The Church of Katy Perry

This is the not so exciting story of how I DIDN'T go to church on Sunday morning and instead ate quiche and fried potatoes and laid around and watched Katy Perry's "Part of Me" on Netflix.



This was never the way I planned. Not my intention.

All along the plan was to go to church.

But the week got away from me and suddenly Saturday night was here and I didn't have a church picked out.

I decided not to worry about it and headed out to see my friend's band play at The Firebird. The whole night is a blacked out blur, but I'm pretty sure it ruled.

Check out The Lonely Wild. They rock!

 

 

Then it was 1:00 am Sunday morning and I was eating chocolate chip cookies and watching Scandal. I googled "College Contemporary Worship Services" because I really wanted to sing praise songs with young energetic people. I didn't find anything.

Sunday morning at 8:00 I got up and shook the glitter off my clothes. My first thought was "Crap. I still don't have a church." My second thought was "Meh. Who cares?" I was on the fence about attending church. Maybe I can go to an evening service? Maybe I'll just go during the week?  I kept changing my mind like a girl changes clothes. I attempted to google some church ideas, but nothing looked appealing or started a convenient time.

My options were running low. I turned to my friends for help.

My Friends' Ideas for How I Could "Go to Church" Without Actually Going to Church:

1. Have sex so amazing that I see God.
2. Take a hallucinogen and go to a whole other world, a different dimension.
3. Hold my own church service.
4. Pray over breakfast.
5. Frolic in nature and call it church.

I'll admit they had some good ideas. But, I can't write about illegal things so #2 was out. My father reads this blog (and by that I mean my mother prints it out for him and he reads it off paper) so there goes #1 or at least writing about #1. Praying over breakfast wasn't churchy enough to "count". It was rather humid on Sunday so #5 didn't sound fun and I didn't have the strength or creative capacity for #3.

It was now 10:00 am. After my delicious breakfast of bacon and cheddar quiche, fried potatoes and strawberries I sat down and tried to find a loophole in this whole church journey.

**Sidebar. I made 3 meals this week. Real meals. Grown up meals. From scratch - mostly. And they were tasty. Brown sugar chicken wings with roasted red pepper and goat cheese dipping sauce, salmon cakes with shallots and dill and roasted brussel sprouts, and then the quiche I mentioned above. There is a part of me that is a total Suzy Homemaker. And it's a part of me that you're never gonna ever take away from me. Why would you want to? I make killer pie! **

My search for a loophole led me back to the Internet. I searched out various definitions of church hoping I would find some answers there. ****Spoiler****  I didn't.

Various Definitions of Church I Found on The Internet:

1. (noun) A building used for public Christian worship.
2. (noun) A place of worship
3. (verb) Take (a woman who has recently given birth) to church for a service of thanksgiving.
4. (noun) Institutionalized religion as a political or social force.
5. To strongly agree as if it were law.
        Example: Player 1: "Look at the junk in her trunk, I'd tap that ass"
                       Player 2: "Church!"
(Verbatim from Urban Dictionary - a real gem of an Internet resource.)


I gave up. When I started this journey I promised myself I wouldn't just skip out of laziness, but that was then and this is now. I didn't go to church. It just wasn't going to happen and not because the Internet failed me, but because I didn't really want to go.

What I really wanted was a lazy Sunday. You know, like that Andy Samberg video (google it)? I wanted a be-dirty-gross-stay-in-your-jammies-until-NOON-and-lie-on-the-couch-all-day-snuggling-and-eating-snacks-while-watching-documentaries-about-pop-stars kind of Sunday. So....that's what I did.

AND IT WAS GLORIOUS.

Netflix can be like a rabbit hole. You start with curious intentions. Just want to peek and see what this dark thing is all about. Then suddenly you are flying through the Abyss of 80's movies and food documentaries and episodes of That 70's Show confused and bewildered but (kind of) enjoying the ride. So...I was falling hard and I was in the dark  but I landed on my feet in a strange uncertain place called Katy Perry's Part of Me documentary.

My first few minutes in this strange land full of bright blue wigs and glitter rainbows were terrifying. How did I get here? Is this really happening? What have I become? Then I let go.  I gave myself completely over to Katy and her story of struggle and triumph. I found myself singing along to The One That Got Away - my favorite Katy Perry song.  I found myself crying right along with Katy when her marriage to Russell Brand crumbled on the same night as her biggest show. (I mean that literally. I literally cried. Truthfully, I cried 3 times during the whole documentary and I'm not ashamed.) I found myself giggling with glee when she invited this rather strange man in a leotard and blue wig to dance with her on stage. I enjoyed every bloody second of that documentary. Seriously. Loved it. I want to see her in concert. I also want to have tea in a room with cats...watch and you'll understand. (Anyone know how we can open a Tea with Cats room here in the states? Anyone?)

That's it. That was my Sunday. I watched movies and ate stuff and laid around. It was like a teenage dream. I'm not going to try and create any morals or life lessons of pearls of wisdom from this Sunday experience. Am I sad I missed out on church this week? Nope. No regrets, just love. It's been awhile since I took a day to do nothing of any value. So, it was much needed and greatly enjoyed.


Now I feel rested and ready to take on yet another very busy chaotic week. But no worries, after a hurricane comes a rainbow. We are fireworks! So, let's go out there and let our colors burst! Make em' go "oh"! Leave em' all in awe!  (Like I wouldn't leave you with some kind of cheese. Please.) BOOM!









*10 points to your house of choice for finding all the Katy Perry references in today's post..

Not-So-Easy Silence: Shambhala Meditation

I want the world to stop. Give me the morning - give me the understanding.

                                                                                      - Belle & Sebastian "I Want the World to Stop"


Ssshh. Let's be quiet.

Just for a few minutes.

Let's do nothing.

Think about nothing.

Require nothing but breath. Deep slow breaths.


When's the last time you did nothing? Probably been a while, eh?


If you are anything like me, your life is fairly busy. You have lists of things to accomplish (I have got to mail those "thank you" cards FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!!) When you watch a movie you are probably also making dinner, vacuuming, wrapping packages and putting on eyeliner. Perhaps, like me, you've even had to start multitasking during your down time. My bathtub is my favorite multitasking location. I can soak my tired old feet in Epsom salts, get cleanish, moisturize with some coconut oil, eat a chicken dinner, listen to the latest indie tunes on Soundcloud, catch up with my family on the phone and text my best friend about her day all while relaxing in the warm waters of the tub.

But, ya know, the point of down time is to shut down, like a computer, so you can rest the system. Doing fifteen different things during your "down time" isn't really down time at all.


It occurred to me on Saturday after I worked out, went grocery shopping, ran errands, painted the Sensory Room at work (we have a mother fucking ball pit at our school now), showered and put on real people clothes, grabbed some Thai food, watched a movie, cleaned house and snuggled the cat that I was in desperate need of a truly quiet moment.

Rainbow windows!
The colorful reflections are awesome!

