I love it when, reading a book, you find someone telling you something you needed to hear – even though you weren’t sure of it. As though it were written just to tell you something. I’m sure I have written about this book before, its called Eat, Pray, Love.

I think you have every right to cherry-pick when it comes to moving your spirit
and finding peace in God. I think you are free to search for any metaphor
whatsoever which will take you across the worldly divide whenever you need to be
transported or comforted. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s the history
of mankind’s search for holiness. You take whatever works from wherever you can
find it, and you keep moving toward the light.

I so needed to hear that this morning.

I have been struggling with my spirituality. Struggling to define. Struggling to give it space. I feel like I just need space – a whole world of space to be nothing in. On Sunday, I had a slight epiphany and I realised that maybe the problem I am finding is that the language of the place I go to find space and the language of me are like two spheres that barely touch in the middle. There is no cross over between me and it. Conceptually, I get it. Philosophically, I see it. Culturally, I am comfortable in it. But somehow the language of it isn’t me. Maybe not universally, but certainly where I am.

I have been reading recently about Eastern Spiritually. I have been reading about peoples journeys through meditation. Through silence. Through not expecting anything. The language of the church is so much about doing or being done to – in such an exoteric way. It is not that that is intrinsically bad. It’s not. But I don’t want to do. And I don’t want to have no hand in the doing either. I want to find God in myself, the way the ancient yogi’s realised God was in and of themselves. No forceful coming, no born again – just waking up to oneself. Like I say, conceptually there is no difference between this and Christianity – except the language and the metaphor.

I have always struggled, pointlessly I may add, because I felt as though my cherry-picking of doctrine and metaphor made me a traitor to the cause. I felt as though I didn’t fit in. I say pointlessly, because I now realise that no one ever felt awkward about me but me.

I need space to be able to pick and choose if I want. I need space to meditate with sanskirt; pray to God while prostrating; believe in Jesus and petition to the universe. It isn’t about what make sense. It’s about the mode of transportation I need to cross the divide. So that is what I am going to do. I’m going to cherry-pick. In other, more well known, words:

That’s me in the corner. That’s me in the spotlight. Choosing my religion.