Raised a biannual Cathalic

Jan 18, 2009

It’s Sunday here in Utah and I have to admit that I’ve been so upset about Prop 8 that I had half a mind to walk into a Mormon Church, who so heavily backed it, just to ask where the lesbian section is. I know better of course, so I’ll let God heal my battles, instead of trying to fight them. I’ve never seen fear overcome fear.

I know everyone’s understanding about what God is or isn’t is different, so I’d like to take a minute to clear some things up so that I can continue to share my adventure and experience without feeling like I am saying anyone should see it the same way I do.

I was born a biannual catholic. That means that in my family we religiously went to church on Easter and Christmas, unless someone got married or died. Then my dad had to come too. Somehow it was important to my mother that we were present in church when Jesus was born and then again when he died. What happened in between must not have been important because it was never discussed at our house. Mainstream religion reaches many people, but never really spoke to me. Maybe it was my parents unique approach, I’m not sure.

I am the second of four girls born to passionate Sicilian parents who came to the United States as young adults in the late 1950’s. They moved directly into an Italian sub-culture which kept them in the 1950’s until 1995 when I announced that I was having a “commitment ceremony” to promise myself to another woman. That immediately propelled them into the 21st century and the rest of us are just catching up.

Growing up in this spiritual inertia caused my sisters and me to seek elsewhere for the answer to the questions, “who am I and what the heck am I doing here?” My elder sister Agatha became a Jehovah’s Witness so, for obvious reasons, we rarely discuss religion. I believe Luisa is an Agnostic but I can’t tell for sure because she is also a Republican so we don’t discuss anything if we can help it. Our baby sister Fran is an active Methodist. We talk about God all the time--saying exactly the same thing while disagreeing about it every step of the way. Religiously, the four of us are the least likely friends, but spiritually we are connected at the deepest level. They are my best friends and we love each other.

My father is an Atheist when things are going his way, an Agnostic when trouble is stirring, and an all out Believer when shit hits the fan, so it’s not surprising to me that we all went our separate ways spiritually. But apparently it was to him. Recently at a family dinner, my father abruptly interrupted the loud conversational noise that hovers around my family much like the cloud of dirt that follows Pig Pen, to inquire why none of his children turned out to be Catholic. The question caused about ten seconds of freeze frame paralyzed silence, with everyone’s attention directed intently towards him, wondering how it could be that he did not know the answer to that question. Then, in an instant, all previously active conversations resumed exactly where they had left off, with everyone at the table completely ignoring the question. It was never addressed it again.

My family dynamics have taught me that defending my own or attacking someone else’s understanding or relationship with God is in opposition to knowing God. “A universal theology is impossible, but a universal experience is not only possible but necessary.” ACIM

Honoring another person’s relationship with the Divine or Nature creates true spiritual families and a peaceful world. Please know that in expressing my experience I wish to honor yours.

I’d like to end by sharing a well known prayer that I live by…

Sweet Spirit, So far today, I’m doing OK. I haven’t gossiped, lost my temper, been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish or self-indulgent. I haven’t whined, complained, cursed or blamed anyone else for what’s going on in my life…But I will be getting out of bed in a minute and I’ll be needing Your help from that moment on.

Humbly, Rosalie

Point of Interest

Saturday Jan 11 or 12, 2009

Alas, we finally had to leave the ranch to brave the great Colorado Rocky Mountains, 400 miles to our destination in Utah and lots of great scenery along the way. Interestingly enough, although all of the scenery is magnificent, from time to time we encountered highway signs that said “Point of Interest”. 

Although they said “Point of Interest”, they didn’t tell you what that point of interest might be. I guess when it’s important, like “The World’s Largest Ball of Twine”, then they make an extra effort to add that information to the sign. Now I can’t imagine what could be less important or less interesting than the World’s Largest Ball of Twine, but what ever it is, someone in our government has taken the time to notice it and then worked diligently to convince the right officials to spend tax payer dollars to put up a sign to point it out, knowing good and well that if they told you what it was, that you probably wouldn’t stop to see it.

