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Glass Half Full - Glass Half Empty

Glass Half Full – Glass Half Empty

Life is strange, no doubt about it. We are either up or down most of the time. Sometimes just hanging on in the middle before setting off again on our space-time big dipper. I reckon that it’s all to do with our psyche-soul and the programming that been laid down in it during the formative years of our life.

Some folk are natural optimists. They are infectious to be around, always seeing the glass half-full. They appear to be thankful for the smallest of things and ride the wave of life without a care in the world. Others among us, whilst recognising that we have some water in our glass, worry that it is draining away, as we approach the inevitable empty glass – death. For us, life seems a great big tragic joke. For the half-full brigade it appears like a never-ending Disney ride.

I guess we inherit our psyche settings from our parents, at least to some extent. Watching from our buggies and cribs, we took note of how the big two-handled life’s affairs. Tone of voice, facial expressions, number of swear words, all swept into our fledgling soul. Armed with this data we headed into childhood and our own encounters with the twists and turns of life. Copying our parents was the automatic wiring that kicked in when both the good times and the bad times rolled. Admittedly, over the course of time, we added a few strategies of our own, but as a rule we were glass observers in the mould of our significant two.

And then along came God, to shake up the mix. Either the glass half empty God of legalistic religion, or the overflowing God of the Nazarene, Yeshua bar Yosef. Now I reckon our taste in faith has much to do with the early programming of our god-like parents. Those raised by glass half empty folk head straight for the certainties of black and white legal religion, while the half-fullers head for the overflowing ecstasy of glass-filled faith.

Of course things can change. One dose of Divine intervention and yesterday’s half full devotee is transformed into today’s overflowing aficionado. One dose of tragedy and the ecstatic, running over follower crashes to Earth with a bump, seeing a cracked empty glass lying before them.

So what is to become of us? Well, I reckon that life must be lived in balance. Doom and denial have no place in the spiritual Journey. For wisdom, is holding both glass views in tension. We live in a world of decay and one of new birth. Both play their role in the cycle of life. Like the ocean tide, life comes and goes. ecstasy embraces us, only to withdraw back into the waters of memory. Fear grips us, only to release its hold as the surge of Spirit breaks upon the shores of consciousness. We ebb and flow. We drink of both cups in the party of life.

And yet, it won’t always be so. For, in the fulness of time, we move on to another Reality, one where weeping is no more and fear is obsolete. Not the teasing touches of eternity, that come our way in life, but the real thing. The consummation of all that timelessly springs from Source. The place where the human spirit bursts into fulness, no longer needing the ups and downs of glass illusions. For here Reality has replaced reality, the Prototype the Shadow.

Meanwhile, lets not get too upset or thrilled with the state of our glass. Rather, lets watch and wait as the tides of Life take us where they will.

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Joy

Joy

Joy

Many moons ago, while sitting in a wee, Victorian, Sunday School hall, in Northern Ireland, a spinster songleader whipped up our five-year old psyche-souls into a fervent, albeit conformist, frenzy. “I’ve got that joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart! Where? Down in my heart. Where? Down in my heart to stay” we belted out in response to the fervent arm movements of the lady in question.

Boy, what a Presbyterian gig that was, as we innocently sat there being dragged into worship by the devout Miss Hazzard. And yet, for all the metaphysical twists and turns of my subsequent journey, she may just have had a point. We do have a deep joy down in our heart spirits, even though zealous religious hoop jumping doesn’t really get us there to enjoy it. I’d better explain.

Joy mustn’t be confused with excitement, the euphoric sense of victory in our inter-personal desire battles. No, the buzz of triumph in our ego exchanges, isn’t joy, for joy hasn’t anything to do with our relationships with others. Rather, it’s a state of being, one that flows from the creative Source, that we tend to call God. For the Divine, resides in an Ocean of joy, the very energy of Love itself.

