One of the best gifts I got from my parents was the absence of any specific religion. There was no indoctrination, no Sunday routine, no guilt nor fear through my formative years. My mother had a sense of spirituality and a belief in what she called God, but she managed to share her ideas with me in a loose way that was free of specific images or concepts. She was born to orthodox Christians who spoke another language in their church, a language she didn’t understand, and so she taught me that you don’t need structure to experience this other-world. You could explore it at home or wherever you were. In fact, she’d found churches to be filled with gossipy conspirators who were behaving in ways that were far from the ideals she’d expected to find (like acceptance, neighborly love, kindness).
But she took us to church once or twice a year for a while and I caught on to what she liked about being there. Smokey incense burners, solemn music, colorful glass windows. There was mystery and long ornate robes. People signaled the importance of the occasion by dressing up. Something unique was happening, even if I had no idea what that was. I could feel the ritual and community and it fed some longing in me. The church understood enough of what people needed to present it enticingly and keep them committed.
I’ve been longing for a feeling like that ever since. Except I want it to be free from all that went wrong there: the barely-disguised control for power and wealth, the shaming and judging that came with righteousness, the sense of shallowness beneath the finery. That’s the undesirable aspect that my mother sensed early on and she’s right that it’s so unappealing. I know I’m not the only one with this desire. I see people trying to cobble something together that captures the good parts of religion minus the bad, but it’s never quite right. I’ve felt a smidgen of it in—of all places—a yoga class. They’ve got the sensory part covered: the dark room, the rituals, the participants all facing forward to a guide, the music, sometimes even scent or a bell. There’s the shared breathing that’s so like communal song, and the physical movement that feels as though we’re working toward something together. The best classes had a short reading at the end that would send you on your way with a clutch of hope or peace. But yoga lacked community outside the room, and there are a lot of those yoga poses I’m not supposed to do anymore so that’s not the solution.
I’m not giving up though. If you’ve found something that’s not religious that comes close to the kind of meaningful connection that feeds your soul, please share it. We could all use a little of that.
Here are some other authors that may inspire you on your search for deeper meaning:
Kelly Flanagan - Embracing the human journey with compassion
Phyllis Cole-Dai - Spiritual Practice & Creativity
Mary Beth (Mantras and Coffee)- Faith, Spirituality & Literature
Nature feeds my soul. Being on the water connecting to the quiet and beauty brings me serenity, looking at all the stars, a reminder of just how insignificant we are in the universe that keeps me humble, the ever changing seasons of dying off and new beginnings, a reminder that, in time, all things evolve. The wrath of Mother Nature is a reminder that life can be cruel yet amazing, both at no fault of our own, unlike traditional religion built on fear and guilt.
Hi Trevy! I believe there are many ways to connect outside of religion. Even being alone in nature, as Helen said, is a way to connect and I share that method. Being a “situational introvert,” I tend to need solitude to be able to then interact with others. Sharing an interest (for me art, writing, gardening, etc.) is my way to connect. Keep on sharing your thoughts. I love them. Cheers! Paula