I never consciously set out to 'change my religion', or become other than what I was raised to be. I was Christened into the High Church of Protestantism at a few months of age and brought up to attend Sunday School, Church services and indeed brought my young family up the same way...but I had a problem and it was getting worse by the day and eventually turned to my Vicar for guidance. But I need to step back in time for a little while and start, at the very beginning.
I grew up seeing spirit. As a tiny child I was taught my prayers and Mother stood by my bed every night as I knelt to say the traditional prayers of children, 'Now I lay me down to sleep' and ‘Our Father'. Mother would kiss me goodnight and leave me and I would immediately climb out of bed and climb the ladder like steps that led to God’s room in heaven to tell him of my day. I never saw this as odd, nor did I question it, and I never told anyone of my nightly trips to hug God’s knees and clamber into his lap to chatter away as little girls can.
As I read the previous statement I can see raised eyebrows and, almost hear the derisory comments; but to a child, who is told that if you are good you will go to God...I asked Mother every night '…have I been good Mummy?' She would say “yes” and of course that meant to me a quick visit to God was available, so I did! Because I believed as a child; literally.
At 8 years of age, a loved and loving Aunt passed to the next realm, she appeared to me as I watched my Mothers distress and said simply she was fine, she didn't need her wheelchair anymore and was upset that Mother was so distressed. I tried to tell my Mother but was hushed and I simply kept it to myself. I was 12 years old before I realised that not everyone could see what I saw and that the reason I felt like the odd one out was precisely because I was genuinely different and that drew me into other thoughts. Yet I did not know then that what I did was outside of the realms of acceptance within my church. Diligently I prayed for help, and for protection because I saw much that was frightening and my teen years where filled with experiences I would not understand for many years.
I married young, just a few months after my 18th birthday, and spent the next 5 years creating my family, settling into a home and all the many calls on my time prevented my involvement in anything other than the most immediate of needs for a young and vibrant family. Then my eldest son at the age of 7 asked me a question. He commented that Jesus's Mum must have been pretty upset when he was killed by Pontius and followed with a query, which was, what Jesus must have felt like when his friends and everyone where so horrible to him and to see his Mum crying.
I wrote my Son a poem that night, it is posted on the Pagan Heart website, it flew from my pen, and I sat reading it drained of everything except awe at the speed of delivery. I didn't feel as if I had written it, more as if I had simply recorded what was told me.
I remained confused and a little awed as I re-read my poem, and in the end, shaken and not a little wary, I rang a Christian helpline. A lovely Nun from the Catholic church listened to my explanation and heard my poem and told me gently that she thought I had been given a special gift. I put the phone down with relief and read my son his poem the next day.
As I began, the first lines his little face reflected the feelings I too had experienced; Hold me, Love me - the words began, and he had an answer that he could accept.
I was still having the same old problem which had haunted me for several years, I had dreams.
They were not normal dreams. They felt 'real' and invariably were violent or destructive and invariably again...they all where predictive; they came true within 3 weeks of my 'dream' and they were getting worse, a lot worse. The ones I dreaded most where the airplane crashes, they terrified me. I had one such dream which was haunting my daytimes and in absolute trust I turned to the Vicar and explained I had awful dreams which were coming true and he directed me to Mrs B**** and her women’s weekly meetings group in her home. I felt nothing but relief. One of the ladies visited me first and gently probed what it was I needed support for and I told her of the poem experience, and the latest airplane disaster which by then had occurred in dreadful details which matched my dream almost exactly. She was sympathetic and I came to the Women’s Bible Meeting with real hope of some answers.
Mrs B**** asked me to tell the group my poem, and before anyone could say anything she asked me about my dream, so I told her it all. The women sat quietly watching my face, it felt uncomfortable to be the centre of such strong focus but I continued.