To be in touch with joy, is to be in touch with God, the Singularity from which Divine Essence flows. It’s a touch, and yet more than that, for it’s a timeless touch, one constantly waiting for us when we step outside our definitions of day-to-day reality. It’s a gift, that’s been given to every birthed one, though one that we sadly leave unopened. as we frantically opt for the glittering, short-term goodies of human happiness. While we seek to arrive, we have the buried treasure all along, deep in the repressed crevices of our inner being,

We tend to leave stories of ecstasy and joy to the mystic, the dreamer of no earthly use, and yet we secretly envy them their paradoxically immanent encounters of Transcendence. One thing that puts us off is the lie that to reach joy we must go through the esoteric hoops of a spiritual assault course. Not so, I reckon. To find joy isn’t the reward for the sacrifice of self, rather it’s the discovery of true Self itself. So how do we encounter joy if we don’t have to become a religious or New Age ascetic. Well, we simply have to reckon on it being there, like a seed in the grounded earth of our psyche-soul. It doesn’t lie outside, a prize to be battled for in the journey of life. It’s already ours, patiently awaiting our awakening.

To experience joy in the realm of consciousness we simply have to let go of our psychological attachments to thoughts, feelings, beliefs and others. When disturbances come our way, demanding a permanent audience with our psyche-soul, we just take note and move on. For like phantoms of the night, our ego warnings of impending disaster, are ultimately an illusion, albeit ones that we usually choose to accept without a second thought. No, like a ships mooring ropes, let’s cast them off and instantaneously sail into the wonder of Reality, where joy bathes our very being. A step toward this process of liberation is to observe, to take a step back and get in touch with the One who observes All.

Observation, rather than reaction, quells the pseudo-storms of ego. For as we watch from the safety of our Self, that spark of the Divine Nature, that dwells in joy, the experiential knowing of all knowings,the power of fear dissipates. This letting go of thoughts defensive role, brings us back to Reality with a bump, as Joy, like an airborne fragrance rushes in to fill the vacuum of consciousness, if only for a moment.

So, Miss Hazzard may have been right all along! Jesus, has indeed unclogged my psyche’s arteries by modelling an alternative Way to live. I’ve always had that joy down in my heart, and always will. And the good news? Well, we all have. Once we step back from script of attachments, we’ll be surprised at what bubbles up.

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roller-coaster 11

Roller-Coaster Religion

In our youth many of us loved to visit theme parks with their precarious, spine-tingling rides of terror. It was cool to be scared and come out safe and sound at the other end, before heading back for another go. It’s got me thinking about the religion of my youth. I reckon it was a roller-coaster ride to beat all roller-coaster rides. The big one where Cosmic powers laid down the tracks of my life, taking me on a topsy-turvy  spin of life and death. I guess I’d better explain.

I got on the roller-coaster when I was converted, when I bumped into the Divine at the Theme Park of Northern Irish religion. now at the time I believed that God was the owner of the Park, but I was mistaken. Like me He/She was just visiting, looking for lonely souls like myself, a Divine pick-up if you like. No, I was quickly ushered onto the Charismatic/Evangelical roller-coaster ride, not by Divine Love, but by the ride operators at the Park, the teachers of a faith, full of excitement and thrill.

At first things sped along nicely, as I ate my Bible snacks on a daily basis, drinking from the fizzy fountain of answered prayers. Just around the first bend though, things started to pick up. We weren’t on this ride for fun, rather we’d been recruited by the Divine, who incidentally was wistfully watching from the sidelines, for the Battle of all battles, the titanic struggle of Good v Evil, or Jesus v Satan. My wee psyche had inadvertently been hijacked for a cause, one that had strapped me in for the long-haul, by the vows of group commitment. For beside me, to the right and to the left, were my brothers and sisters, those fellow warriors who joined me in the cause – an army we were told that would storm the Gates of Hell. Boy, was that a rush. One mass of screaming solidarity flying around our God ordained track of Spiritual Warfare. We couldn’t lose with God on our side or could we?

Of course we had some wonderful ups along the Way, when we glanced far below the Face of Divine Love, smiling at us. Unfortunately we mistook this for Its approval, rather than the compassion that awaited us on our dizzy return. Anyway, it was an adrenalin blast, as we danced, sang, spoke in tongues and fell on our faces in the frenzy of devotion. And there sitting in front of us were our elders, who’d ridden the ride for many years, knowing each twist and turn, stoical in their steadfastness and control. All we had to do was copy them and everything would be all right, as we soared into the very heavens of God.

