Spirituality

The Moon and You

by Jenni Piech

Have you ever seen one of those films or TV programs where a group of young, usually naked witches get together at the full Moon and start dancing around in the moonlight? Ever felt the urge to join in? Well, maybe you haven’t, but if (like me) you have, don’t worry, it’s perfectly natural. Throughout history and in many different cultures the Moon has always been strongly linked to female energy. In ancient beliefs the Moon was seen as the symbol for the Goddess, and many modern-day Pagans and Wiccans still celebrate this connection between the Moon and feminine power. Yet many of us non-witchy type folk probably don't know much about the changing phases of the Moon and the effects they have on us. Women today seem out of sync with our traditional source of feminine energy and magic.

The Moon symbolizes the universally fundamental cycle of birth, growth, death and rebirth. Likewise, women also experience phases depending on where we are in our menstrual cycle. We find ourselves influenced emotionally by our hormones, and our experience of ourselves and others can vary quite noticeably. (I'm sure our partners would agree!)

It is generally believed that menstrual cycles coincide with the cycles of the Moon and that, before electricity became so popular, most women cycled together. Although this is no longer the case, it is interesting to note that it takes the Moon 28-29 days to complete a full orbit around the Earth - the exact length of time between the average woman’s cycles.

Many ancient cultures revered and celebrated the link between women and the Moon, leading to the creation of numerous myths and legends about Moon Goddesses. These Goddess stories feature in Chinese, Greek, Native American, Aztec, Mayan and Celtic legend, just to name a few. I particularly like the story of the Mayan Moon Goddess, Ix Chel. One myth states that the Sun was her lover, but that her grandfather was very upset with this and threw lightning at her out of jealousy, killing her. Dragonflies sang over her for 183 days until she awoke and followed the Sun back to his palace. Soon after, the Sun also became jealous of Ix Chel, thinking that she was having an affair with his brother, the Morning Star. The Sun threw her out of heaven and then persuaded her back home, only to become jealous again soon after her return. It is said that Ix Chel was angered by the behavior of the Sun and went off into the night, remaining invisible whenever the Sun comes around. She is also said to nurse women of Earth through pregnancy and birth.

Today, many women still find comfort in an awareness of their spiritual and emotional link with the Moon. It can almost feel as if the Moon is a kind of guardian – a presence who watches over us during the different phases of our lives. It can also help to remind us that our menstrual cycles do not always need to be seen as a burden. Rather, we are part of the many cycles which happen around our planet and within the entire universe!

Jenni Piech began freelance writing in 2006 and has been published in various online magazines, including Nuts4Chic.com. She is now working on her second novel, a project which involves a lot of research, which is good because it makes her feel all clever. She lives in a cozy cottage in south-east England with her fiancé, Tim, and their cat, Cheesecake. Jenni can be reached via e-mail or MySpace.

Spirituality

Why I Am A Pagan

by Emily Fouqette-Hoffman

What do you think when you hear the word ‘pagan’? Many people think of weirdos wandering around the woods in large groups wearing strange masks, taking hallucinogens and sacrificing cats and small children. Or teenage girls wearing all black and casting spells on ex-boyfriends and enemy cliques. One thing that always makes me laugh is that scene from the movie "Dragnet" in which those freaks run around in goat masks and sheep leggings with the giant sign that reads: PAGAN - People Against Goodness And Normalcy.

Of course, when I told one person I was studying Druidry, he asked me if I was going to start sacrificing people. That did not make me laugh so much. I do, however, get an odd amusement out of most people’s opinions. My parents make fun of “tree worshipers,” all in good fun, while others actually think I worship the devil. Many people still see paganism as an evil practice involving blood sacrifice. Yet the truth is that many religions mandated sacrifice in ancient times, including Christianity and Islam.

So what is paganism in its most basic form? It involves the worship of more than one deity, technically classified as polytheism. Of course, there are many other definitions but that is the basic idea behind the word 'pagan'. Hence, does this not make many Christians pagans as well? They worship God and Jesus as separate beings. In addition, there is the worship of the Virgin Mary and various Catholic saints. The saints may not be worshiped as deities exactly, but they are often worshiped nonetheless. In fact, my tutor in Druidry is a Druid who also practices Wicca and is an active Catholic.

Yes, my current form of study is Druidry. There are three levels of Druidry; Bard, Ovate and Druid, yet for the sake of clarity I will just use the term Druid when referring to all three levels. I will define each one in a moment, but first I would like to share why I have chosen this particular spiritual path. I love Druidry because it is open to so many things. Many Druids, like my tutor, also practice Christianity and/or some other form of spiritual practice. Many, myself included, consider the Virgin Mary as another form of the Goddess generally worshiped in Druidry.

But Druidry is not just about worship. There are many ceremonies one can perform that are outlined in the study booklets*, but these are optional, as are all of the practices in Druid studies. Some people choose to worship a God and Goddess exclusively, while others worship gods and/or goddesses from different ancient traditions. And as for the ceremonies, an individual can pick and choose from them at will. Druidry does not come with any rules, only the hope that people will respect any and all people and ideas within the community.

