It was back on the ranch when I first got hints that there might be more to this whole spirituality thing than what I was getting at Mass. Things were happening to me which seemed to indicate that maybe the Roman Catholic Catechism didn't have the whole truth.
We moved from Detroit to Montana when I was 12. It was a perfect age for me to make such a move, but it came with it's share of culture shock. I had been attending school in a large suburban junior high, complete with swimming pool, and was in their program for gifted students.
Now that I look back on it, 7th grade was just one series of culture shocks after another. Previous to 7th grade, I had attended parochial schools. I do not remember a single year in a parochial school where the class size wasn't 50. I also don't remember a single year in which I wasn't mostly bored to tears. Boredom was not a good place for me. Eventually my mother got sick of phone calls about my 'day dreaming' and questioning teachers, and decided it was time to try a public school. It was Nirvhana. Instead of a class of 50, my academic schedule put me in classes of 12 and everyone was an academic peer. For the first time I was really jacked about school.
On the other hand, I was totally not prepared for the whole social scene, had no idea how to behave, and generally hated things like lunch, and p.e, especially the girl's locker room, where showers were mandatory. This was way too much flesh for my upbringing to handle. It wasn't a case of impure thoughts, it was a case of flat out embarassment.
When we moved out to Montana I found out I would be attending a two room school house with 8 grades and a grand total of 24 students. My classroom had the 5th through 8th grades, and my little sister's had the 1st through 4th. It was about as far removed from Detroit as one could get. I spent 7th and 8th grade teaching 5th and 6th. That's no lie. I was that far ahead.
The teacher for our room was an older gent in his late 50's who spent the vast majority of his time trying to fondle the older girls. That's no lie either. I was spared from this because I got into a fight with one of the eighth grade boys over being from the 'Big City' and knocked him out. I had no idea where the information came from which told me to used body shots until he dropped his guard and then use a right cross. Worked perfectly, but I was so angry I didn't pause to wonder where this all came from.
I guess our 'teacher' must have figured I would be way more trouble than his fondling was worth. I think I was the only girl who was spared his attentions. Even though we all knew what he was after I don't believe anyone of us said much to our parents. I know I didn't. We just kind of laughed it all off. Ranch kids are exposed to sex continously, and even though I wasn't born into ranching, it didn't take me long to figure out that cattle ranching was basically all about sex.
So while school was hardly a challenge, the rest of the changes in my life were the kind of challenge I relished. The first time I got on a horse was one of those challenges. Taykos was 17 and half hands tall and weighed 1200 pounds. I didn't know enough to know that he was quite a bit bigger than your average horse. He was in Clydesdale territory. Our ranch foreman was a little nervous about putting me on a working cattle horse, but if I was going to learn anything this is where I had to start. He told me to take Taykos out about a half a mile and then return and he would watch me to see how I did. That should have raised a red flag. It didn't.
Taykos and I had a nice slow romp out, but as soon as I turned him for home, he started to try to run. After about twenty seconds he figured he had a 'stupid' human on his back and went into a full scale gallop. In the midst of my panic, I distinctly heard a different voice in the back of my head telling me what to do. "Lean into the curves, stay low to his back. Don't try to pull him pack. Stop panicking." I did exactly as I heard, and made it to the barn in one piece. Apparently my mother had been at the kitchen window and saw me come screaming down the driveway at 30 miles an hour and thought I had bought it. I heard about it. Loudly.
Our ranch foreman though, had a different opinion. He had a big grin on his face and asked me how long I had been riding because I looked like a natural. The truth was I had ridden the ponies at the state fair a grand total of twice. He shook his head and then for some completely unknown reason, at least to him, he told me if I really wanted to learn to ride, I should ride bareback like an Indian for at least one full year. Which I promptly did. In the process I learned a lot about handling horses and that it would be to my advantage to stay on Taykos because trying to get back on him meant standing on the top string of a barbed wire fence and leaping head first on his back. (I seemed to have done a lot of head first leaping.) This all depended on Taykos co-operating which made it a true hit or miss proposition.