Of course, the downers followed the ups. There were casualties as we peaked and headed down into the tragedies of life at lightening speed. No matter how euphoric the ride, things got messy at times, both personally and collectively. We were bombarded by the fiery darts of the Evil One as we attempted to claim Northern Ireland for Jesus, through the cries and screams of intercessory prayer. And boy, did he pack a punch, knowing how to hit us in our spiritual solar plexus. Depression stalked our downward path, yet we cranked up and efforts and prepared ourselves for the next upward surge of Spirit. The Sunday sermon told us that it wasn’t an easy ride following Jesus, and so it proved, though not for the reasons that the preacher promoted. For a ride with Jesus and the Devil wasn’t a bed of roses, one that we could easily escape from. If we jumped, Evil had won and we’d pay for it for the rest of our lives. If we stayed we pleased Jesus but had hell to pay.

I managed to stay on the ride for 16 years or so, before I was pushed off , so to speak. Having lost my firstborn son Ben, to cot death at 5 months, I began to doubt the supposed All Powerful Designer of the Ride. Yet, even this wasn’t enough to have me get off the Revivalist track. It took some plain old rivalry with my leader friend to have me finally pushed off, an act of unintended mercy, that paradoxically saved my future, psycho-spiritual bacon. And of course, there was God standing by the kiosk of Compassion, granting me all the time necessary, for my cold-turkey detox from the adrenalin-fuelled track of Revivalist religion.

Eighteen years later, it was time for us to be reintroduced. Not on the Fairground Rides of Programmed Religion, but in the aching emptiness of a human heart. And so it has continued, a courtship of Aloneness, a Union in the fields of Self, far from the victory screams of Satan-obsessed souls.

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Awareness Lane

Awareness Lane

‘Two roads diverge in the middle of my life,

I heard a wise man say’

Larry Norman ~ singer-songwriter

I think we’d all agree that life is a journey of sorts. A space-time walk through a kaleidoscope of images and experiences. For some it’s a simple passage, for others the most complex of trips, full of twists, turns and unexpected reversals. It’s amazing that so many of us make it through to old age, even those 60s rock stars who refuse to accept that the glory days are now but fading memories.

One thing regularly appears along our space-time Path, viz. Will Junction. I’d better explain! Life conspires to bring us to a fork in the road, one where we’re presented with two choices, the way of Ego & the Way of Love. Just when we’re sailing along on a seemingly steady course, up ahead lies the dreaded divergence that none of us like to face. One road is wide, a busy, noisy highway if you like, the other a narrow, silent, country lane.

Those of us who wish to get ahead in life, believing the promises and fears of ego, appear to be automatically wired to head down the highway, joining the crowd, those seeking the security of a cultural nirvana. Safety in numbers seems to be the way to go, as we eagerly rush towards our material and status destiny. As long as we keep our inner rev counter at full throttle, we can navigate any obstacles that come our way and make it. So the narrative goes, that regularly broadcasts itself at every junction choice. This is Ego road, the one that ultimately leads to our physical, mental and spiritual burnout. A road of promise, but a road of destruction.

Thankfully, we’re regularly presented with two roads throughout our earthly sojourn. We are not locked into the GPS directives of ego. For, another Path, runs parallel to desire highway, a lane most natural, at one with All. Here, we leave behind the craving to have, swapping it instead for the contentment of being. Letting go of our adrenalin-fuelled drive for status, we discover a sense of quiet ease, as Life takes us where it wills. And beside us on the Journey, walks Another, a reassuring Presence, that ultimately All is well, and shall be well. Here, we catch sight of, perhaps for the first time, a Natural order and balance in our space-time dream. Life and death, joy and sadness, appear to dance together, to carrying us further into that quiet acceptance of Mystery. On this Lane of Awareness we say little but observe a lot, for in our focus lies a revelation of sorts, a knowing that we are already Home.

So how do we tackle these circumstantial junctions of choice, those planted there by Divine Source. Well, simply through the exercise of the most potent of our gifts, viz. will.

Will, is an internal switch that seems to set our psyche-soul direction. It can be a frenzied fan of the Highway, or the calm sponsor of Awareness Lane. If activated by our spirit core, it flows effortlessly in its default choice, leading us into the Path of Peace. Will is our helpmate, once freed from the fear-driven shackles of ego. A most powerful aid in life’s journey, as it paradoxically submits to Divine Desire, that Cosmic Energy that carries us back into the Bosom of Ultimate Source.

So, safe journeying, my fellow travellers. May all roads lead us to Being. May the Lane of freedom, teach us the shocking heights, depths and width of Divine Love.

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Clericalism

Clericalism

I guess there’s always been a bunch of folk who saw themselves as intermediaries of sort between God and man. How come? Well I believe that bizarrely the roots of religious belief can be found in mob violence – the founding murder, so to speak. I’d better explain.