Goodbye hideous balloon border. I always hated you.  

So, Saturday night, sitting on the Carroll's couch, I googled "sit and be quiet churches" in hopes I would find what I was looking for.

I did.

Apparently, sitting and being quiet is called "meditation". Who knew?  My google search directed me to a Shambhala Meditation Group at the St. Louis Wellness Center. 

Sunday morning I woke, made a lovely breakfast of eggs and watermelon, watched my usual Sunday morning shows, talked to my brother about financial and retirement issues and threw on some comfy clothes. It was a leisurely Sunday morning. My favorite.

I arrived at the St. Louis Wellness Center around 11:20 am. Meditation began at 11:30. So, I had some time to get the lay of the land from the THREE other people who were attending this Sunday.

Shambhala 101 (or the few things I know about Shambhala)

* It's founded on Buddhist traditions, but is it's own entity. (see Buddhism)

* Rooted in the principle that every human being has a fundamental nature of basic goodness.

* Striving for an "enlightened society" (which has something to do with "The Magical Kingdom of Shambhala").

* It's fun to say "Shambhala"

* It's about "awakening" which is achieved through mindfulness meditation.

* You don't have to dress up or shower for a Shambhala meditation group. It's very come as you are - messy hair, ripped leggings, smelly armpits and all.

Okay...so I know very little about Shambhala. Ask Google. She'll know more.

The second I walked through the door I felt myself speaking in a humble whispered voice. Perhaps because everyone else was. There were 3 other people in the building when I arrived. They gave me the lay of the land - take off your shoes (check), hang up your belongings (check) find a floor cushion (check), we'll be meditating with eyes open to symbolize our connection with each other (check), grab some tea or water (check), here's the bathroom (check) and class will begin in a few minutes (check-check-a-roo).

I spent the next 5 minutes speaking softly with 2 other class participants about how their weeks had been. They discussed their week long meditation retreats and upcoming ALL DAY meditation class. (Can you imagine?) I smiled sweetly and explained that I was here to be quiet and was very excited to sit in silence with them. That's not a weird thing to say. Not at all.

Our leader, Gwin (who I referred to as Gale for the first hour), rang the bowl and it was time to begin meditation. She gave some brief instruction on appropriate posture, what to do with our gaze, breathing properly and how to handle the comings and goings of thoughts.

Now, we sit.

Have you ever been in one of those moments where someone asks you what you are thinking? A friend questions your thoughts when he notices you staring off into the night sky. Perhaps you are lying in the arms of your lover and she turns to you and asks "what are you thinking?" When I get asked this question, no matter the time or place or circumstances, I am ALWAYS thinking something. And it's usually bizarre.

What are you thinking?

I was just thinking about why I wake up every single Saturday craving lemonade.

What are you thinking?

I was thinking if the zombie Apocalypse happened right now whether or not I would try to survive. Because sometimes I think I might just want to die and call it quits. But then I worry about reincarnation and getting reborn into a less awesome body and I already have 30 years of knowledge with this body so it would probably just be best to fight it out. Unless we could disprove reincarnation. Then maybe I'd rather die.

What are you thinking?

I was thinking that if I ever got another cat I would want to name it Noodles.

My brain is always on. Always going. Always thinking. So, meditation isn't very easy for me. As I sat on my floor cushion comfortably in half lotus and focused my gaze on the swirl of the hardwood floors I began to have some thoughts. At first they were basic - food, sex, my to-do list, my cat, my body, what I would write about all of this, the people around me, etc. Focus on your breathing Sarah. IN one two three four. OUT one two three four. Come on. Find the quiet.

I was desperate of a quiet moment. So I tried hard. As thoughts came I attempted to do that thing where you recognize them without judgement and then calmly and gently let them go. This ain't easy. Maybe I should join a commune? Mmm...pie sounds so good. I have to mail those freaking "thank you" cards. I wish I knew more about stars. I should start reading about stars. I need to paint my toes. I'll do that tonight.  The only way I could shut my mind down was my counting breaths. So, that's what I did. For 30 minutes I counted my breaths. IN one, two, three, four. OUT one, two, three, four. At some point, the floor began to breathe - rising and falling. I noticed the swirls on the floor we moving. Um. Am I on shrooms? Nope.  I had just breathed myself into hallucinations. Too much oxygen? Too much focus? So, I decided to return to normal breathing and just go ahead and let my mind think about whatever it needed to, because I was starting to feel nauseous. 

My toes were beginning to go numb when Gwin rang the bowl. It was time for walking meditation. With our hands balled in a fist and pressed to our stomachs we walked in slow circles around the tiny space. Walking meditation was much easier for me, because I just noticed various things in the room. Ooo, orchids. Ooo, antique wood chair. Oooo, pretty shrubs outside. Oooo, my feet are sticking to the floor. Oooo, who are those robed men with their pictures on the wall?  Walking meditation wasn't exactly my thing either. 

I'm not a very good meditator. I suppose I could try and train my mind to be still, but it just seems too hard and vomit inducing. I prefer Yoga. I enjoy having something to focus my thoughts on - like the physical pain of pigeon pose, that bastard pose. 

After meditation we gathered in a circle and did an exercise. The group was now up to 6 people, including the leader. Big turn out. We were given a sheet of paper and asked to write 4 things about ourselves we were willing to share with the group. Mine? 

1. I have curly hair. 

2. I eat unconventional things for breakfast

3. I am very sarcastic

4. I cry at Hallmark commercials. 

Then we had to pass our paper in a circle and each person had to write 2 more things about us. This was interesting for me since I KNEW NO ONE IN THE GROUP MORE THAN 5 MINUTES. So, I had to scramble to think of things to say about strangers. Um, Kate wears lovely brown skirts? Mark is warm and welcoming? Gwin has a calming presence? It was hard to come up with positive characteristics about strangers! In the end I stuck with appearance and friendliness. I didn't worry about what people were writing about me. I've never cared much for what strangers think of me.

When I got back my paper, people had written....

kind

strong

willing to try new things

is going to die

has a lot of give

has good posture

wears red well (i was wearing my red tunic)

is alive 

Very astute new friends. Very astute.

We talked about how the words on our paper made us feel. I was cheerful and pleased with my paper. This exercise didn't bring about any big feelings for me. I am all those things. Woo hoo! But for other people, it was hard to accept positive comments. It got kind of intense as participants argued about the words on their paper - "That's not me" "I'm not those things" "The only thing I am is sad". Church was starting to feel more like group therapy. It got intense. It got quiet and not the good kind. Not the kind I was there for. We worked through some of the thoughts, but were unable to come to any conclusions (such is life). It's nice to have a group of people you can share these thoughts with and they can help you work through them. It's just, that's not why I was there. I didn't want to hear about anyone's problems...I came to be quiet.

I was ready to leave. The quiet was done and so was I.  I said my goodbyes and my thank yous and got in my car. I turned up my music and sped off toward the next thing on my to-do list. 