I love the ideals involved in this spiritual tradition, which is why I want to share it with my daughter. The biggest ideal is love for the land, the animals, and the universe. The other ideals include love of beauty, art, music, stories, poetry, myth, history, ancestors, truth, justice, peace, ritual, and simply life in general.

I am currently at the Bardic level I mentioned earlier, which is mostly about learning how to channel creativity. In ancient times, Bards were story tellers who were greatly respected and sought out even by royalty. They were also scribes, musicians, and the genealogists of their region. The Bardic level is also an introduction to the general practices of Druid spirituality**.

The Ovate level of study is more about learning different natural healing techniques and herbalism, as well as the Ogm tree language. Natural philosophy teachings are started at this level as well. And last but not least, Ovates are the main diviners of the Druidry practice, if the person studying this level believes in divination**.

Those at the full Druid level had the most responsibility (they were not above Bards or Ovates so to speak; they had just been instructed in more areas and made different contributions to society). They were teachers, mathematicians, philosophers, and often the counselors and/or judges of their clan. They generally practiced restorative instead of punitive justice**.

The nice thing about the study of Druidry is the fact that you can choose to stop at any level you find suitable. You are free to stop at the first or second level if they best fit your personality, lifestyle or career.

So where am I going with all of this information? Well, once again I love the ideals listed above, as well as the acceptance of everyone’s different ways of practicing. I also love the sense of community my particular Order*** creates. Since people from all over the world practice this spirituality in some form or another, I can meet and talk to so many wonderful people (in camps or gatherings or over the Internet) that I would never have the chance to meet if it weren’t for this Order. I want to raise my daughter a Druid because of the acceptance the religion teaches, as well as the spiritual form of education about the earth and the universe that she would not learn in school. I want to raise my daughter a Druid because of all of the wisdom that can be learned from the wilds of the trees and stars, stones and sky. I want to raise my daughter a Druid because of all of the love that can be learned for everything and everyone around her.

Notes:

*The booklets I refer to are the ones sent to me by the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids of which I am a member, and (as far as I know) is currently the largest organized Druid group in the world. For more information, please go to www.druidry.org.

**All of this information is according to the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids. Since this is where I am receiving my instruction, this is where I get my information about the different levels of this spiritual practice.

***This article is in no way intended to be some sort of advertisement for the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids.

Emily is a 24 year old mother of one. She is currently a stay-at-home mom and wife who does freelance writing. She is also studying Druidry and Gaelic, and working on two historical novels. She lives just outside Seattle in Washington State, and she can be reached via e-mail.

Spirituality

The Spirit of the Dance

by Charlotte Fairchild

If I were a dancer, I could give you a first hand account of what dance means to me spiritually. I am not, however, a dancer; I do not perform. So how do I know about the spiritual elements of dance?

How do audiences sense the spirituality of a symphony? How do we know there is something spiritual going on as someone leaps, does splits, and shakes to the beat of some rhythm?

The emotional aspect of dance gives it a power that is quite different from other exercises. The laughter and drama sometimes associated with dance touches the core. Not just the soul, but the torso, its health and strength. Perhaps some might find this theory comical, but a dancer feels something, and that something enters the room and touches the audience. Even if the dancer's performance is perfect, if the feeling isn't somehow shared and there is no connection, there is hollowness. On the other hand, when someone dances and there is connection, this makes a difference. Sometimes the connection is in the eyes. Sometimes it happens when the eyes will not make contact, and so the audience longs to make contact. Regardless of how the connection between dancer and audience is made, when it finally happens, there is magic. As a Texas instructor once noted, dance can be other-centered in a way that other exercise forms could never be.

As spiritual beings, what we feel in any activity contains a spiritual element. Dance is for the individual, but also for the collective group spirit. The intent of the dancer is not missed. The communication of the body, mind and spirit is powerful. Going for long without a connection of dance is like going without the connection of sound.

Some people think dance is not a spiritual activity; they see it as sexual or shallow. These people do not realize the joy and freedom - nay, the liberation - that dance can bring to a single soul. The beauty of the body and spirit that is often stolen by exploitation can be reclaimed with dance.

How do I know this? I am an audience of one, and I have danced myself when I was young. Who would not miss those days? My best friend, Florence Seymour, danced in her 90's and competed for awards with Fred Astaire Dance Studios. How else could she live so long?

Charlotte grew up a military child with various travels, has an English BA and counseling M.Div, and was once a chaplain. She lives with her husband and her dog. One of her passions is kudzu, but others include the study of leprosy, belly dancing, life coaching, and NVC. You can read more of her work at her blogs wishlifecoach and Infertility.

Spirituality

Finding Inner Space for Meditation

by April D. Boland

I didn't know quite what to expect when I crossed the threshold of the Austin Meditation Center for the first time. I slipped off my sandals and placed them neatly on the shelf available by the door for this purpose, then took a look around.

