (supposedly translated from ancient American writings unearthed in 1830's New York) and the Doctrine and Covenants (writings and revelations of Joseph Smith and other early church leaders), not from the bible itself.

My divergence from the Church has been a long, slow process. I've revisited this several times in the past years. As a youth, I never had the burning realization that the Church was true, although it wasn't for lack of trying. I went to Church every Sunday, went to Young Women's meetings every Wednesday night, went to Girls' Camp every summer, sang in the choir, prayed daily, read the scriptures, and did all the other things the Church Leaders told us we should do. My Mom and Tom (stepdad #1) even got married in the Washington D.C. temple and were sealed "for Time and all Eternity," in an exclusive temple ceremony which I was too young to attend at age 12, and during which I sliced wedding-cake strawberries in the temple parking lot with Sister Baker.

It wasn't until Mom and Tom got divorced two years later that I started to doubt the Church. Being that they'd been married and "sealed" in the temple, the Church would still consider them married even if Mom managed to get a legal divorce. Assuming Mom still believed the principles of the Gospel (which she did at the time), that would mean that she would have to spend Eternity with Tom as her husband after she finally died. She wasn't into that, so she arranged to be excommunicated, which wasn't difficult. Once she found herself another lover, she simply went to Church, sat down with the Bishop (pastor, father, what-have-you) in his office, and admitted that she had committed adultery after leaving Tom. No problem, here's your pink slip, don't let the chapel doors hit you in the ass on your way out.

Free and clear of any eternal commitments. Amen!

Of course, during all these theological shenanigans, I was still attending church and early-morning seminary (bible study classes at 5am before school). Being that Mom didn't have her driver's license yet, I was getting rides from my Aunt Sammie. She had asked to be excommunicated in the 1970's, I think, or the early 80's, and hadn't yet returned to the Church at this point—she just gave me rides to and from. Once my older friends started getting their driver's licenses, they started giving me rides to church and seminary—and this is where I realized I had started to really fall away.

One morning, I either overslept or just decided I wasn't going to church. I don't recall how it happened, and I don't remember who was supposed to give me a ride or how I cancelled said ride. At any rate, I slept in until about 10:30 or so (which was absolutely luxurious for a Sunday, considering that church started at 9am and ended at noon). I had just gotten up and thrown on clothes when there was a knock at the door. Mom answered it, to find my friend Michelle standing there in her church dress. She had noticed I wasn't at church, and skipped the Sunday School portion of the morning to drive across town to my apartment. She told me she came to see if I was OK and to bring me to the last meeting of the morning, and encouraged me to throw on any old dress and jump in the car. Even though she had been so selfless and had come to help, I made up some lame excuse about how I'd already missed two thirds of the meetings, and the actual worship service (Sacrament Meeting) was first, and entreated her to go back without me so she wouldn't miss the last meeting of the day.

She didn't go out of her way to help me after that, and I started skipping church more and more often. By my Senior year in high school, as I recall, I went to church about as much as I went to class in college.

Speaking of... once I got to college, that was when things really began to unravel. Again, not for lack of trying. My first semester at BGSU, I looked up the church and arranged for a ride with one of the English professors who happened to be Mormon. Sang with her in the choir, went with her to area conferences... and began my discovery that church is more of a social institution than a religious one. Being that there were so many college students at the Bowling Green Ward, they had a separate Young Adult Sunday School. This after I'd just been so glad to have graduated from the 12-to-17 age bracket, and gotten to attend real, grown-up Sunday School for a few months. I knew very few people in the BG Ward, and most of the ones I got to know seemed almost plastic to me. I'd grown up with my old congregation; I couldn't identify with these people, no matter what their beliefs. I stopped going to church in BG sometime during the Spring semester.

I didn't give my religion much thought for another year or so, when I started dating Aaron. I knew my morals and my basic principles hadn't changed; I was still a virgin at age 19, and was particularly proud of the fact. Aaron had heard about Mormonism in one of his classes at St. John's High School, so I got to answer a lot of odd questions about "Joe Smith's magic glasses" and magic underwear (especially after this aired on 60 Minutes), and only much later did I get questions about polygamy. He was quite a trooper, too, and dated me for a year an a half before I finally decided to, um, submit to my carnal desires.

Before that, though, I met Amy.