Anyway, that’s my take on the subject but Paula, of course, had a different perspective.  The less interested I was, the more interested she became in the point of interests that we weren’t stopping to see. Before long, I realized that it would be easier to stop to see the point of interest, than to listen to all of the possibilities of what it was that we probably missed because I wasn’t interested enough to stop to see it.

It wasn’t long before another sign came up in the distance, once again pointing out the point of interest but not identifying it. This time we pulled over with several other travelers to view this thing that the highway authorities thought special enough to point out but not good enough to identify. We all stood along side the road looking out at the vast area in front of the sign but none of use could pick out the point of interest. None of us. We looked and looked and even threw out some suggestions to each other but in the end we all agreed that there was nothing interesting there. Suddenly I realized that the point of interest must be us. I found it extremely interesting that we would all pull over to see nothing just because a sign suggested that we should.

Later that morning, as we summited over Rabbit Ear Pass (9400ft) taking us from Grand Lake County over to Steamboat Springs, I looked over the snow covered evergreens to the grandeur of the Colorado Rocky Mountain Ranges ahead and I became overwhelmed with gratitude. At zero degrees the air crystallized and sparkled all around us and my senses were filled with the beauty and magnitude of Everything that Is. The music of Mary Mary’s “I cried my last tear yesterday” played over the stereo in the car and I knew that somehow that was true. The hardest journeys, we seem to take alone, climbing those inner mountains ever taking us to greater summits. There were no point of interest signs up there but there didn’t need to be. In a place that beautiful there is no point more interesting than the next and I realized that nothing in the past or future could be more interesting than this now moment.

We’re not alone. Just wanted to let you know that from up here, I am certain.

Rosalie

Barbara Stanwyck and the blazing fire

Thursday Jan 8, 2009

If not for the backdrop provided by the foothills to the Rocky mountains, I’d swear we were at the Barkley Ranch. So, you can imagine my reaction yesterday when we got a phone call from one of Jeanne’s friends, alerting us to the blazing fire coming from the west, spreading rapidly in 80 mile per hour winds and headed straight for the ranch. Wide eyed and hearts bounding, we scurried out back, where we could see the massive cloud of smoke and the ominous glow from the wild fire, blazing just over the ridge.

All of a sudden, I’m feeling like Barbara Stanwyck in The Big Valley, standing in the stairwell yelling, “Heath! There’s a fire in the barn! Get my rifle and saddle the horses!” I was quickly disappointed to discover that they didn’t have a rifle and that Paula wouldn’t answer to the name Heath. Ignoring my initial commands, Jeanie began planning the evacuation. With four horses and only a two horse trailer, Barbara was clearly out of her league in this situation.

In the time it took both Paula and I to hook up two water hoses, Jeanne had alerted Erica to come home, secured the barn, cleared out the safe, packed up the computers, given directions to half of Boulder county and prepared the vehicles for departure. Paula and I were still arguing about which direction to unwind the hose, when Erica came flying around the corner in her super powered pick-up truck, lassoed the hay and tossed it in the truck bed, rounded up the golden retrievers Lucy and Spenser, and single handedly hooked up the horse trailer that would transport Finn the yearling and Reno the 79 year old gelding to safety. “Grab that saddle” Erica yelled out to me as I tripped over the hose that Paula was dyslexically twisting into more kinks, “If the fire gets any closer they will have to take the trailer and you and I will have to ride Buster and Zella as far away from the barn as possible to keep them out of harms way.”

Well forget Barbara Stanwyck, you can’t do this job in a skirt. Now I’m feeling like the Man from Snowy River, wondering where my black hat is and stressing because chaps aren’t currently a part of my wardrobe. Can you imagine? Think about it. A full out gallop, coat flapping in the wind, flames whipping at my back, cold air cooling the space between our bodies and the fire just long enough for Zella and I to clear the top of the ridge, flying straight down in slow motion to the river bank where I can just barely hear a woman’s voice crying out….”Rosalie, for God’s sake, take- your –foot- off- the -hose!”

