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I don't read religious works. I don't discuss my spirituallife with any religious leader or spiritual guide. Heck!I don't even go to a traditional church. Ritual makes meshudder.
My temper blows if anyone tries to 'convert' or 'save' me.Nothing makes me angrier faster than someone else buttinginto my spiritual life.
Oh, I believe in the Creator. God, the Goddess, Allah,Jehovah-the Creator has a thousand names. I use 'the Creator'because the title covers all the bases and is almost poetic.
I'm not knocking religion or going to church. These thingsare important and desperately needed in today's sad world.
But some of us prefer to take the solitary path.
My solitary behavior has made me a mystery to my own family.While they break out the bible around the Christmas tree Iprefer to be alone in my hills.
I have told my family I avoid their gatherings because Isense their tangled emotions and even snatch a few of theirthoughts out of the air.
You should have seen their nervous, guilt-ridden expressionsafter they found out I've been unintentionally eavesdropping.
Being the psychic in a large family is stressful, to say theleast, but can also provoke peals of cackling laughter. Fromme, that is.
But my less pleasant relatives scoff at my reason and accuseme of making excuses to get out of being with the familyor 'sharing'(another shudder). The other family members don'tpay any mind and hope I'm even crazier than they firstsuspected.
And so my temper steams and the stress levels rise.
The simple reason why my spiritual life is a taboo subject isbecause I prefer to keep my spiritual life between the Creatorand me.
Go straight to the source, I say. Or Source in this case.
I have confessed my reason to my relatives to fend them off.The more uptight members openly resent my unwillingnessto include the rest of the family in the spiritual side ofmy life.
You can choose your friends. You can't choose your relatives.I know you're nodding in agreement. Maybe laughing a littlewhile you think of your own family? Hmmm?
At the old California Spanish mission near my home is a smallplain room. The room consists of white stucco walls dusty withage, a rutted clay floor, and a huge old wooden bench. High inthe wall to the right is a small window. The bench sits oppositethe doorway, which looks out onto the mission garden.
During Easter I go to this room alone and sit on the bench. Ilisten to the silence in this peaceful room while thinking ofa sacrifice made by a courageous man long ago. I never fail tocry.
I think of the world and its troubles, and I pray the sacrificewasn't made in vain. I apologize for those who wielded the whips,hammer, and nails. One can't help but feel guilty.
I then leave the room to walk in the peaceful beauty of themission garden. While doing so I thank the man for his sacrifice.Not a lengthy ritualistic speech or prayer.
Merely a heartfelt, "Thank you" from deep within me.
Where is the mystery in simply saying, 'Thank you'?
About the Author Jenny Harker is an experienced writer, gardener, and psychic. To learn how to develop your own psychic abilityvisit: http://jharker.newaltern.hop.clickbank.net
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