 

 

I've tried meditation several times now and I like it....in small doses. It's kinda how I feel about olives. A few olives in a Greek salad? Sure. A few on a supreme pizza? (hmmm...pizza) Yummy! A giant bowl full of olives for snack? Um. No. Gross. Olive tapenade? Goo. Ain't gonna happen. I can be down with 10 minute meditation sessions to help clear the mind, but anything over that is as unappealing as big bowl of olives.

 

 

Still, I need to find time to be...still. Time to just breathe. Maybe today I will put down the phone, turn off the music, keep the chicken in the kitchen and just enjoy a relaxing non-multitasking bath.

 

Well....

 

Actually...maybe tomorrow. I'm really busy tonight.

 

 

BUT I do hope you find time to bask in the peaceful quiet my friends. I really do.

 

 

 

Ohm.....Ohm....Ohm....tra-la-la-la....

 

 

 

Speaking in Tongues: Lively Stone Church of God

 

 

 Do you remember the old card catalogs they used to have at the library? You know, those wood cabinets with mile long drawers stuffed full of off-white index cards? Remember? My mind is like an old card catalog, but it doesn't reference books. It references movies.

 

I love movies. Love em. Just freaking love them.

 

My mind movie catalog is generally organized by subject, actors and genres. When I have a life experience, see something/someone, hear a particular phrase, etc it pulls up a card in my mind. For example just mention John Cusack's (uh, so dreamy) name and a mind drawer flies open and little faded typed movie titles flash across my mind...Better Off Dead, Serendipity, Being John Malkovich, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil... And then my mind starts cross referencing all the movies John and his sister Joan did together...Sixteen Candles, Martian Child, Grosse Pointe Blank, High Fidelity... Almost every topic has a card. For example: Beverages = Waiting for Guffman "Just drive up and get a coke...if you're thirsty." or Anchorman "I love scotch. Here it goes. Down into my belly." and also "Milk was a bad choice".

Saturday night rolled around and I was trying to figure out what church to attend the next morning. For a while now I've been curious about attending a service where people spoke in tongues. I find that whole practice fascinating. My card drawer flew open and out popped the image of Casandra in the movie Saved! as she pretended to speak in tongues during an assembly at her conservative Christian school.

 

 

Sometimes movies give us unfair expectations of the world. Which is why I'm still waiting on Ryan Gosling to build me a gorgeous mansion with his bare hands and make me romantic candlelit dinners while reading the story of our love to remind me of our magical life together when I have Alzheimer's and can barely remember my name. IS THIS TOO MUCH TO ASK?!?!?!  Perhaps.

 

So, when I chose Lively Stone Church of God an Apostolic Faith church in north city St. Louis I already had some preconceived notions for what a "church that speaks in tongues" would look and sound like based on movies like Leap of Faith, Religulous and Saved!

 

No amount of movie education could have prepared me for what I was about to experience....

 

 

This church had GORGEOUS windows

 

 

 

*Tip for those of you who are thinking about embarking on a church journey - buy a damn knee-length dress or skirt. You're gonna need it.

 

Dressed in a bright green see-through dress that barely covered my ass (thanks carbs), black tights, a cardigan, bright red nails and glitter lip gloss I drove off to my destination. With nearly 4 hours of sleep under my belt I was ready to take on a new adventure. I hopped in my car, rocking out my new hipster glasses that I order for $12.95 - BOOM! When I arrived at Lively Stone I noticed something not present at the other churches I've attended - security guards. Huh. Interesting. There was security posted outside and inside the building. The Bishop (head preacher person) even had a small detail with him - kinda like bodyguards, with earpieces and all. (The Bodyguard starring Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston. "And Iiiiiii Willllll Alllllwaaaays Loooove Yoooooooou".)

 

People looked a little confused as I walked up the steps of Lively Stone gleefully greeting people with a "Good morning!". I got several looks as I walked through the doors and found my seat in the sanctuary. This could be for one of several reasons:

 

1. I was the only white girl in the room.

2. I was a complete stranger who just walked in and sat down alone.

3. Something may or may not have been hanging out of my nose.

4. I am so pretty.

5. I was the only lady in the room without a knee-length skirt.

 

It could have been a combination of all of the above, but most likely it was #5. I kept pulling my dress down. It didn't help. My ass is huge.

 

                                           

 

Service was beginning. The choir started singing while one of the preachers was talking, no, not just talking, emoting. He was singing/screaming/performing powerful words. Within 4 minutes of my arrival I saw a man in a brown suit start jumping around, waving his hands, and speak in a strange language. He was speaking in tongues. Oh boy. This is gonna be good. 

 

The seats slowly began to fill. The large chapel was packed with people clapping and dancing and singing along with the choir and 6 person praise band. Female ushers in crisp white suits with pristine white gloves and lacy black flower pins escorted people to open seats. I was crammed in the middle of a pew in the center of the room (felt a little trapped). Looking around the sanctuary it was hard to miss all the colorful hats. These women put the Kentucky Derby to shame! The hats were unreal. Giant red frilly hats that stood a foot tall. Feathered fascinators with bright pink plumes. Wide expansive rims covered with rhinestones and ribbons. I've never seen anything like it in my life. Where do they get these hats? Where can I get one of these hats? Where do I get the colorful coordinating outfits? Where are these stores?!?

 

After a few moments of observation I became swept up in the music. It was intoxicating. The choir was amazing - full of talent and energy. Every single female member of the choir had a voice like Aretha Franklin - deep and soulful. The choir would sing the song over and over until the congregation had the words and then we would sing the same song with growing intensity and occasionally an octave change for the next 20 mins. Hands were in the air. People were screaming. People were dancing. People were singing with great enthusiasm. The lady behind me was saying ALL kinds of things - speaking in tongues. The pastor was speaking in tongues. Little old women were running laps around the sanctuary - sprinting down the aisles holding on to their colorful hats. People were crying. People were hysterical. It was loud. It was chaotic. IT. WAS. AMAZING.

 

Okay. Speaking in tongues. Don't know how I feel about it. It's supposed to be "God's love language" or a "special prayer language" or the "language of heaven".  I don't know about any of that. To me it just sounded like when I get really really excited about something and all my words start mixing together. Like, if Ryan Gosling (I'm having a Ryan Gosling day) walked into my office right now my words would sounds something like "higdgfnhdsgh$*&*%$moooiloveyouhiogoifhposdfhgioho*5" and I would probably be jumping up and down and screaming and then I would pass out and people would have to fan me back to consciousness. So....kinda the same thing?

 

It didn't seem demonic to me - as many other religions believe it is. People just seemed really happy and full of joy and excitement and "speaking in tongues" was their way of expressing it. It does seem a little silly. Naturally, it reminded me of a scene in Bruce Almighty where Steve Carell's character is "possessed" by Jim Carey and forced to make all these noises during a TV broadcast. I found myself hiding a smile during some of the more random glossolalia moments.

