Since I posted the unfinished portrait of an artist in the last post, here is the finished piece. Not mystical by any shape of the imagination, but it did crack open my soul a little bit.

I rarely speak of this dimension of my faith, because I am by nature, more prone to root my foundation in doctrines and practices of behavior that fall under things that I can see and touch. Prayer is easy for me because it doesn’t feel as mystical as just singing a soul song while moving in and out of all the minutia of my life, and at this age hindsight is my best personal proof that it works. The more metaphysical aspects, which I do believe in hook, line and sinker, still freak me the hell out. I have had plenty of experiences in my life when the unexplainable, a synchronicity of events, or a stupendous moment of wonder and even a couple of times an experience of unmitigated evil, send my adrenals into fight or flight (which these days seem to be all the time). The thing that comes with an awareness of the mystical and embracing it and allowing it to change and alter one’s perspective over time, is that what you see and hear, become aware of, is demonstrably more acute than what most people are aware of, and it isn’t because they can’t, but because they won’t. I know I am walking into a territory that is akin to walking in a mine field, but here goes.

The Gospels aren’t just filled with stories about rules of behavior, rewards and punishment, ritual, or eternal life. They are also filled with miracles, mystical experiences, Jesus’ prescient knowledge of what is really on people’s minds, of walking on water, and the raising of the dead just to name a remarkable few. Those were the things originally that were the most difficult for me to embrace. As a young woman, I climbed my first mountain at 17 (I had just graduated high school and turned 18 the next day). It was Mt Yale, one of the collegiate peaks in Colorado. We were dropped off at the summit, and after four or five grueling hours with a lot of swearing on my part (like I have said before, I do not share the normal characteristics and affinities of a religious person) my heart pounding and a moment of petulant crying, I made it to the top. It was a religious experience looking out over the Continental divide, and, but for the wind, the silence was deafening and truly amazing. It was truly a rocky mountain high, but what followed was the moment my life would never be the same. As clear as day, I heard a voice say “you are mine now” I turned around in hopes to see the boy I had a crush on, and there was no one there. Knowing I wasn’t prone to auditory hallucinations, I tossed it up to oxygen deprivation and gave a chuckle, only to hear the voice again “you heard me right”. My soul cracked and I knew with perfect clarity I would never be the same again. The trip down the mountain only took an hour or so and was completely terrifying how easily it would be to tumble like Wylee Coyote down the steep slope. I threw up twice, of course both times in front of said cute boy and never said a word to anyone about what I had heard.

That was the summer before college and could not dismiss the voice that would accompany me throughout the rest of my life. I needed to know more and it was that moment I decided to study theology (much to my parent’s chagrin who had hopes of using my big brain to make some big bucks). Usually, I hear the voice at pivotal points in my life to help me focus and redirect my path necessarily, but not enough to lead me to believe that I had succumbed to schizophrenia or mental illness in any form, I’m way too practical and objective for that (seriously, I’m not an idiot… I know how far fetched this sounds). I still never told anyone about those auditory messages, because they are for no one else’s benefit but my own. But I do pay attention to the words I hear and adjust accordingly, because I have come to believe it truly is a knowledge beyond me that is assisting me, because I can be pretty clueless when it comes to reading a situation or am as stubborn as a mule when moving into territory I just don’t want to go (like right fucking now). Importantly, I think my heavenly help is truly for me alone, so I don’t get in my own way. I am never going to be one of those people who tells others the reason they are behaving in such a way is because God told them to…which truly is just an excuse to use God as leverage to justify their behavior. For me, it comes in the form of a smack on my head when I’m being obtuse, or a loving message of comfort when I’m falling apart, it is simply one of those mystical things that I can’t explain but shouldn’t feel the need to hide from, even though I still do, a bit.

If I can believe that a Savior can die for my sins, and offers me heavenly help whenever, in goodness, I ask for it, I guess the occasional message that only I can hear is part of my package. I also guess I can’t talk about faith without mentioning the dimension of it I can’t rationally explain. I am limited to four dimensions however, God is not. So, moving ahead, perhaps you will understand me and what motivates me more clearly…or write me off as delusional, which would make me sad, but it is what it is.