Ancient man lived in small extended family groupings or prototype tribes. When something went wrong in their fight for survival and things began to get a little heated, a scapegoat was quickly found and dispatched in a fit of rage. This unexpected blood-letting released a quasi sense of cathartic peace in the remaining family members, who began to interpret it as the blessing of the Divine Spirit in the Sky! “Ah, so if we kill someone or something on a regular basis, we can obtain the favour of the One above. If we sacrifice to Transcendence, blessings will flow.” The birth of sacrificial religious thought which sadly continues to this day.

Over time, the tribe asked for volunteers to dot he dirty deed and so the priesthood was born. Those not afraid to get blood on their hands in exchange for a new prestige within the community. “We are a cut above the rest,” became their sacred slogan as they sharpened their clerical knives. And so it has continued through the ages. For some the blood is still part of the killing vocation, for others it’s now a symbolic role, dispensing the wine of the slain Lamb on a regular basis. Since time immemorial we have been into blood and so it remains. Further exploration of this obsession is for another day. What I really want to focus on is the sociological residue of such a belief system – the clerical class.

Now, let me say that I’m friends with a number of priests of varying shades. I’m not here to question their motives or their devotion to the Divine; rather I wish to question whether they are needed. Of course, when professional livelihoods are involved the cleric understandably fights back with 2000 years of Christian tradition or even more in the case of the older religions. I can understand that all too human reaction. When we need food on the table for our kids we’ll perform all sorts of pastoral back flips to justify our existence.

No, do we really need a professional class of priests, pastors and dare I say it, Apostles ( for my Pentecostal friends) in order to know God. Do we still require the experts to stand between Divine Source and man? Well, if we still insist on communities that centre around a round of religious gatherings in a purpose-built building, then the clergy still play a role, albeit an organisational one. For, let’s face it, if there wasn’t a paid official to do all the stuff, the whole system would collapse due to apathy. Folk have always wanted a Moses figure to go up the Mount and come back with a tabletised list of instructions from God, especially if they can also perform the role of CEO for the business named church.

I guess I’m saying that we don’t need a bunch of men or women to dispense the Divine for us, for Presence already dwells within. What we may need is one almighty shock to our ego system, that reveals this dramatic truth, one that rarely comes through the dedicated efforts of the clergy. A sudden death, a health scare, a divorce, redundancy etc all have the potential to jolt us into an Awakening experience. The place for answers is within, in the depths of our ego screams. There the Light dwells and we knew it not. Most folk within clerical systems of ministry are nice folk, though not all. Yet, there very existence may divert folk from meeting the Divine, heart to Heart. A little ministerial cul-de-sac that seems to help for a while until a new top-up of concern is needed. Life is messy and it’s there that Divine Love has chosen to dwell.

The trouble is that the priest/pastor/reverend etc can feel that it’s their job to keep the whole God show on the road. This is often done by teaching the particular dos and don’ts of their interpretive tradition. Having joined the clerical class to help mankind they can so easily end up propping up a moral empire based on the interpretive add-ons of their religious tradition. It’s so easy to switch into control mode in the name of the God of freedom. It’s the historical virus that invades the very heart of religious systems. The priest once more stands as judge and jury on the whole God-man thing, tempted to shed blood, albeit verbally on the chosen scapegoat.

Finally, let me tell you a wee story. A couple of years back here in Lincoln, I was out for a walk along the local High Street when I noticed a bunch of Christians doing their evangelistic thing. Always willing to have a chat will fellow God folk, I stopped and entered into a friendly chat with a guy, who turned out to be the pastor of the gang. At first our conversation was friendly but soon it was strongly inferred that I should be a church member and come along to sample his particular brand of gathering. At this point I suggested that the pastor try a wee experiment. Why not stop all church gatherings for a year, when folk could just mix with society at large. After 12 months have a meeting to see how many people had become Christians through contact with his flock. Unfortunately, I saw sheer disbelief in his eyes. “Dylan, I couldn’t do that.” “Why not?” I asked. “Well, frankly my members wouldn’t make it if it weren’t for our church programme.” Enough said. ” The Christ within would wither up and die if the pastor’s flock didn’t get their weekly worship session and sound Bible instruction.

The clerical system at its worst methinks.