 

 

I didn't speak in tongues. I don't know how. I don't understand how people come up with the sounds. I guess The Holy Spirit passed me by. Instead, I danced. I twisted my hips and tapped my feet. I sang as loud as I could - in harmony, my favorite. I bounced around. My hands were red and numb from clapping. It was like going to a club and crazy dancing with your friends. I was getting kinda sweaty, because 45 minutes into the service all we had done was sing and dance.

 

Luckily, we took a break and prayed. Even the praying was dramatic - people got down on their knees, clung to the rails, laid on the floor, etc. The preacher (there were 2 preacher people and a Bishop) talked about how over the "next few hours" we were here to worship the Lord and praise Him for everything He had done for us during the week. Uh. Next few HOURS?!?! HOURS!?! Holy crap, this is going to last all day isn't it???

 

Yup.

 

Such pretty windows.

 

In between choir numbers a preacher would speak/sing briefly. It was kind of like a rock opera. A really intense one. There was always music playing. The praise band emphasized the moment and heightened the emotion with their various sounds. It was very participatory. We were often asked to turn to our neighbor and touch them or tell them they are blessed or tell them how great Jesus is, etc. Everyone was so incredibly friendly - turns out no one really gave a crap about my skirt or skin color after all. ("People is people" - The Muppets Take Manhattan) There were all kinds of women in various uniforms - priest like uniforms, nurses outfits, black skirt suits with gloves, etc.

An hour and a half  into the service the children came up to sing a song - Lord I Lift Your Name On High. I freaked out. I psychotically love that song. Sometimes Rebecca and I make her husband Nathaniel play it on his guitar so we can have a sing-a-long as relive our youth group days. So, I just went ahead and sang along with the children. So did the women around me. Clearly, they loved the song too.

 

I was growing tired nearly 2 hours into the service and all we had done was sing and sing/speak. We still hadn't done the sermon or communion. They took an offering. It was the kind of offering where EVERYONE had to walk up and drop their money in the velvet bag. There wasn't any cash in my purse. So, I frantically gathered up all the change I had in my wallet and stuffed it in an envelope so no one would know I was only donating roughly $0.80. Go ahead, judge me. I'm a horrible person who forgot to stop by an ATM.  

 

After the offering we had a moment. Monday was the first day of school for many of the students in St. Louis and we "lifted them up in prayer". It's unlikely that you know about the school situation in St. Louis, but it's heartbreaking. St. Louis's school system, like so many across the country is crap. Recently several schools lost their accreditation due to the school's inability to keep children safe. These students now have the option to go to some specially selected schools in the county - except the selected schools threw a bitchfit about letting in these "dangerous kids" into their schools. The past few weeks it's been like the 1950's in STL with a whole lot of racial tension, hatred and ignorance. I stopped watching the news and listening to talk radio - it's been too upsetting. So when the preacher asked everyone in the sanctuary to hold hands and pray for these children and their families I started to tear up. We prayed to open up people's minds. We prayed to open up people's hearts. We prayed for safety. We prayed for understanding.

 

I'd been at Lively Stone for over 2 hours. I'd danced. I cried. I sang. I prayed. I got sweaty. I hugged people. I was done. I needed some water and a bathroom break. So, quietly, I left - passing by people convulsing near the doorway and spinning in circles in the aisles.  

In the car on my way home I reflected, as I often do, on my amazing privilege. This experience was too cool and I couldn't help but be thankful to live in a city with such a rich diversity of religious opportunities. Pretty much after every service I find myself being grateful for my family and my upbringing. I had a magical childhood and my family loves me - I didn't know until recently how amazingly rare that is.  I thought about my privilege as a white girl who grew up in suburbia where all the schools were basically of equal quality and  I never had to worry about an entire school district hating me or thinking I was "no good" because of my skin color. My life is pretty terrific and I have so much to be grateful for. Every Sunday I am reminded of this and it's one of my favorite things about going to church - perspective.

Jesus the Light of the World
(hard to capture it with all the people around)

 

 

 

Holy crap it's August. Only 4 months left of this journey.

 

Music Is My Religion

That's a Jimi Hendrix quote - "Music is my religion".  He said that.

But I imagine there's lots of us who feel that way.

Myself included.

It just sounds infinitely cooler coming from Jimi Hendrix, because he was a wicked talented musician who broke barriers and set his guitar on fire and stuff.

If music is your religion does that make a concert your church - the place where you gather with like minded believers to worship at the altar of sweet sweet tune-age?

I think so.

Now...let's say every religion decided to get together and worship simultaneously over a weekend. You would have lots of options of services to attend from various types of religions. You could create your perfect worship blend by combining different experiences that speak to you. You would gather with hundreds of thousands of other people and have both a collective and separate experience.

In the music world we call these festivals and they are indeed a religious experience.

On Sunday, my designated day of religious reflection, I didn't go to church.

I went to Lollapalooza - a 3 day music festival in Chicago. There are multiple (like 15?) stages and a hundred or so musicians playing hip-hop, EDM, reggae, indie, rock, sad lady music, angry boy music, punk, blues, and all those other genres I don't even know about - like sissy bounce. What the hell is that?

This is the only picture I took at Lolla when I realized I needed
something for the blog. This is "Perry's" stage - dance music. Note
flower headband please.

I only attended one day, Sunday, because I could only afford one day of festivities. At $95 for a single-day ticket it was by far the most expensive religious experience I've had yet, but totally worth it...well....kinda....it was mostly worth it....it's just....I'd probably never go again.

Why?

Because I'm too freaking old.

We tallyed the fashions of the kids

I'm too freaking old for crop tops and hair flowers. I'm too freaking old for tiny baby college students who can't handle their first hallucinogenic experience. I'm too freaking old to spend $25 on a crappy sports bottle of festival wine. I'm too freaking old for eardrum bursting volume. I'm too freaking old to wait 40 mins in line (with douchebags) to use the world's most disgusting port-a-potty. I'm too old for hipsters that claim to care about the environment yet think it's perfectly acceptable to leave their trash all over the park. I'm too old for expansive crowds you can't escape. I'm just too freaking old for this crap.


So, why'd this "old" lady go?


The music of course.



Jake Bugg, Palma Violets, Lianne La Havas, Alt-J, Tegan and Sara, Beach House, The Cure (and bits and pieces of others) - that's why I went. I was there to experience the music. And the music didn't let me down. Jake Bugg freaking killed it - you gotta check him out. Tegan and Sara's show was just a giant ladyparty of happiness. Palma Violets rawked. The Cure was....still not my type of music, but that's totally okay. Alt-J was hypnotic...

I don't know if it was the wine, or the breeze blowing through the trees or the energy in the space or the tantalizing sounds of Alt-J or the cloud of marijuana smoke all around me, but I had some religious reflections during Alt-J's set that I'd like to share with you...


Sarah's Reflections About Religion and Church and Stuff That Occurred to Her During Alt-J's Lollapalooza Performance:

1st - Oh my god, I am never going to another Alt-J show again as it is filled with pretentious douchey  hipsters who don't give a shit about music and only like Alt-J because they started playing them on MTV.