Rooming with Amy was one of my two major influences away from Mormonism (and Christianity in general), with the other being Sociology 101. Soc taught me how much of religion is a societal structure, and how some religions were developed specifically by ancient governments in order to keep people in check—or, rather, to make them happy with their lot in life, so as to avoid a revolt. That really got me thinking, and long discussions with Amy fueled the fire. I watched Amy turn from agnostic to atheist in the four years we roomed together (or, at least, she began to admit her atheism more freely over time). I don't remember the exact subjects we discussed over the years, but I remember how it made me feel; looking back on what I had once believed to be unshakeable truth, I felt I'd been brainwashed. It all sounded so ridiculous to me.

I still know it inside and out, though. I can still tell you all about the three levels of Heaven, or about the planet God lives on, or about Joseph Smith's First Vision (how it's taught to modern Church-goers, anyway), or I can sing you one of several dozen exclusively Mormon hymns still buried in my head somewhere, or I can tell you about baptism for the dead, or tell you some Book of Mormon stories.

A couple years ago, I actually picked up Volume I of the Book of Mormon Stories VHS set at Goodwill. I made Aaron watch it, too—actually, he was kind of curious. And he was flabbergasted when the climax of the story came about, too. To capitulate: Nephi and his dad and brothers are about to split Jerusalem, but they have to get the record of their family (inscribed on a set of brass plates) from this evil dude named Laban, who owns them. So, Nephi is scared shitless, but he knows he has to come up with something. And, lucky Nephi—when he walks up to Laban's house, guess who is shitfaced drunk? Yup. Now, in the words of 1 Nephi, Chapter 4:

10. And it came to pass that I was constrained by the Spirit that I should kill Laban; but I said in my heart: Never at any time have I shed the blood of man. And I shrunk and would that I might not slay him.

11. And the Spirit said unto me again: Behold the Lord hath delivered him into thy hands. Yea, and I also knew that he had sought to take away mine own life; yea, and he would not hearken unto the commandments of the Lord; and he also had taken away our property.

...

18. Therefore I did obey the voice of the Spirit, and took Laban by the hair of the head, and I smote off his head with his own sword.

At which point Aaron says, "What?!" Having assumed, of course, that it was only a test, and that God wouldn't ask Nephi to kill the drunk dude, then put on his clothes and pretend to be him to get the brass plates from his servant. Heh.

When I was involved in the Church, they called the stuff presented in the following links "anti-Mormon," and they told us to stay away from it. Now I see why. Want to check out some fucked-up religion? This is what I've been checking out all evening:

• Recovery from Mormonism: ex-Mormons tell their stories
  
• LDS-Mormon.com: background and Church history that I didn't know about
  
• The LDS Temple Endowment Site: a record of what goes on behind closed doors

I think that's the longest LJ entry I've ever written. I'm going to bed now. Whew.

Samhain

You guys are gonna think I'm so weird...

First off, before you get too far, it's pronounced \SOW-in\. ("Sow" rhymes with "cow.") Quite similar to what a deep southerner would answer if you asked her what she was doing with that needle and thread. (Although, after a little research, I think I prefer the Welsh pronunciation: Shah-VEEN.) And yes, it's the Wiccan (or Pagan, if you prefer) holiday from which modern Halloween stems.

But let me begin at the beginning. (Hmm, this could be a long post...)

You all probably know about my on-again/off-again battle with my spirituality. When my mother left the Mormon Church while I was in high school, I clung to my own beliefs like a lifeline. In fact, at times I was so suicidal (reference teen angst poetry) that my belief system was all that kept me from attempting it. (That's really creepy when I think about it now. *shiver*) When I came to college, I located the local Mormon church and kept attending services, but somehow it felt different. I stopped going after a semester or two. After taking Sociology 101, I came to realize that religion was mainly a social structure, a grouping of people with similar beliefs, and that religion at its most base and fundamental level was a means of teaching and controlling a population. By or around this point in my education, I was living with Amy, who basically turned from agnostic to atheist before my very eyes while we roomed together. All these factors together — Soc class, long talks with Amy, online research about my crackpot religion — eventually made me discard my Mormon upbringing.

No, not just Mormon. Christian. My mom about swallowed her tongue when I told her a couple years back that I didn't believe that Jesus was the Son of God. I even had a long discussion with Gary (who holds an Associate Degree in Theology) about whether Jesus was a con man, a liar, or just plain crazy (or perhaps misled). I'm sure Mom and Gary think it's a phase. I'll let them go on thinking that.