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Suspicion

Suspicion

In the world of metaphysical thought there abounds the negative vibe of suspicion. For me, it’s clearly observed in the mutual wariness between the dogma-defined Christian Tribe and its experiential next door neighbour, the Spirituality movement. I picture these two clans of thought standing back to back at the garden fence, unwilling to acknowledge that the other may just have some valuable glimpse of ultimate Truth.

I guess we’re back into the analogy of blind men each having a hold on the Elephant of Mystery. Holding onto the Trunk, the Christians believe that they have it all worked out in the person of Yeshua and all his extrapolated  traditional add-ons. The Mind, Body, Spirit folk have their hands on the Ears, believing that they convey Cosmic Consciousness, the answer to all our dysfunctional ills. And the result? Separate teacher-gurus, publishing houses, conference circuits, rituals and sub-cultures.

I guess that I’ve jumped into the wide chasm of mistrust between both camps, in my desire to write for both. We do so love our sense of Divine ownership, our compulsive, obsessional belief that we have it all and don’t need to cross into the mindset of the other. All that I need is my big black Bible, a good church and, of course, Jesus. I’m saved and on my way to the sweet by and by, unlike the other lot! Alternatively, I’ve had enough of the Nazarene and the guilt trips of his hypocritical followers, for I’ve found my inner Self, the authentic home of Cosmic Love. I’ve finally cracked the Me thing and don’t need an external divinity, thank you very much. Just top up my supply of crystals and mantra chants and I’ll be fine with my free-flowing chakras. Let the other lot do the us and them thing, for I now love everyone even though I don’t engage with them.

And so the partially sighted march on into certainty, brushing aside the challenges and opportunities for further growth which the other tribe provides. The meeting of minds rarely occurs, though in the case of contemporary, Christian writer, Rob Bell, it has taken place, though at the cost of being demonised as a heretic by fellow admirers.

So, is there really anything to learn from each other? Well, I most certainly reckon that there is. I’d better explain.

The Christian Tribe

Can the Christian band of brothers and sisters learn anything from the Spirituality movement.? May, I humbly suggest that they can. Firstly, the generousity of Divine Love and its inclusive nature. We are all born in the divine image, despite the protestations of guilt ridden St. Augustine. Something deep within, very deep within in most of us, possesses the essence or imprint of Divine Love. Hidden by ego and its swirl of fear-fuelled defensive postures, there is a pearl of great price lying there in the sands of our pained psyche. Only ego sees and us and them – God or Cosmic Source sees all mankind through the Window of the incarnated Tao-Logos, the Beloved Son. We followers of the Nazarene can afford to be much more expansive in our view of the Queendom and who populates it.

The Spirituality Tribe

The SpIrituality Tribe tend to focus on the positive sides of life. All very good, methinks for such a take on Self and others is much-needed in our pessimistic media-driven world. I love the exhilaration of celebrating this mystery called Life. Yet, there is a brokenness in our space-time world that many spiritual folk choose to ignore. Violence isn’t one of the main topics at Mind, Body, Spirit conferences. The violent execution of the Nazarene is irrelevant to our Self growth and meditation, goes the party line. Sometimes the Galilean gets a quick acknowledgement as a spiritual, wisdom teacher, before being airbrushed out of the main tribal metanarrative. Yet, I reckon the tragic end, and claimed resurrection of Yeshua bar Yosef cannot be ignored. It challenges our cultural and metaphysical take on Reality, especially Source Reality. I’d love the Spirituality gurus to discuss the Nazarene more often, something that might help their ex-Christian followers reconcile with their religious pasts.

Of course, I could go on and on. It’s a topic for further discussion and mutual respect. Meanwhile I’ll continue to try to do my little bit in encouraging the estranged neighbours to look each other in the eye, for, it’s there that we can truly glimpse Other. Left to our own devices we head into exclusivity, together we get to have a clearer picture of the Mysterious Elephant in the Cosmic Room.

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Religious Junkies Again

Religious Junkies Again

OK, so you’ve probably guessed it by now – I’m a recovering religious junkie. There’s many of us kicking around the edges of the main faiths, though Christianity appears to have produced more of us than most. The majority of us RJs won’t or can’t go anywhere near a ‘Sunday morning church service’ –  a funeral of a close friend being the only religious setting where you might find us on one of our good days!