2nd - I need to get over my music elitism. Everyone has the right to experience music as they choose. Some (assholes) probably best experience music through loud obnoxious talking. Stop being such a judger. Drink more wine.

3rd - Oh my god. Music and religion have so much in common.

4th - Everyone experiences God/spirituality in different ways - that's why there are so many different religions, because there are so many different kinds of people. Some people identify with one religion where others combine several belief structures. Similarly, there are soooooo many different kinds of music. There's something for everyone. Some people just listen to classical or death metal or punk or Kenny G while others (like myself) create a suicide (you know, that thing where you mix all the different sodas together?) of various music genres. Still... no matter what you are listening to...it's all music. Aren't all religious beliefs just a different genre of God?

5th - People come to religion/church for various reasons - they grew up with it in their family, deep spiritual connection, for healing, for understanding, because they enjoy it, to give life meaning, all their friends were doing it, or there were free donuts and coffee. AND people come to music for different reasons - because MTV told them to like it, to fit in with others, because the music speaks to them, for healing, for understanding, for enjoyment, for release.

6th - There were lots of different genres represented at Lolla and somehow we all got along swimmingly. Not everyone at Lolla was my style, but I met quite a few friendly people. I stayed away from the people who creeped me out or annoyed me. They didn't ruin my fun. No one was fighting or arguing (that I saw). The darkly dressed Cure people weren't setting fire to all the EDM kids' brightly colored blinking rave gear. Why can't religion be like that? Why can't religions festival together?

Everyone calm down and look at the pretty lights.

7th - I need a snack. Like now. Like right fucking now. (When I get hungry I turn into some kind of food monster ready to kill even small children in the way of my ability to get to that taco stand as quickly as food monsterly possible.)

The food at Lolla was way better than expected. When they ran out of wine (MOTHER OF GOD NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!) Rebecca and I turned to food for comfort. It was like a fat girl curb party - just downing baskets of fried deliciousness.

It was nice. Real nice.

And that was as far as my deep thoughts went. After snacks it all went downhill. Eventually we left Lolla.  Hours later I found myself drooling and staring off into space at a bar we went to after the show to meet up with some friends. I was on sensory overload. Lolla is a lot to take in....at least for this old bird. Post show drinks were a bad idea. Around 2 am we returned to the friends house we were staying at and Rebecca and I got to curl up on the tiniest twin pullout you have ever seen in your life. Super comfortable. Snuggled up to a steel bar my exhausted body gave into the overwhelming experiences of the day and began to doze off, but not before having one final thought....

I'm too freaking old for this shit.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz

Dancing Around The Fire: Wiccan/Pagan Campout

I have this great mental image of me whispering in the ear of the naive 14 year old girl I wrote about last week and telling her....

When you are 30 on a cold night in JULY lost in the hills of rural Missouri under a blanket of the most beautiful stars you have ever seen you are going to dance around a fire with a group of witches and you are going to love every single second of it.

I love my life. It's just so awesome. IT. IS. JUST. SO. AMAZINGLY. AWESOME.

In January, when I was researching interesting places to visit during my church adventures, I came upon a website for Oak Spirit Sanctuary Church of Nature in Boonville, MO and was immediately intrigued. OSS is a non-denominational Wiccan church on 160 acres of Missouri beauty (I love this state!). They aren't exactly limited to Wiccan beliefs. It's a melange of Wiccan, Pagan, Faerie, Native American, Norse and Celtic beliefs along with whatever feels right in the moment. There aren't weekly church services at OSS, but instead rituals are based around lunar cycles and specific holidays. I set aside a date to attend one of their Lunar Rituals in the summer.

Then roughly 4 seconds later it was July and I was driving down a gravel road in The Middle of Nowhere, MO with my partner in crime Rebecca wondering if perhaps I had made a mistake.



Where are we? What the hell are we doing?

 

 

After 2 hours of driving west from St. Louis we took turns down various gravel roads moving deeper and deeper into nothingness. I could feel it....the excited nervousness bubbling in my stomach and shooting little tingles all over my body. We were close. We had to be. Then. Finally. We saw a house with a pentagram on the siding and yard busy with the play of face-painted little children. We had arrived at Oak Spirit Sanctuary...and we had no idea what to do.

 

The main house. This is where we ate and there are places for non-campers
to sleep.

 

There was no place to park. There were no signs. There was no organization. No one seemed to even notice we were there. I drove through the property and found a girl setting up her tent. I offered her my questions and in return she gave me some answers. We parked by where we would be camping overnight, grabbed the food we had brought for the potluck dinner, and walked down another gravel path toward the main house to introduce ourselves and get the lay of the land.

 

A smiling bearded man wearing a straw hat named Tom threw his arms around me and hugged me tight saying, "Welcome home!" I smiled and explained our first time visitor status. Rebecca received her bear hug and we were shown around the property. There were children running everywhere and people milling about the lawn doing crafts and talking and getting drums together for the upcoming drum circle. It looked and felt and smelled like a hippie commune.We brought our dishes into the kitchen and were introduced to the kitchen witch, Kerry. Again we were given tight hugs and greeted with "Welcome home!" We were told to go and set up our tent (we were camping overnight) before dinner, so we headed back down the road to choose a campsite - setting up our tent near the community meadow and the location of the night's ritual.

 

Prettiest church I've ever seen. This was the site of the ritual.
I danced around that fire pit. Uh huh.

 

Now, don't get me wrong, I wore a super cute red flowy baby doll dress with leggings and a cardigan along with full make-up and perfectly styled curls to this shindig, but I'm not a girlie girl when it comes to camping. Once when I went camping in Kansas I was presented with the option for an air mattress in my tent. I was disgusted. I am not a princess! When I camp, I sleep on the earth. I pee in the woods. I listen to nature. I'm entertained by the stars. I get really stinky and gross. I just prefer doing all those things in an adorable dress. That's just who I am.

 

Here is (some of) The Goddess Shrine

I grew up a sophisticated hillbilly in the great state of Missouri with parents that believed in having culturally affluent children and friends that believed in wild free-spirited outdoor adventures. I love camping. I love art museums. I love fishing. I love fine dining. I love barefeet in the grass. I love fancy dresses - especially ones that twirl. I love hippie festivals. I love the symphony. I love it all. And it's because of all these experiences that I can blend in anywhere - no matter what I'm wearing or what's going on around me.

Rebecca reflecting at the stump circle.

 

I didn't feel strange at OSS. I felt at home. I felt fully comfortable in my own skin and fully free to do/be/feel whatever I needed to in the moment without fear of being judged. And I mean fully free. If I wanted to take off my clothes and start bocking like a chicken and manically peck at the ground it would have been completely fine. How many churches can you say that about?