As I finished Mrs B**** asked me what did I do about these dreams? I said I prayed. I prayed because I didn't know what else to do, I prayed for the souls of those who would die and I prayed for a miracle that the disaster would be averted and as I finished I looked at her and I say truly now, I had hope and I had a need for healing. I was confused by these dreams and had no way of dealing with the aftermath of knowing hundreds of people would die and I couldn't stop it. I felt helpless and I so hoped for answers from these wise women, all of whom where several years if not decades older than myself. Surely they would have answers, they must have experienced this before, else the Vicar wouldn't have sent me here.
This was the wisdom they gifted me:-
“Who are YOU to pray for the dead?”
“Who gave YOU the right to write of Our Lords thoughts?!”
“It’s the DEVIL’S WORK!”
“DEVIL’S DAUGHTER!”
I sat in confusion. Deeply shocked, I was the devil’s daughter? It was the devil’s works? I had done wrong in praying? I stumbled to my feet and said simply "Thank you" and I left.
I wandered aimlessly around the local park. I felt dreadful, I was evil and horrible and was haunted by these dreams because I was somehow the devil’s own spawn. Terribly upset, as a committed Christian I felt I should be exorcised or something. I wandered out of the rain into the little local library in the old part of the park and there was my saviour. A woman who was friends with my sister (also a Librarians Assistant) saw me and recognised a person in shock.
She approached me and asked me what was wrong and I told her what had just happened. She looked at me strangely, she put her arm around me and walked me to a corner of the library I had never been to in my entire life, because it was under the heading ‘OCCULT.’
She swept a hand across rows of books, Yin and Yang, Buddha, Eastern and Western philosophies I had never heard of and books on dreams...lots of books on dreams. She said very simply “I think you should read some of these” and patted my arm and walked away.
The Gods Bless her, because I read alright! I read and continued to read, I found Spiritualist Churches, meetings, groups and in those places I was not an oddity, I was not the Devils Daughter, I read philosophy and I studied , I still do.
I never found one religion I could claim as my own, my truth, my perfect place. I did not wish to walk away from the Christ’s Light, nor did I wish to avert my heart and soul from the Goddess for in my studies I had read of so many faces of one light and believed, and still do, that when all of the world’s religions get together and piece together the jigsaw of our beliefs, and allow them to meld to one truth...then and only then, will we have the real truth of our deity, our Universal Truth.
So I became Shamanic, and being Shaman Ka is wonderful. I study herb lore, earth lore, the weather and animal behaviour and people, I study people a lot. More importantly as Shaman-Ka I am free of old restraints, I do not judge, nor do I condemn a religion, any religion because each has within it a kernel of truth. The trappings of manmade ‘do and don't’, the manmade restrictions of dress codes and demands, I ignore. What I seek is that religions core truth and invariably it begins with loving your fellow mankind.
I am comfortable as Shaman. I can, and do, attend any church, any synagogue, any temple, any shrine or circle, mountain top, place of beauty...anywhere at all in total and absolute belief that my Deity, my one true light is there, in me, around me but especially strong in these sacred places.
What does my Universal Light care that we use a thousand names, a thousand images to perceive and to personify the Universal Lights presence? It matters not! What matters is that I come with love, with faith and with total and complete acceptance.
It has been a long time since I walked the early hills of my childhood challenges. Many years now since I clambered the terrain of my youthful hopes and the many Eigers and Kilimanjaro’s of my young womanhood. No one has all of the answers, no one has all of the truth. But here, now, in this my later years, where challenges are more of the ant hill and steep stairs variety ...I know my pathway...
It is yours, and yours, and yours sir!..and yours madam, and yours little one...for I can and have, will always, be able to approach my truth with my own truth. I believe there is one Light, one Love and it is so powerful, so strong, so overwhelmingly perfect that when I approach with my thanks for a day accomplished, when I approach with a prayer for healing for a friend, or myself, when simply I clamber up a ladder of dreamscape to hug a pair of knees so far above my head to say "Hello God, I’ve been a good girl", even now...I am heard.
Walk in your own truth, it is a path of many steps, many obstacles will fall before you, many will be overcome by you. Make Faith your aid and Faith your trust.
I am me, and my Gods love me for who I am.
May light ever find you in your darkest hours.
Jehra
