Years ago, my faith was influenced by my hippie lifestyle: Eastern religions spoke to me, the easy way they addressed the journey of the spirit. Â But it was the main philosophies, not the practice of the faith that interested me. Â Christianity, distilled down to its essence spoke to me as well. Â The general theme of all this was the denial of the body and the nourishing of the spirit. Â Giving away possessions, asceticism, nonviolence. Â But as you said, I didn't follow one faith, and I agree that that can feel like being adrift. Â I think there is value with following the path of one faith, dedicating yourself to the rituals that bring you to the..... ?????..... source.
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Then, after some crisis of identity, I came down the earth. Â At first I felt like a sellout. Â I stopped roaming, settled down, set aside the conversations that held spiritual meaning for me. Â Along the way I picked up Aikido, not expecting it to bring me back to the spiritual path. Â But this was different. Â This path was clearer, and it grounded me. Â
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My Aikido teacher wrote a passage in his book:Â
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"You are not here to develop the spirit/ Your spirit is already developed/ Address the needs and health of the body with exercise and good nutrition/ You are an embodied soul/ If you deny the body you stifle the soul/ The lessons you need are in the physical plane" Â (From "Moving Toward Harmony" by Eric Oberg)
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This, along with that great guru of Ganja, Bob Marley: Â "Some people say/ 'Great God will come from the sky/ Take away everything/ And make everybody feel high'/ But if you know what life is worth/ You will look for yours on Earth/ So now you see the light/ Stand up for your right"
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Thank you, Bob, for helping me out!
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I started yoga as well, and this was just like an extension of Aikido but one I practiced with my own body instead of in tandem with others. Â Connecting my body to the spiritual path actually lead me to a calmer, less confusing place. Â I anchored myself in my body, in the earth, and have lead a very mundane existence ever since. Â Now, away from the Dojo and limited to yoga videos and walks, my main source of growth has been raising my girls. Â And so this continues. Â My "place" is to continue working with the mundane troubles of the world. Â There is something quite profound in something so simple. Â I'm sure there is a name, a "yoga", for this kind of path. Â It suits me very well. Â I have stopped worrying about the results....mostly. Â There is still doubt and confusion sometimes.
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My husband's mother has bazillions of friends through her church. Â I still wish I had a place, a church, whatever, to talk about this to people, but in some ways I think that is a diversion, preventing me from immersing myself entirely into daily rhythms of life, forgetting myself and finding peace within that. Â Even this thread could be considered a distraction. Â Loneliness, boredom, confusion, all seem to me to be the Fire before the gates of the Great Mystery.
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"Chop wood, carry water". Â Our 21st century version might be "Boil water, cook spaghetti, pay the power bills". Â I remember an excellent passage from Trungpa's "Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism" (about as deep into Buddhism as I ever got.) Â He made the point that the Japanese Tea Ceremonies, which Westerners found so fascinating, were actually based on the dull rituals of a dull, everyday task. Â The point was to bring the practitioner to the point of profound boredom, and Westerners were missing that point because the ceremony looks so exotic. Â That was his take on it, anyhow. Â (Maybe a spaghetti-making ritual for Americans?)
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I find the ancient stories of myth endlessly fascinating, but I think that is a sideline. Â It's fun to contemplate the cosmic meaning of Medusa or Kali, or the Hero's journey, but it is merely brain candy. Â Rituals were meant to dull the mind and ground the spirit, like a trance, to be forgotten along with Ego, not to feed the Ego with Profound Ideas to share and make us look Wise and Holy.
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Am I making sense? Â
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I found that by teaching Aikido, I was learning it more deeply than I ever could have. Â So, when you begin teaching you can truly begin learning. Â Let your students teach you.
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