I spent a lot of time wondering where the voice had come from. How did I know to tell myself to do the right things to save myself from a potential serious situation. Why did our foreman, a true cowboy, tell me to learn to ride like an Indian and not a cowboy? This 'unlearned' information kept coming at the weirdest times and I would confound our foreman with seemingly 'knowing' things I had no right to know. I sensed it would not be a good thing to tell him the truth, so I told him I got it from reading books. Sometimes that was actually true.
In the meantime I learned to trust this inner voice but it was years before I understood it was a reincarnational voice. One of my Native mentors actually had a dream about it and was able to confirm the existence of this particular person who was well known amongst the Assiniboine for his ability to handle horses and the quality of those he owned. This information confirmed another psychic's previous assesment. She had even given me what turned out to be the correct name. This all put me in quite the quandary. Nothing in Catholicism gives credence to reincarnation. This could all be not good. I was in spiritual shock.
I finally screwed up the courage and put the question to Thomas More. "Thomas, what's the deal with reincarnation? Is there anything to it?" To which he replied, "If you actually understood and lived what Jesus taught, reincarnation is not an issue."
That relieved me for quite a while because I could see the truth of it. But then it finally dawned on me. He didn't really answer the question. In fact his answer implied it was true, and the way out of it was to live as Christ lived. Needless to say, I went knocking back on his door.
We moved from Detroit to Montana when I was 12. It was a perfect age for me to make such a move, but it came with it's share of culture shock. I had been attending school in a large suburban junior high, complete with swimming pool, and was in their program for gifted students.
Now that I look back on it, 7th grade was just one series of culture shocks after another. Previous to 7th grade, I had attended parochial schools. I do not remember a single year in a parochial school where the class size wasn't 50. I also don't remember a single year in which I wasn't mostly bored to tears. Boredom was not a good place for me. Eventually my mother got sick of phone calls about my 'day dreaming' and questioning teachers, and decided it was time to try a public school. It was Nirvhana. Instead of a class of 50, my academic schedule put me in classes of 12 and everyone was an academic peer. For the first time I was really jacked about school.
On the other hand, I was totally not prepared for the whole social scene, had no idea how to behave, and generally hated things like lunch, and p.e, especially the girl's locker room, where showers were mandatory. This was way too much flesh for my upbringing to handle. It wasn't a case of impure thoughts, it was a case of flat out embarassment.
When we moved out to Montana I found out I would be attending a two room school house with 8 grades and a grand total of 24 students. My classroom had the 5th through 8th grades, and my little sister's had the 1st through 4th. It was about as far removed from Detroit as one could get. I spent 7th and 8th grade teaching 5th and 6th. That's no lie. I was that far ahead.
The teacher for our room was an older gent in his late 50's who spent the vast majority of his time trying to fondle the older girls. That's no lie either. I was spared from this because I got into a fight with one of the eighth grade boys over being from the 'Big City' and knocked him out. I had no idea where the information came from which told me to used body shots until he dropped his guard and then use a right cross. Worked perfectly, but I was so angry I didn't pause to wonder where this all came from.
I guess our 'teacher' must have figured I would be way more trouble than his fondling was worth. I think I was the only girl who was spared his attentions. Even though we all knew what he was after I don't believe anyone of us said much to our parents. I know I didn't. We just kind of laughed it all off. Ranch kids are exposed to sex continously, and even though I wasn't born into ranching, it didn't take me long to figure out that cattle ranching was basically all about sex.
So while school was hardly a challenge, the rest of the changes in my life were the kind of challenge I relished. The first time I got on a horse was one of those challenges. Taykos was 17 and half hands tall and weighed 1200 pounds. I didn't know enough to know that he was quite a bit bigger than your average horse. He was in Clydesdale territory. Our ranch foreman was a little nervous about putting me on a working cattle horse, but if I was going to learn anything this is where I had to start. He told me to take Taykos out about a half a mile and then return and he would watch me to see how I did. That should have raised a red flag. It didn't.