Yes, it was quite the afternoon, waiting the fire out. I do have to admit that there was a small part of me that wanted those flames to beeline it for the ranch so that this log could be really good today, but mostly I was peacefully overjoyed when it turned back on itself, burning down only six structures, two homes and 1400 acres. No lives were lost so everything of value was preserved. It was heart warming to see the slew of “neighbors” with empty horse trailers, appearing from all parts of the county, to help people they didn’t even know, move their families and animals to safety. Love thy neighbor, man, even if you don’t know them. Do unto others. He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother. Love is all you need. You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one…I saw a lot of them today… Love in action is a beautiful thing.

Saddled and waiting. Rosalie

Visiting the retired

Tuesday Jan 6, 2009

We’ve landed in Longmont Colorado at my dear friends Jeanie and Erica’s ranch house. We still have 600 miles to go but we’re taking a break for a few days to see how retired people live. Jeanie took an early retirement from forestry two years ago, so we were sure she would just be laying around waiting for something to do when we arrived. But we’ve only been here for ten hours and already she’s hayed the field, trained unwanted dogs, volunteered at a top secret training facility, rescued stray animals, kept her appointment at the dentist, the gynecologist and the physical therapist, met lawyers, judges and Indian chiefs, walked the dogs, prepared dinner and fixed her car. She needs to get a job. Erica has one. She sells things to people on the phone while she runs on the tred mill and watches TV.  After about an hour, her workday is done. Then she is free to feed the horses, play on her computer and wonder where Jeanie’s been all day. If Jeanie would just get a job she’d have more time to spend with Erica.

I think I should reconsider this retirement thing. I’m not ready for it.

Landed in Colorado, Rosalie

A Personal Moment

Sunday Jan 4, 2009

Today as we traveled north and then west through the flat plains which make up the heartland of America, I couldn’t help but to notice the monotony of the landscape for hundreds of miles. Paula’s “amber waves of grain” singing Tourette’s moments occasionally broke the spell cast by the latitudinal topography, beautiful yet hypnotic in its sameness.  

For me, its not until the altimeter rises to 6000 feet, and the soft carpet of farm land neatly tucks itself under the powerful up rising of the great continental divide that you can really appreciate them both. It’s the contrast of opposites that seems to create the excitement in life. Learning to appreciate the experiences brought to life by the contrast, instead of judging, fearing and ultimately seeing things as separate instead of knowing they make up the balance of creation, is what a spiritual journey is all about.

As we truck on down the highway I can't help but to remember that the trailhead of my transformational journey didn’t look the way I thought it would. I had always believed in a Power greater than myself but had no interest in the traditional forms of religion introduced to me in my youth as a vehicle by which to celebrate or join with it. Huh, imagine that…me, not being able to conform. Anyway…

In my adult life, (and I use the word adult loosely), I imagined a spiritual journey would come in a vacation package with magical destinations where you could wear fabulous safari outfits and venture out to meet an enlightened master. This mystical Avatar would guide you gently down the path of enlightenment bliss, in the comfort and safety arranged by an experienced travel agent. With just the right music and mood lighting I would be lead to the Light where angels would greet me and I’d be embraced in the ecstasy of pure joy. The accommodations would have to be a bit rough to add to the authenticity of the experience but the food package could be first class.

Or, I thought I might have to embark on the trip all by myself, climbing to the top of a mountain or hiking into the depths of a secluded rain forest somewhere to locate a recluse medicine man with magical powers or a wise monk with supernatural wisdom who could turn my enlightenment switch on by asking the most profound question ever, sending me on a life long journey to experience the answer. And I suppose it could happen that way.

