Is Destiny Calling?
I was telling my friend Daniel about this: On the way home from the post office a couple of days ago, I saw an A-frame sign on the sidewalk: In need of a Parrish? And I heard myself say aloud yes. Yes, I do!
Driving along I was visualizing what it would be like to file in on Sunday morning. Waving to the friendly faces that belong to people I know and who know me. I was imagining seeing the minister, or pastor, down there at the front of the pews, discussing last minute things before the sermon. And in my reverie of longing, I felt that sense of anticipation of soon hearing something wonderful and inspiring and uplifting. And “pop” the dream disappeared as I remembered that, while completely respecting it, I would disagree with some of its fundamentals, such as the concepts of right and wrong, good versus evil, and even that we are flawed in any way.
I was brought up on a teaching that believed in a kind of monotheism quite unlike any other. It said there is only God. It said that there is no devil and no evil, and that what appears that way is always a misunderstanding or illusion. It was a very encouraging and helpful teaching. There was no punishment of any kind, only unending love and compassion from this wonderful god that permeated everything with equally unending wisdom. As I write this, I realize that my mother’s representation of this teaching made it even kinder and gentler. She had edited out what little admonition there was to be found. I think the vision of God she created for me reflected her tender love for me.
How and why this became the teaching in our house is a crucial part of the picture. My Mutti, as I called my mother, had seen an ad in the paper and had gone to attend a lecture in Stuttgart (Germany). There, she bought one of the man’s books. When it fell open to a photo illustration, she saw the sculpture of a being that the lecturer claimed had appeared to him while he meditated. To her astonishment, it was the same figure that had appeared to her a while ago.
I was very young when my beloved Mutti told me that story; perhaps as young as three or four. She was peeling potatoes in the kitchen and singing folk songs from her childhood in Davos, Switzerland, when she felt an insistent urge to go into the dining room. There she saw the figure of a man made up of thousands of tiny lights. He wore Asian features and a long, colorful robe, all made of the same points of light. For weeks, she had asked to see Jesus and had even invited him to tea. She was surprised to see this man. (Without realizing it until that moment, she had assumed that Jesus was white.)
She said: Are you Jesus? And he laughed and answered, Nein, Ich bin the Gott des Tanzes und des Gesangs. I am the god of Dance and Singing. (She told me she heard the words in her head, not as sound in the room.) My sweet mother went to kneel before this figure, but he held out his hand and told her there was no need for Ehrfurcht (devout fear). So, true to her gay personality, she said, Well, if you are the god of Dance and Singing, will you dance with me then? And they did. She couldn’t feel him, but saw him as he held her in his arms.
She asked him many questions and he was kind and soothing. He was telling her not to worry, that everything is all right. When she asked him what she could do to promote harmony in our family he offered this: You can share a cup of water with everyone during lunch. Pass it around and each of you can say whom, or what, you feel ill towards, if you do. Then grant forgiveness and ask for forgiveness for your grudge. Next, drink a sip of the water as a symbol. My Mutti really liked that.
After a while, she told him, Well, even though you’re not Jesus, I did promise him tea. Shall I go and make some for you? And he told her that he couldn’t drink, but that if she liked, she could prepare a cup any time and leave it out to remind herself of his presence. He also told her that she probably wouldn’t see him again in the way she saw him now, but that he, nevertheless, was always there. So my Mutti went to the kitchen to prepare the tea and when she returned with the cups, he was gone.
She made the dining room into a sacred room with a simple altar and our family pictures. She also put a bed in it. Once, when I got sick, I asked to sleep there. When I woke a few hours later, I was well and this became a tradition for my mother and me.
This story and the teachings my mother shared with me left me with an indelible sense of God as pure love, benevolence and kindness.
I see now that my ensuing worldview, as it has developed over the last fifty years, is grounded here. It has led me to see this world of which we are a part, as perfect as it is and as it isn’t. It has led me to profoundly love life and, in particular, people.
All this was present as I was saying, Yes, I’m in need of a Parrish. And I thought, I want there to be a church I can go to where I can listen to sermons that let me feel this love and that regularly ignite in me a sense of wonder at how precious it all is. I want a church that uplifts and inspires me and lets me remember myself as god and lets me see all of life as divine. I long for a church where I can share this way of believing with others, with a community. I want to be told, You are life, and therefore you are perfection. The kinder and sweeter you are toward yourselves, the more you can feel your divinity. And when you practice being this way, as a natural extension, you will become equally loving towards others. I want to be reminded that we all are wonderful, lovable, delightful and delicious.
Because I believe that the miracle of this divine life is revealed and created through compassion, generosity and praise.
Later, in the evening, as I was sharing this with Daniel, I felt a forgotten, yet familiar tug. One that I’ve always suppressed. The tug to give those talks on Sunday mornings that fan the divine flame we are. To let this endlessly loving god consciousness that permeates all life, that is all life, speak through me, as it speaks through all of us.
I have the most profound desire, most sublime longing to do this, and I can’t begin to tell you how embarrassed I am that I might sound grandiose, or self-important. And I can’t begin to express the scope of my longing to follow this path. I was telling Daniel that I want to create a spiritual center. I was telling him that, even though I love the classes I teach and even though they teach from this place of seeing everything as divine, they feel like a way station on the path towards a more specific destiny.
I think of such Sunday talks as a dialogue of creation. We are all co-creators of the most beautiful thing: Our experience of ourselves as divine life, divine consciousness and as love.
I wrote myself an email to remind myself “Start spiritual center.” And every time I’ve seen the subject line in my inbox for the last two days, I’ve gotten butterflies. I keep asking myself, Am I being grandiose? And suddenly it occurred to me that I could turn to my community. And this is what this is.
Dear community, what do you think? Some of you have taken my classes and know me quite well. Does this resonate? Can you imaginel this is the contribution I am meant to make? And I’d like to ask all of you, would you like for there to exist such a spiritual center as I described?
I would love to hear your feedback.
Namaste,
India