Personal Awakening

You have a body. I have a body. We all have a body. We live, work, play, and love in this body. When this body hurts, we feel its pain. Sometimes we abuse our body. Sometimes it abuses us. Everything else in our lives comes and goes, but we always have our body. Its form alters over the years, but it is always there, providing shelter and a means of mobility while allowing us to experience the world. It becomes our faithful companion at birth, and then it dies. Well that’s a bummer. So what happens next? Is there a next?

“Please do all you can to help our readers understand the connected cycle of death and rebirth. Our goal this month is to ‘take a bite out of fear.’” -SIM

This was my task for the month as I set to writing the March article. It took some time for me to think about the best way to share what I have learned and remember. How do I show you, dear readers, that there is nothing to fear about our body’s death? How do I convey my knowledge in a way that will show you that what happens next is not unknown, and since it is not unknown, there is nothing to fear?

Let me start by talking about the one experience we all desire: Love.

When I was sixteen years old in August of 1989, I Awakened. I don’t mean I awakened in the sense that I woke up after sleeping all night. I mean I Awakened spiritually. This was not something I was actively trying to do; I didn’t care about anything beyond what I could detect with my five senses. But the event forced me to completely change my ideas on the workings of the world, and I would never be the same again.

I was visiting my uncle's house in California when my cousin showed me a set of postcards. These postcards were reproductions of Unicorn artwork painted by Andy Mack. The first day I saw these, I actually mocked them. At the time, I thought unicorns were ridiculous, and not nearly as cool as dragons. Even so, as I looked at them, two grabbed my attention.

When I was born into this world, my family was part Catholic, part Methodist. My mother chose to “enlist” me into the Catholic branch. From the age of naught until twelve, I went to Sunday services, attended school on Saturday, and was even baptized. At that time, I viewed religion and God as boring and distant, something not to be concerned about. I did what my elders told me to do, because my desire was not to be questioned. But as I aged, I did question, until eventually I decided religion was not for me. I became atheist. But the ideas learned through my religious education stayed with me: how to treat one another, what not to do, and most importantly, that there is more to our existence than the physical world. That last one was the most influential for me, and by the age of sixteen, I was firmly in the agnostic category.

        I believed there was more out there, but I had no proof. Today, I call myself spiritual as a way to say Yes, I have proof of the existence of more. No, I don’t believe in a vengeful god. Yes, I agree that we should treat each other with compassion and love. Yes, there is a Source and we all come from there. So while I no longer follow a specific religion, religion did act as a starting point, planting the suggestion in me that I am more than what I see. As someone who does not look favorably on religion, I had to think about this article before I wrote it. I acknowledge that there are pros and cons, but I needed to share my thoughts carefully without sounding as though I am trashing the subject. If I fail to sound neutral, it’s because none of us really are. But I will do my best.

Two years ago, I was on the verge of a tremendous change in my life, one that would see me begin a spiritual journey unlike anything I had ever attempted. This change was sudden, exciting, rapid, and heartbreaking. By the time I completed the major transition, I felt love, peace, and a new connection with a world from which I had strived to distance myself. But I also lost nearly everyone I had ever cared about, including my wife.

            At the end of 2013, I had a secure job as a geographer for a Native American tribe. My wife and I had been married for over a year, after having been together six years prior to that. My stable employment, coupled with her college education, promised a bright future of home, family, and travel. I asked for nothing more. It seemed the most challenging part of life was behind me, and I would be able to coast on my achievements. Boy was I wrong.