Now, hoping I haven't alienated any of my readership, I'll move on...

About the same time I was discovering what I no longer believed in, I met Kelly. Kelly was a VCT major, and was in several of my classes with me. Kelly was also a Pagan, and had no qualms about telling you all about Paganism. (Interesting sidenote: Kris H. actually dated Kelly just before I met her, and she'd turned him off by talking incessantly about her religion. So, she is known in our circle of friends as "Pagan Kelly.")

Kelly introduced me to the Pagan Society at BGSU, and invited me to a meeting. This only reinforced my idea of religious meetings as social gatherings, although I felt more welcome there than I would have at Church. The dozen members of the Society (which has since split and disbanded) all had varying beliefs: some were Wiccan, some Druid, some were Taoist to an extent, and some (out of sheer perversity, I do believe) followed Norse practices. More than anything, that made me realize that a.) my belief system is my own, and b.) as such, I need to discover it for myself.

So, here I am. Back to my original topic of Samhain.

To preface (and I'm paraphrasing from what I've read and researched), Wicca is a neo-Pagan religion which gained popularity in the hippie era of the 60's and 70's. People felt a need to commune with nature, to shed their prohibitive Puritan upbringing, and opted to revert to the oldest form of nature-worship they could discover. Unfortunately, most non-Christian European religions were nearly obliterated during the early Christian Era, and no true followers of ancient religions remained. (A few isolated covens still operated in Europe, however, believing themselves the only remaining practitioners of their faith.) Through research, interpolation, and a little creativity, modern man managed to imitate the ancient religion of the Celts as early as the late 1800's, albeit under an extreme vow of secrecy. Most Wiccans believe their version of the ancient religion to have been founded in the 1930's or 40's.

Wiccans observe eight holy days, or Sabbats, during the course of the year. The first of these is Samhain, October 31, which marks the final harvest and the beginning of Winter and the Pagan/Wiccan/Celtic New Year. This is a time where one communes with one's ancestors, remembering those gone before, and makes resolutions for the upcoming year. Wiccans believe this is a time to invite ancestors to revisit the world of the living; hence, the creepy overtone of the undead.

Since learning a little about Wicca and Paganism in general, I find that, around Halloween, my thoughts gravitate toward those have passed on, and toward my genealogy and family history. I used to think only of my Granny (1911-1990) and my stepdad (1948-1995), but now I have my Memaw to think of, too (1933-2003). I don't know what's happened to them, or where they've gone, if anywhere. Heaven? Purgatory? The Elysian Fields? The Spirit World? Another dimension?

Oblivion?

Wherever they may be, I am bound and determined to keep their memories alive — even those ancestors I didn't know. There are a few that I feel a certain kinship to, and I'm not quite sure why. My Mormon friends would tell me that they're urging me from the Spirit World to finish their genealogy and Mormon temple work for them. I personally think I just find their lives and circumstances fascinating, and I can relate well to some of them.

So, I think I'm going to celebrate Samhain this year. I think I'm going to get out my three-ring-binder of genealogy and study my ancestry for an hour, surrounded by candles and photos of my family. Afterward, I'll dig out the Tarot cards (and my trusty reference book) and give myself a reading — although Amy was always better at that than I. Then perhaps I'll write a brief list of things I want to eliminate from my life in the coming year, and symbolically destroy the list (by fire if I'm feeling pyromanic). No, I won't "cast a circle." No, I won't "call the corners." No, I won't supplant the Horned God or call upon the Ancient Ones. But it'll be a nice little evening of reverance and remembrance while the rest of the nation is eating candy and burning couches.

Wicca links:
History of Wicca at religioustolerance.org
The Sabbats of Wicca

Catching Up

So, I spent all day at work thinking of things I wanted to put in my blog tonight. Now that it's time to post... I find myself feeling particularly unmotivated to write... but I'll do it anyway, for the sake of my audience. So, Beth, Erk, Sheryls (who apparently are the whole of my devoted readership), here's your latest post.

Last Week: Loni reminded me in conversation of the time a couple months back when I was called in to our supervisor's office and interrogated about Loni's habits, particularly regarding religion in the workplace. I'd known I was being led by the verbage of the questions, but I had to answer truthfully. Turns out that Loni did get written up as a result of Mary's and my comments and answers. She's apparently prejudiced against other religions, and had treated Mary (a Catholic) in a degrading manner. Loni knows that the "investigation" was started by a complaint from a co-worker. What Loni still doesn't know, though, is that Mary is the one who started it...