So how on earth did we morph from regular guys and gals into those who overdosed on religious belief and practice, blowing our minds on a myriad of pastoral sermons with proof texts thrown in for good measure? Well, I suspect that it all started in childhood, and of course, our all too human parents, bless their cotton socks, had a significant role to play in our junkie development. I’d better explain.

Well, it began in one of two ways.

First case scenario – our mum & dad were religious junkies themselves, programming us into their image, you know the sort of thing, church twice on a Sunday, Bible Study on Wednesday evening and Prayer meeting on alternate Friday nights. If we add up the hundreds of hours that we’ve sat under the metanarrative of our parent’s favourite religious brand, that’s a lot of metaphysical material floating around the formative caverns of our subconscious. Of course, the co-stars of the story, were always Jesus and the Devil, with God, the Father coming a close third. Blood, lots of it, and the fiery darts of an extremely scary Prince of Darkness were enough to scramble our little fragile psyches via guilt and a somewhat forced appreciation of a dying Saviour. In more extreme cases, ‘Turn or burn’ was the brutal message of choice, when alter calls came calling, and  fear-birthed tears started flowing. Yes, many of us have inherited the faith of our well-meaning, but often misguided parents, those who believed themselves to be doing Love’s work in herding us, sheepdog-like, into their cherished pen of pseudo-salvation. Of course, many of us eventually jumped the fence and individuated, running with the crowd, as far away from certainty and imposed dogma as we could manage – right into the clutches of other more sensual devils and deceivers.

Second case scenario -the rest of us had fairly regular parents; those who loved us but couldn’t always connect emotionally with us. Carrying psycho-spiritual wounds of their own, their frailties and flaws often cut off the expected parental flow of unconditional love, resulting in our inner big holes of Self doubt and shame. I suppose hiding in the Garden would be a good metaphor to consider, covering up the vulnerability of a misperceived inadequacy, from the searching eyes of a temperamental, disapproving parent, at least until Jesus popped up from behind a Tree of Life. In our somewhat troubled teenage years, many of us, tossed to and fro on an ocean of dancing hormones, responded in desperation to the standard Christian formula of accepting Jesus into our hearts, Jesus being the acceptable and loving face of a Transcendent God, who still appeared to be a wee bit like our dad – unpredictable. There was no doubt about Jesus and his benign acceptance of us, but a God who required shed blood in order to forgive, albeit his own, was a totally different kettle of fish. However, in the battle of the good cop – bad cop gods, Jesus won hands down and we gratefully accepted his offer of forgiveness and protection, whilst stil keeping a watchful eye on His Dad of Justice and quality control.

The psycho-spiritual hole within us appeared to be miraculously filled, as we joyously jumped into the awaiting Christian sub-culture, God’s franchise on Earth, the bastion of Truth and Righteousness that would keep us from being tainted by our broken fellow-man. Suddenly, it was a case of them and us, with everyone, and I mean everyone, being labelled as ‘saved’ or ‘unsaved’. When Bobby Dylan turned onto Jesus, we danced in the aisles, at least until the Jewish Wordmaster woke up to the religious game giving up on his Vineyard church attendance.

And so, under the orthodoxy of sound teaching we were well on our way to the establishment of heaven on earth. However, as time went by, some of us began to worship the whole religious extravaganza, rather than Jesus, the one claimed to be its divine sponsor. Eventually, within our church of choice most of us were trusted with some crumbs of ministry responsibility, basically for being good little faithful boys and girls, those who served and perpetuated the system. And so, the religious drip feed was stepped up a notch or two, with our co-dependency growing by the day. If we reached the higher echelons of being, viz. being an annointed Christian, we might even be promoted to the position of an elder, sorry men only ladies, and sit on the platform with the pastor, nodding our heads in approval at his latest revelation. A fair exchange perhaps, for the pastor’s approval was most definitely worth it, being the ultimate currency of belonging in the pseudo-community of faith.

And there you have it. That’s how we come to be religious junkies; parental infusion or love-bombing in the guise of genuine compassion, all in the name of the suffering Christ. No wonder it takes something pretty special to expose our hidden drug problem – a really big transpersonal crisis, one to blast us out of the certainty orbit of planet church. And yet, this is where Jesus and his Transcendent Source show their true hand – unconditional love and embrace in the despairing depths of cold-turkey.

Haven’t we all so many stories to tell? The Divine and the Drug have peppered many of our space-time pilgrimages. But thankfully one thing is certain – once free, there’s no going back.

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