Salt in My Wound

Salt in My Wound

My mother was always superstitious and then would scoff at others who held similar belief patterns. She taught me all of the traditionally held irrational beliefs such as stepping on a crack might break your mother’s back, dropping certain pieces of silverware indicated the gender of an impending visitor and throwing salt over your shoulder after spilling it would ward off bad luck. Her incongruous thinking also included a detest for religion and religious people because, “They are a bunch of assholes!” Repeatedly and venomously she admonished any and all “religious people” as being simple minded, gullible, hyper-sexed, hypocrites. Yet would ritualistically toss salt over her right shoulder and mercilessly criticize everyone. “A rose by any other name…” is also true of dogmatic beliefs.

Note the spilled salt at the Last Supper

Growing up in this environment was confusing to say the least. Especially since I started experiencing what I define as direct experiences with God at a very young age. The messages I was receiving caused an internal upheaval. There was God on one side doing the mystical God thing and my mother on the other side admonishing those “religious types” for being the anti-Christ. What a hell of a thing to sort through at the age of 8. What to do? If I tell my family then I would certainly be viewed as a hypocritical whore. So, I kept silent and presumed that there must be something wrong with me given that I had these religious beliefs and thoughts.

High School came and I was allowed to attend a Catholic all-girls school, which was a treat given the fact that I was homeschooled to that point. I battled the presentation of religion and was an extreme skeptic for a 14 year old. Mouthy and questioning of the nuns and priests; I spent many an afternoon in detention. Then, I made friends who easily accepted their religion and faith. I followed along and would scoff and eye-roll during training to become a Eucharistic minister. “How do you know it is the body and blood of Christ? I mean really, do you even have eyes?” I would quip. A fed up nun finally said, “It just is ok? Stop with the questions, you might mess it up for everyone else!”

I continued my spiritual development in the Catholic Church and completed my confirmation classes. I took note that some girls would ditch class to hang out with their boyfriends. My contemporaries were dropped off for church indoctrination only to quickly be swept away by naughty public school boys driving badass Cameros. These trysts ended in at least one baby being born at the end of my senior year. Ah, the religious whores at it, just as good ol’ mom predicted.

The culmination of confirmation class was a retreat to get closer to God. In my case it was to get closer to a bong, a beer and a boy. The HYPOCRISY! Where was God in all of this debauchery?

Shit! Mom was right!

I reasoned that organized religion had it wrong and caused people to go astray. By the time I got to college my belief system was summed up in two linear equations. God + me not saying anything about God=good. Religion + humanity=bad. There, I figured it out.

Then, Rob proposed. “We need to get married in a church.” I insisted. “Yes” Rob responded. “I mean it isn’t a real wedding unless that happens. Or ugh, hmm, I mean the church is just so pretty and we don’t have to buy as many flowers.” I didn’t want to give away too much of my buried religious feelings. “Ok” was Rob’s simple response.

Children came next. An immediate inner drive to have them Baptized took over. “We have to do it soon. It needs to be done.” I insisted. Rob countered with a curious question of, “Why so quick? I wasn’t Baptized until I was like 8 or something.” In a near panic I said, “It just needs to be done!” “Ok” he answered.

During this time in my early adulthood I would dabble in attending the Roman and Anglican churches. Continuing to be skeptical of the Eucharist sacrament and those attending church (they could be whores or assholes).

Then through a series of events that was nothing short of a cosmic alignment, I found a community that was open enough to hold my baggage, my doubts, my deep, scary beliefs and my humanity. Which is really the point of organized religion. It should allow people to acknowledge their faith and to find God within and among each other. And in my belief, express one’s deepest religious feelings through the sacraments.

My mother was right. There are religious people who are whores, assholes and hypocrites. There are also religious people who are chaste, angelic, and non-judgmental. There are also all sorts of people in between. That is how God expresses Herself, in all forms, from good to evil.

And the best thing about it is that God can even be realized in those who choose to throw salt over their shoulders as a means of controlling their existence.