 

Before dinner we all gathered around the table and held hands and the ladies said a blessing that sounded a lot like something from The Craft but was basically just your standard "bless this food" prayer. Then we ate. The food was yummy. Rebecca and I brought spinach salad with feta and cranberries and special roasted pecans my grandmother makes along with homemade lemon squares. All were consumed quickly. I find that one of the quickest ways to make a new friend is to make them something delicious to eat. Rebecca and I just landed ourselves so many new friends.

 

I love Rebecca with all my heart. We have ALL the fun. This experience wouldn't have been the same without her. There isn't an adventure she isn't down for. Even with her newly dyed bright pink hair she blended in easily. Rebecca also possesses that wonderful ability to fit in wherever she goes. Together we are a force to be reckoned with. Like a glitter tornado of friend making power.

 

Because we were raised well, Rebecca and I offered to help with the dishes. Sadly, only women were helping out in the kitchen. Kerry asked if I wanted to wear an apron over my "pretty little dress". We cleared the table and helped put things away before the ritual began.

 

*Sidebar* Did you know that Pagan/Wiccan rituals are done sober? Yes. Yes. Yes. No drinking or drug use until AFTER the ritual is complete. Luckily Rebecca already knew this and passed the info along to me, because at 9:00 on a Saturday night it's rare to find me WITHOUT a glass of wine.

 

Even though it was the end of July in Missouri - a time of year that is generally so hot you "sweat balls" as my friends would say - this particular evening was quite chilly. So Rebecca and I gathered warm attire to wear during the ritual. Standing at the car we watched as several women wearing velvet cloaks and flowy dresses began waving sticks on fire and walking around the circle. Some of them were contorting their bodies. Some of them were howling.

Oh my. What have I gotten myself into?

This was our first ever ritual. We didn't know what to do. We didn't even know if we could join. Should I wear my hoodie, you know so I have a hood? Should we just sit back and watch? Is it okay to chew gum? What HAPPENS during these things?

Screw it. Let's do this.

We walked up to the entrance of the circle and were greeted by a lady with long silver hair covered by a black velvet cloak with head jewelry across her forehead.

"Do you enter the circle with an open mind?"

"Yes."

"Do you enter the circle with an open body?"

"Yes"

"Then you may enter."

A lady with a burning stick of smelly something draped me in smoke.

Okay then.

There were only 8 or so people in the circle at that time. We did our "circles" around the fire as many times as we felt like doing and then sat down on the bench and waited for everyone to gain entrance into the circle (at more formal rituals you walk around 3 times clockwise and never counter-clockwise). People quickly realised this was our first ritual and were cackling with excitement. "Oh! This is your first time! Oh my! You are in for a treat!" I was handed a mustard yellow scarf and it was explained to me that I would need it for the ritual. "For what?" I questioned. "For dancing" she explained. As I looked around almost all of the women were sporting scarfs and barefeet. So, I took off my shoes and draped the scarf around my shoulders.

The circle began to fill with excited people swaying to the music, maybe about 30 people total. Drummers took their places along the benches. Statues and flowers surrounded the blazing fire in the center of the circle. We waited for instructions.

*Sidebar* Pictures will not be included in this section because pictures are not allowed at rituals. They ask that you don't photograph individuals because not all Pagans/Wiccans are "out".

A lady named Victoria, a self proclaimed Ecstatic Wiccan Buddhist, would be leading this particular lunar ritual. We were asked to stand and set an intention for the ritual. Was there any specific healing energy we needed? We were encouraged to share with the group.

Then the rules were explained:

1. You were allowed to leave and return to the circle as needed (this is not true of all Wiccan rituals)
2. Remain open in body and mind.

Victoria explained this ritual would be about movement and channeling the elements within, but first we were to walk around the circle and introduce ourselves.

I've been to LOTS of churches and almost every church has a moment like this - a greet your neighbor moment. Usually people stay within their little area and offer handshakes and "good mornings" and occasionally hugs. This was just a wee bit different. As I walked in a circle around the fire I met every single person, told them my name and exchanged deep bear hugs and occasionally kisses.

Michael Franti began to sing on the outdoor speakers Victoria set up and the drummers began to make beats. It was time to move. The first element was Earth. With our feet rooted in the ground we were encouraged to be trees. Victoria moved around the circle swaying and bending like a tree trying to get us to break free of our human bodies and not only dance like the Earth but fully become the Earth.

Okay. I had to giggle to myself. Really? Be a tree? Am I really standing around a fire with a whole bunch of witches dancing like trees? Is this really happening?

I used my scarf to cover my smirk. This was silly. But I came here to fully experience a Wiccan/Pagan ritual and I've never been one to care about being silly anyway. So, I let go. Completely. And I danced with all the Earth inside me. I was a tree. I was a beautiful strong tree with long purposeful branches.

Next. The song changed. It was time for Water. Victoria urged us to leave our safe spot. To move freely. To circle backwards and forwards around the fire. So I did. I used my scarf to make waves with my arms. I felt the water all through my body. I was fluid and cool.

When Fire came around I was fully loose, in the moment and moving around the circle freely. My fire was sexual - hot and intense and capable of amazing things. My hips moved in sensual patterns to the deep rhythms of the music. My fire was unpredictable. It changed directions. It changed movements. It grew high. My yellow scarf became an extension of my flames. I was out of control - coming up to fellow fires and breathing my flames in their faces. I felt wild, but free. It was glorious.

The beat stopped and the music became flowy like a summer breeze. Air. My scarf became my wings and I spun around people and fluttered like a faerie. I closed my eyes and moved with the wind of my soul (kinda like that Cat Stevens song).

The music stopped and it was time to be still. Time to be silent. I sat in half lotus and pressed my hands to my heart and thanked my inner Goddess for the moment. Then slowly I returned to Sarah, but not the same Sarah I was before the ritual. I felt free and balanced and AMAZING and high as a kite (again for the record there were no drugs or alcohol involved in the ritual). I ran up to Rebecca, whom I barely interacted with during the ritual and tackled her to the ground with a giggling bear hug. She was giggling as well. We both had enjoyed ourselves immensely and were now drunk on energy. BUT we were also giggling because now it was okay to drink the wine we brought. HOORAY FOR EVERYTHING!!!!

The group was buzzing we energy. Kerry came up to us and asked, "Are you girls witches together somewhere else?" We just giggled. I knew without even looking at Rebecca that she was as complimented as I was. "No. This was our first ritual, remember?" Kerry showered us with praise for our ability to fit in flawlessly and go with the flow. We were asked to return to another ritual as soon as possible.

A group of fire spinners and fire breathers were performing that night for the group while a drum circle beat out fantastic rhythms. (I wish I would have taken pictures or video but honestly I completely forgot about the blog at this point.) We grabbed our wine bottles and watched from afar. We needed some time to process the experience. The next hour went something like, "That was amazing." 5 minutes of silence. "Oh my god the stars are so beautiful out here." 10 minutes of starring at the sky. Drink. Drink. Drink. "I just can't get over how amazing that was." Finally when we regained control of our bodies we joined the group and met two adorable gay boys who lived at OSS and we ended up hanging with them for the rest of the evening.