Saturday: The Annual Waterville Community Garage Sale. Usually a treasure-trove of thrifty goodness. This year, however, it was a big piece of crap. I think everyone on our little trip got one thing. I got the best find of the day (IMO), an 11x11" HP graphics tablet from 1987. (I gotta make this thing work with Photoshop...) Kris got a Vonnegut book, Mark got some 45's, and Aaron got... um... a book? I forget. Disappointing, to say the least.

Monday: Nothing like a good old-fashioned 12-hour workday to get the blood pumpin'. Been a while since we had one of those. (Been a while since we had two new temps on a Monday.) And afterward, I went to Jerome Library on campus to photocopy wedding music and return the music books Donna had borrowed for me. Had to buy another friggin' copy card, too, since I gave mine to Aaron when I graduated and thought I'd never need it again. Dammit.

After going to the library, I decided to take a walk around campus. It was nice out, and I'd wanted to take a walk, anyway. I walked all the way across campus, from the library to Shatzel Hall. I was actually scoping out potential wedding photo ops when I climbed the steps of Shatzel and checked out the pillars and the railing — and discovered someone's CD wallet (which appeared to be a stolen restaurant check folder). Right in the front, once I opened it, was a CD I've actually been interested in (but not enough to actually purchase): Zwan. I looked, and thought, and pondered, and left it there. I'm so proud of myself, leaving it there for someone else to steal.

<girlie stuff>
Today: OMG, I am never wearing a thong to work again! I just bought a couple in my last spree of Lane Bryant shopping (sure, $40 is a spree for me), because I didn't actually own any real thongs, and I was curious. The cute little thongs that came with my wedding lingerie didn't seem too bad, so I figured, WTF. Never again. I won't go into graphic detail (which I could), but feeling like I had a wedgie at my workstation all day was no picnic. The point of underwear, to me, is not to have to think about the fact that you're wearing it. Instead, I alternated between having it up my crack and having it balance stupidly on my ass, very un-thong-like. Neither was comfortable.

— Oh, and BTW, I never realized how dimply my big ass was until I cranked around and looked at it in the mirror at home, framed by the wondrous thong. I know, you didn't want to think about that. Well, neither did I. Deal.
</girlie stuff>

Mom called me up today, too. She said that her weekly Tuesday visit with Memaw wasn't... well... very interactive, I guess you could say. Memaw has apparently refused to be kept functioning by mechanical means, otherwise she'd probably be on a respirator by now. She's on a morphine drip (mmm... morphine...), and isn't really very coherent. Mom said she sat by the bed and held Memaw's hand, and every now and then Memaw'd come to and realize who was there, and they'd smile at each other, and then she'd go back to being dazed and in pain. It sounds like she really doesn't have too much longer now. I hope that's true. I'll miss her, but I've been missing her for months now, since she's honestly only a vague likeness of the Memaw I knew. She's ready to go. Not to say I won't be sad, but... I'd be sadder to see her carry on like this.

And I can't really discuss my beliefs (or lack thereof) with Mom right now. She wasn't comfortable with my departure from stardard Christian Protestantism already — now that Memaw's about to die, I can't very well tell Mom that I don't know if The Entity Formerly Known As Memaw will even exist once she breathes her last breath.

See, I was having this doozie of a brainstorm the other day. If the human soul-personality-consciousness resides in a given body by a series of electrical impulses in the brain, then once the brain stops functioning... what happens to the soul? Well, what happens to computer software when the hardware on which it resides goes bad? You've lost it. It's gone. The only way software can exist is with hardware on which to store it. So... if the only way your unique self will exist is in your brain, then once your brain stops working... poof. No comforting out-of-body experience, no dead relatives, no pearly gates. No fire and brimstone, for that matter.

Which begs the question: if you no longer exist, how do you know? What do you have to compare your non-existence against? If your current universe exists by virtue of your having experienced it, what happens when you no longer have a vantage point? This is the part I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around.

That's why I liked to believe in an all-encompassing Force or Tao or general life-energy from which we are all born (and perhaps reborn). I used to think that, depending on how strong-willed or charismatic you were, your soul might exist as itself for a little longer before being absorbed into the collective consciousness. But now, after seeing Memaw fade... I don't know. She is — was — a strong-willed woman, with a sense of humor and opinions and fire. Now, she's just there. Will her soul live on?