For me, it didn’t happen that way. No, in my case, 19 years ago, the All Knowing Magnificent Source of All That Is, demonstrated It’s amazing sense of humor and sent me a 27 year old hippy throw back, with an argumentative air of indifference and seven months of sobriety who handed me an AA book and said, “Read this. Every place it says Alcoholic, you put in ‘uptight asshole’.” Talk about opposites.

No, the trailhead of my awakening journey didn’t look the way I thought it would. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even know I was on a journey much less a life-changing awakening. An awakening that I neither thought I needed nor wanted since I didn’t think that I was asleep or late, which are the only two reasons I had awoken in the past.

As I continue this journey today, I reflect, allowing my heart to be filled with gratitude for the loving and sometimes painful lessons of my past that have guided me to this moment here and now. I’m flying…and from here the past takes on a loving perspective. Thank you for letting me share it with you in this continuing travel log.  

Love and Light, Rosalie

21% Faith, 79% Willingness

Travel log 2009-January 2

On the road to Colorado and Utah and already the first aha of the trip is painfully clear; A 45 hour road trip is not the best follow- up to a new years eve eating feast and hangover. Prune juice and absolute silence in a cold dark room is what I would have done in retrospect, but instead, I woke up in the wee hours of the morning (9:30am) on Jan 2 (I don’t know what happened to Jan 1) crawled out into an amazing sunshine filled Florida day simply to voluntarily load my mildly enthusiastic dragging a-- into an over packed SUV, to set out on a 300,000 mile trek across the country to the cold icy oxygen deprived wild west. I’m sooo excited!

As the day matured and after what seemed to be hours and hours, and miles and miles of monotonous long droned out highway, laid out in front of me like the 50 year sentence of an innocent woman, I saw a road sign coming into view just ahead. Filled with anticipation, I was sure the sign would say “Welcome to Texas”, so you can imagine my grave disappointment when I read . “Orlando International Airport.” I immediately tried to remember Drew’s phone number as the conversation in my head was going something like this. “Happy New Year, Sweetie!” Listen, I parked the car in slot R3, Park and fly. Would you be a love and pick it up this afternoon and drive it out to me in Colorado. Thanks baby! I’ll see you there.”

But before I could dial, my amazingly optimistic friend Paula (Rev. Paula Langguth Ryan to some) who graciously agreed to take a month off ( which is how long I now suspect the driving portion of the trip will take) to accompany me to Utah, to kick off the ski season exclaimed with enthusiasm, “How fabulous! We’re one percent into the trip!” Of course, she wasn’t trying to recover from a torrid love affair, (more like a one night stand) with Patrone Tequila like I was. It’s easy to be happy when your brain still fits in your skull.

Unbeknowist to her, endless opportunities to exercise ministerial size patience, compassion and basic non-violence skills had only just begun. I was the primary driver on this first day but typically, on a road trip, my job is to be the Navigator. The Navigator is the co-pilot control freak who decides where we go and how we get there.

Four hours and only 124 miles into this outlandish attempt to get to Utah without using frequent flyer miles, I became outrageously judgmental about how the navigation job should be done. For example, Paula measures travel progress by percentage, announcing each completed 30 miles with glee, like a two year old who lives by the airport announces every time a plane fly’s by. “Three percent! ” and “Look mommy, it’s a plane!”, start sounding remarkably the same when your head is shrunken. Not to mention, three percent doesn’t sound like good news to me. I’d rather hear something like, “Just six miles to the next designer outlet.” Or “We should be in a Holiday Inn sleeping by 6pm” is better than, “Four percent.” What kind of navigational motivational school did she go to anyway?

In actuality, the trip and her company has been delightful from the very first sunshine filled moments. It’s not the road trip to Utah but rather a journey of a greater magnitude that I’ve embarked on this New Year. Barbara J. Winter described it best when she wrote, “When you come to the edge of all the light you know and are about to step off into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things will happen; there will be something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly.”

I know it sounds like I’m driving, but in actuality I’m learning to fly.

21% there and thinking of you my friend.

Love and Light Rosalie