We laid out under the breathtaking beauty of the stars by our private fire and drank wine and beer and ate organic rice crackers and talked about other communes we wanted to visit and discussed their belief in faeries as well as anarchist principles. We snuggled and giggled and sang Rocky Horror Songs and had a really really really good time. At the end of the evening the boys offered us a night time blend of herbs they used for relaxation - lavender oil, Valerian root and other LEGAL things. The mixture worked quickly and soon we were all headed to bed (the boys lived in a sustainable shed in the "village"). Rebecca and I put on extra layers of clothes as the night grew rather cold.

Then in the morning I woke up to this...

 

 

I love waking up to the sky and the trees and the sunshine and the (usually) soothing sounds of nature. We were still high from our experience and spent most of the morning staring at the sky and smiling.

 

 

Funny thing...after spending the entire experience using the woods as my restroom (I'm not shy about such things). I found an actual bathroom across from our campsite called Frog Bog. Silly me, I thought Frog Bog was just an homage to the magic of frogs. But in actuality it was a place with an actual (non-flushing) toilet, OUTDOOR and indoor showers and running water with real soap and a mirror so you could see indeed just how crazy you really looked.

The place had SO MANY FROG STATUES.

Each stall had art. Fairy frogs. Potty Poems. When I saw the outdoor showers
I nearly died. A moonlit shower in the forest. How wonderful.
The bathrooms were really cool.

We packed up our tent. Washed our hands in the BATHROOM. Gathered all our trash (leave no trace) and got ready to leave. I threw on some tie dye pants and a pink top. This felt like the kind of place where I could wear my tie dye pants all day every day and that felt so nice. We headed up to the house to offer a camping donation and say our goodbyes. Kerry encouraged us to come as often as possible letting us know that after completing 13 visits during the 4 seasons we are full fledged members with voting rights. Or if we we wanted to live on the land it was $1,000 for a sustainable shed kit and property rights. But this was our home now, and that's why everyone was welcomed with "Welcome home!" and she didn't want us to leave without knowing it. We exchanged information so we could stay on top of all the Wiccan/Pagan events in St. Louis. Then with some final hugs and thank yous we got in our car and drove back toward our every day reality in St. Louis. Neither of us wanted to go, but hunger fueled our ability to leave.

Even though we were smelly and gross and basically wearing pajamas we stopped in Columbia at a rather classy Chinese restaurant and ate a sit down meal. We were both pretty out of it and spent the majority of the meal alternating between stuffing our mouths and giggling hysterically.


When we got back to St. Louis we stopped by the grocery store for Sunday supplies and I danced round the aisles with wild abandon because I could and I felt like it and this experience has helped me embrace my weirdness even more. Look out world. But seriously, what harm does dancing down the aisles do? If they didn't want you to dance then they shouldn't have been playing "Maniac" by Michael Sembello over the speakers.

I still feel high from the experience. I know it all sounds silly, but really, what religion isn't kinda silly? Putting ashes on your forehead is kinda silly. Believing a man rose from the dead and walked among the living is kind of silly. Believing the Earth was created in 6 days is silly. Thinking pouring milk over an altar is going to provide you with blessings is kinda silly. Bowing to various corners is kinda silly. I don't think believing in faeries or magical powers or spells is any more silly than all the other religions. But just like all the other religions/churches I've experienced I found things that spoke to me. I enjoyed channeling the elements within me. I enjoyed finding my inner Goddess. I enjoyed the freedom of the moment. I enjoyed being surrounded by strangers I immediately felt comfortable with and fully accepted by - that's a rarity I haven't found many places and it was a true gift this weekend.

I would go back in a heartbeat and I will participate in every ritual I possibly can because I found it enormously healing. This doesn't change who I am, it adds to who I am. I'm not going to start reading people's Tarot cards or casting spells or wearing velour pantsuits. Hmm...or am I?

Blessed be.

 

 



A Poem

This brews not done
It needs more time
Perhaps some wormwood
Could clear my mind

But do not fear
My readers dear
I have not let you down all year

Indeed tomorrow there shall be a post
About a visit I loved the most
With cackling witches
And crackling fires
Clever faeries
and dark desires

Until tomorrow
My lovely friends
Then you shall know
The beginnings and ends...

Uh huh.

Sherbet Cleanse at Shabbat Service

Dan Schwartz.

I was a freshman in High School. Dan was a senior.

You already know the rest...

He was 18, smart, popular and handsome. He had a car (uh huh). He spoke at pep rallies (uh huh). He was sexually active (uh huh). He had green eyes with little flakes of gold in them (uh huh). He wore Cool Water cologne and looked amazing in a suit (yeah). Oh yes, Dan was the dreamiest (sigh) and I worshiped the ground he walked on. He was the god of my idolatry.

I was 14, overweight and awkward but very social. I was the president of my church youth group. I only listened to Christian music and Broadway soundtracks. I had giant curly hair that I hated and brushed into a frizzy ponytail tied with a big ribbon in a pathetic attempt to look like the beautiful ribbon tied soft ponytailed cheerleaders I so desperately wanted to fit in with. I'd never kissed a boy - except once, at church camp, but I'm pretty sure that didn't "count". I was well liked and not a total social outcast, but not even the weird boys would have classified me as "dreamy" or "pretty".

I'm the gem in the middle with my head turned. Note that sweet sweet
 brushed out ponytail. Oh yeah. The 90s ruled!

There is no reason Dan Schwartz and I should have ever interacted. No reason our worlds would collide. Except one. We were on the speech and debate team together. Yes, speech and debate - that glorious group of young intelligent people who felt very comfortable with public speaking. Speech and debate - that magical experience where there is one adult and 15 clever teenagers with raging hormones and a complete disregard for authority. Speech and debate meant hours of unsupervised down time waiting for quarters, semi-finals and finals. Speech and debate meant overnight hotel stays for out-of-town tournaments. Speech and debate meant long late night bus rides in the dark...

On one such bus ride I found myself sitting in the seat behind Dan Schwartz near the back of the bus. It was late. It was dark. Everyone was sleeping except us. Dan's head was resting against the window facing the aisle. The moonlight reflected through the window highlighting the sharp curve of his perfect face. I just sat there silently staring at the side of his head like a weirdo. He leaned over the back of the seat, smiled and started a conversation with me. My 30 year old face is flushed just thinking about this moment. I don't remember exactly what was happening in my 14 year old brain at the time but I'm pretty sure it was something like OhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygod
OhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygod.

He talked to me like I was a girl. Just a regular girl. He asked about my classes, my church and my love life (blush). He confided in me. We talked about his family and his failed relationships. We talked about his future. Then, without really thinking about it, I decided to take down my hair. I'd put my wet curls into a bun for the tournament that day and the tight pull of my hair was becoming uncomfortable. At this time in my life I didn't have the capacity to be sexy or seductive - just let me make that clear. I was probably tugging at my ponytail holder and scratching my head like child with lice, because I'm super smooth like that. The second I let my hair down I knew I'd made a horrible mistake. He was going to see what I really looked like and then he was going to turn around in horror and never ever speak to me again.