Don't you think I'd like to believe it will?

Don't you think I'd like to resubscribe to the Mormon notion that she'll go to the Spirit World, where she'll be with her family and old friends and new friends and learn about The Gospel until the Second Coming and the Millenium of peace? Don't you think I'd like to believe that after the Judgment she'll make it to perhaps the second level of Heaven (aka the Telestial Kingdom), where most good Mormons will go? And don't you think I'd like to believe that she will have Eternal, Everlasting Life? Wouldn't that be more convenient? Simpler? More comforting?

No, instead I have to be in the midst of a little Belief Question & Answer period with myself. Bah.

What Religion Are You? The Belief-O-Matic Knows!

Oh, yeah — Merry Christmas. :-) As an initial side-note, I visited my Memaw in the crazy two-day Cleveland Christmas Extravaganza (more on that later). She was doing much better than on Thanskgiving, and insisted that she will dance at my wedding. — Now, how do I break it to her that there won't be dancing...?

So, Beliefnet.com informed me in my daily Hindu Wisdom e-mail that the Belief-O-Matic knows what religion I truly am. Since I've recently been curious about this, I answered the 20 questions and awaited the results:

• Unitarian Universalism (100%)
• Liberal Quakers (95%)
• Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (95%)
• New Age (93%)
• Neo-Pagan (91%)
• Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (83%)
• Mahayana Buddhism (76%)
• New Thought (76%)
• Taoism (71%)
• Bahá'í Faith (70%)

First off, I know the percentages are bullshit, because I checked out Match #1, and the Unitarian Universalists do not agree with all the answers I gave. Secondly, the religion I've been studying on my own, Pantheism, appears not to be represented at Beliefnet. On the positive side: though they sound particularly harsh to me now, the Mormon beliefs are laid out truthfully and correctly, which gives me hope that the other religions are represented properly, as well.

I'm still not convinced that there's a religion out there that fits me to a tee. At this point, I'm content with picking and choosing bits and pieces from various religions that sound about right to me.

Spirituality

When I was seven years old, I never doubted what was taught to me. I had a Heavenly Father who loved me and wanted me to be happy. If I prayed to Him, he could watch over my friends and loved ones, or bless our food, or make my headache go away. And someday, if I was good, I would go up to Heaven and be with my family Forever.

When I was twelve, I was a young woman of faith and integrity. I knew, as any faithful Mormon youth would, that the Church was true, that Jesus was the Christ, that the Book of Mormon was a true record of His visit to the Americas, that Joseph Smith was a Prophet, and that the president of the Church was a Prophet on earth in these latter-days.

When I was seventeen, I never failed to believe in and act upon what I knew was right. I recognized that many of my peers found my beliefs strange and different, and I thrived on that. Although I began to skip meetings and services, I still knew in my heart that the Church was true.

When I was in college, I began to open my mind to other ideas. I learned about Sociology and the history of the concept of religion. I learned about other belief systems. I roomed with an agnostic who completed her conversion to atheism during the very years I knew her. I stepped back from what I had known all my life. I realized that I didn't truly believe it anymore. Maybe I never truly did.

Now, at the age of 26, I've come to an uncomfortable discovery: I'm ready to believe in something again.

The place that Church and Religion held in my life has not yet been filled with something meaningful. Don't mistake me to mean that I'm actively seeking a Christian congregation to go join. Or Jewish, or Buddhist, or Islamic, or Wiccan, or Druid. I'm ready to find what I know is right, and true, and good. Maybe God exists. Maybe He actually watches us. (Maybe we're His bowl of sea monkeys that He stirs up every millenium or three.) Maybe God is only a concept for a Unity that we as humans cannot physically comprehend. Maybe there is a Tao, or a Force, or some other universal power of which we are all part. Maybe we each have much more mental power than we realize. Maybe, when we pray, we make our own prayers a reality, due to our sheer force of undoubting belief. Maybe when we die, we'll each wink out of existence and into oblivion and the impossibly profound concept of non-existence.

I don't know.

I don't pretend to have the answers. Diana's Manual of Spiritual Consciousness doesn't exist -- and if it did, it would only apply to me, and me alone. You would have to determine what applied to you, and adapt the knowledge to your own beliefs. I don't hold the answers.

...But once I figure something out, I'll let you know.