Taykos and I had a nice slow romp out, but as soon as I turned him for home, he started to try to run. After about twenty seconds he figured he had a 'stupid' human on his back and went into a full scale gallop. In the midst of my panic, I distinctly heard a different voice in the back of my head telling me what to do. "Lean into the curves, stay low to his back. Don't try to pull him pack. Stop panicking." I did exactly as I heard, and made it to the barn in one piece. Apparently my mother had been at the kitchen window and saw me come screaming down the driveway at 30 miles an hour and thought I had bought it. I heard about it. Loudly.
Our ranch foreman though, had a different opinion. He had a big grin on his face and asked me how long I had been riding because I looked like a natural. The truth was I had ridden the ponies at the state fair a grand total of twice. He shook his head and then for some completely unknown reason, at least to him, he told me if I really wanted to learn to ride, I should ride bareback like an Indian for at least one full year. Which I promptly did. In the process I learned a lot about handling horses and that it would be to my advantage to stay on Taykos because trying to get back on him meant standing on the top string of a barbed wire fence and leaping head first on his back. (I seemed to have done a lot of head first leaping.) This all depended on Taykos co-operating which made it a true hit or miss proposition.
I spent a lot of time wondering where the voice had come from. How did I know to tell myself to do the right things to save myself from a potential serious situation. Why did our foreman, a true cowboy, tell me to learn to ride like an Indian and not a cowboy? This 'unlearned' information kept coming at the weirdest times and I would confound our foreman with seemingly 'knowing' things I had no right to know. I sensed it would not be a good thing to tell him the truth, so I told him I got it from reading books. Sometimes that was actually true.
In the meantime I learned to trust this inner voice but it was years before I understood it was a reincarnational voice. One of my Native mentors actually had a dream about it and was able to confirm the existence of this particular person who was well known amongst the Assiniboine for his ability to handle horses and the quality of those he owned. This information confirmed another psychic's previous assesment. She had even given me what turned out to be the correct name. This all put me in quite the quandary. Nothing in Catholicism gives credence to reincarnation. This could all be not good. I was in spiritual shock.
I finally screwed up the courage and put the question to Thomas More. "Thomas, what's the deal with reincarnation? Is there anything to it?" To which he replied, "If you actually understood and lived what Jesus taught, reincarnation is not an issue."
That relieved me for quite a while because I could see the truth of it. But then it finally dawned on me. He didn't really answer the question. In fact his answer implied it was true, and the way out of it was to live as Christ lived. Needless to say, I went knocking back on his door.
"Thomas, what did you mean to imply?" "I meant to imply that there is knowledge and then there is knowledge, and you don't need me to confirm what you already know and won't admit. I have chosen not to reincarnate because I am more useful to the Kingdom operating from this end of the dimensional spectrum. The Communion of Saints and Angels is as real as any other community, and we have our task. Do yours."
Eventually he kind of led me to see that reincarnation could be considered a lesser form of resurrection. Kind of like Lazarus, but never to be confused with the resurrection and ascension of Jesus. He also admitted the implications for Catholicism are legion and that I should be very careful in how I brooked this topic. There would come a time for it, and I would know it.
Eventually he kind of led me to see that reincarnation could be considered a lesser form of resurrection. Kind of like Lazarus, but never to be confused with the resurrection and ascension of Jesus. He also admitted the implications for Catholicism are legion and that I should be very careful in how I brooked this topic. There would come a time for it, and I would know it.
Apparently this is the time and I know it because it's in a post from Sylvester on an NCR thread, and it's beautifully written. Obscure enough to be read in a way which opens this door a crack without slamming it wide open. Unlike this post.