But that's not what happened.

Dan looked at me and said, "You look really pretty with your hair down. You should wear it that way more often."

And I was never the same.

After Dan's comment I stopped brushing out my curls, learned to love my natural hair, wore it down pretty much EVERY SINGLE DAY, fell in love with a super cute boy and landed my first real kiss - fireworks and all. All because Dan Schwartz said I was pretty? NOPE. All because someone I looked up to helped me understand that I don't need to be anyone but my true self. Dan helped me understand that my true self is not only enough - my true self is beautiful.

It was a powerful gift. I doubt Dan ever had any idea how much that comment changed the trajectory of my life. To this day, when I am feeling insecure about myself I think about Dan's comment. About 6 years and 75 extra pounds later I was driving around Springfield, MO with my windows down rocking out to some sweet tunes as I loved to do. Two men pulled up beside me and started to chastise me about my weight and hair. They called me Chewbacca (my hair was really really long at the time) and made Chewbacca-esq noises. It was brutal and humiliating. I was trapped at that stoplight - my eyes fixated on the bright red glow of the light praying for green to come to my rescue. I stared straight ahead, not wanting to let them know how their comments were hurting me. Instead, I focused on Dan Schwartz and his message of love and self-acceptance. I drove off feeling sorry for those boys who found pleasure in shaming a silly ole fat girl who was all alone driving around on Friday night.

But I wonder if I would have felt differently had I not had Dan's words to comfort me or the kind words of so many others. How many things have I said that were helpful and healing for people? How many things have been hurtful? Have I been anyone's Chewbacca tormentor? It's possible.

Oh, the power of words.

All this came up for me when I decided to attend a Jewish Shabbat service...

Dan gave me three real gifts other than allowing me to bask in his beautiful presence:

1. An understanding that my true self is enough and I am indeed beautiful JUST THE WAY I AM.

2. The power of kind words at the right moment.

3. A strong belief (prejudice) that all Jewish people are awesome and generally better than non-Jewish people.

See, Dan Schwartz was Jewish.

I didn't realize it till many years later, but Dan's comment left me with a prejudice. Upon learning someone was Jewish I immediately cloaked them in all these wonderful characteristics. In my mind ALL Jewish people were smart, funny, kind, thoughtful, intelligent, striking, open-minded and awesome. Yes, yes, I know, this is totally not okay. It's the same thing as stereotyping the Asian kid as the "smart one". You shouldn't judge people based on their religion or gender or race or ethnicity or hair color or sexual orientation or any of that other crap. (whining) But it's hard. And I'm still working on it.

Getting ready for Shabbat service I had to check my prejudices and try to clear my mind so I could accept this experience for what it was and only what it was - kind of like cleansing your palate with sherbet in between courses, which I love and think we should do at all meals and perhaps metaphorically when meeting new people. Hmm...maybe next time before meeting someone new I'll just scream out "SHERBET CLEANSE" before I talk to them. Then make an elaborate production of breathing and clearing my mind so I don't put any of my stereotypes and prejudices on them. Oh yeah, I think somebody is about to make SO MANY NEW FRIENDS.

Even though I tried to clear my mind my thoughts drifted back to Dan. So, in his honor I wore my hair down.

Chewbacca had straight hair assholes.
Gawd, get your Star Wars facts right!

Shabbat services at Central Reform Congregation in St. Louis, MO are held Friday night at 7:30pm and Saturday morning at 10:00 am. I chose Friday at 7:30.

I entered the space and was handed a large spiral notebook containing all the prayers for the evening Shabbat service. People were greeting one another and chatting. I tried to stay as open minded as possible, but then I overheard some ladies talking about how they recently won a trophy at the St. Louis (gay) Pride Parade for "Best Walking Group".

Oh crap. These people are lovely. No. No... Just because people support gay pride in such a fabulous way that they earn a trophy for it doesn't mean you should automatically attribute more positive characteristics to this church and it's congregation. Hold out. Stay open. SHERBET CLEANSE!

But it didn't matter. This place was amazing. It was an all around delightful experience.

Central Reform doesn't refer to it's space as a church or a temple or a synagogue but instead Sukkat Shalom, or "Shelter of Peace". I liked that.

The majority of the Shabbat service is in Hebrew - sing-song Hebrew. My favorite part was when we sang "Lie la lie" instead of actual words because I don't really know Hebrew and "lie la lie" is really fun to sing in harmony and also it reminded me of Simon and Garfunkel's "The Boxer" which is a really great song.

The service had a specific order that is followed (more or less) for every service, which would explain why most people knew the prayers by heart and did not need their books like I did. Depending on the time of day and the time of year the words of the service vary slightly.

There were some rituals I was not acquainted with like - fanning the flame of the candle to your forehead and then holding your face and singing the prayer. At one point people started bowing randomly. For a while we turned around and faced the back of the room. But, apparently I blended in well. One woman turned to me to ask a question about the service thinking I was a regular. I couldn't help it, I took it as a huge compliment. There was a slightly confused look on the woman's face when I responded, "I have no idea" beaming ear to ear.

When it was time for "the lesson" the Rabbi walked up and spoke with poise and clarity. The sound of her voice and the pattern of her speech were immensely comforting. Her message was simple but powerful. She spoke briefly about current events (Zimmerman) and how "broken" the world was. She talked about those "Why me God?" moments and pleading with God for what we want when *often what we have is enough. Focusing on the good/focusing on what you DO have instead of focusing on the bad/focusing on what you DON'T have - that was her message. There was a Hebrew word for this concept of "what you have is enough". Ravlack? Ravloch? I'm not sure of the spelling. I couldn't find it on the Google. But I liked the concept. Focusing on the good has been a theme of late. I'm doing my best to let that message sink in.

Service ended with "Shaloms" and hugs and snacks. On my way out the door I was forced to take an apple juice cup from a woman who was blocking my exit. She was aggressively offering snacks to people. They had this beautiful spread and people were staying after to mingle and eat and be awesome together. But, I had to scoot. I had a very important date with a jug of sangria and a Liverpool Rummy match to attend.

I drove home with the windows down and my long curls flying free. It's been quite some time since I've cared about the cruel remarks of others. I'm awesome. Accept it and move on. I've got Dan Schwartz to thank for that. And all of you of course. Have I told you how grateful I am for your support along this journey? Have I told you how much it's meant to me? Have I awkwardly sung "Have I Told You Lately That I Love You" in your ear in my worst Rod Stewart whispered singing voice? Well, I need to. You need that experience. You also need to know that you are truly magnificent just as you are. You need to accept that about yourself and move on with confidence. Because it's true. Dan Schwartz says so.


Sangria anyone? I'm just kidding. I drank it all. (but I could make more...)