The best way to describe the center is also the most clichéd: It was peaceful. I was greeted by the yogi, an older Englishman with a wide smile on his face. Richard Davis seemed to radiate energy and life. We sat down and talked for a while as others trickled in.

After offering us water, organic cherries and whole wheat, sugar-free, homemade cookies, he led us into the next room, where seats and pillows formed a circle on the hardwood floor. The walls were lined with paintings of figures such as Krishna and Christ. We sat as he took his place in front, closing the circle.

Richard took time discussing the concept of mantra meditation with us beginners. He told us that there are two worlds — the material world, and that of the spirit — and that we are "in illusion" when we believe that we are our bodies, and that we are of this material world. We wear our bodies like we wear a T-shirt, he said. The T-shirt is not us; we only wear it. We are "atma," the spirit-soul, that divine spark that differentiates between a living body and a dead one.

He shared an analogy of a fish in the ocean. If you were to take such a fish and put him on the hot, sandy beach, would he be happy? No. He belongs in the ocean. Likewise we, as spiritual beings, can never find happiness in the material world, try as we may. We will only find happiness when we reconnect with our "atma." Happiness — pure bliss — is possible only through the sound vibrations of mantra. Mantra is the vehicle that takes us there, to that place within.

Richard then taught us three kinds of mantra meditation. The first, "breathing meditation," consisted of saying a one-word mantra, "Gauranga," upon exhaling our breath. We inhaled deeply and when we could inhale no more, we began to push out each syllable: "Gaur ... Ra ... Ang ... Ga." "Gauranga" means the "golden effulgence" or light that surrounds God, and can be used as a name for God Himself.

Next we learned "japa meditation." We chanted a phrase as we moved our fingers along wooden beads to keep track. "Gopala Govinda Rama Madana Mohana," we repeated, which I soon learned were other names for God.

Meditation and chanting form patterns similar to the worship I had experienced in Christian churches. The most striking similarity came when we did "kirtan," which was singing the names of God as Richard played guitar: "Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare, Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare Hare."

Despite the familiarity of the phrase from popular culture, to a Western woman who was raised within the Christian church, this was all so new and strange. Yet I had made a commitment to try it, and I wanted to see if it really did offer contentment.

And so, I did it each day in my home, breathing and chanting and counting the beads. I was surprised to find that mantra had sneaked into my subconscious and was pervading my life: It was in my head at work and I would chant it under my breath in the car. In addition, I felt peace envelop me, as if nothing could harm me any longer. When I heard bad news, it did not break me. I felt above it, able to handle anything. I felt my anxiety and even some of my customary road rage dissipate. This was quite welcome.

I am still new to meditation and to the doctrines of karma, reincarnation and the like that surround it, and I cannot honestly say that I believe every single one of these precepts. Maybe I will come to, and maybe I will not. I will, however, continue to make time and space for contemplation, silence and peace in my ever-whirling, ever-changing world.

April D. Boland is a freelance writer and editor. Originally from New York City, she now resides in Austin, Texas where she enjoys reading, writing, soaking up culture and taking advantage of the beautiful outdoors that she never had back home. She is the founder and editor-in-chief of Della Donna, a webzine for women for which she heartily accepts submissions. Her published work can be found at her website, AprilBoland.com, and she blogs about writing at These Words.

Spirituality

Fear of Death

by Creative Blogger

Before May 2006, I had no fear of dying.

I recall discussing this lack of fear on a science forum and found that I was in the minority. The majority feared death for reasons such as the method of dying and the fact that they enjoyed life too much to want it to end. So why did I not fear death? Was it because I believe in life after death and so when this life ends, I believe I shall merely go somewhere else? Was my life here so empty that I would not miss it? Was I just complacent and did not value my life enough to contemplate what it would be like without it? I think it was most likely the latter. I did not really think about my own mortality and so there was no fear of losing it.

This, however, changed in May 2006, I believe for the better. I now fear death, but this is not a negative thought; it merely means that I value life more than I did. Through valuing life more, I make more effort to get more out of it, to make the ride more comfortable and pleasurable. I am not just coasting along anymore, waiting for the end. I am making that end a distant nightmare, while I seek to fill up my time in useful endeavour.

So what brought about this change? What was special about May 2006?

In May 2006 I was diagnosed with severe pre-cancer of the cervix. It was treated and the pre-cancerous tissue was removed. Six months later, I tested clear. I am 100% well and I expect to remain that way.

And yet, during that period, as I waited for my biopsy and pelvic scan results, and before my six month re-exam, I contemplated death and what it would mean to me, my children and my loved ones. I did this because during that period I did not know whether or not I would develop cervical cancer, and in that event, survival rate is something like 53%. So, despite being mostly positive about my future health - which I was - I had a few moments when I lapsed into sadness about what would happen if I got cancer. From this sadness arose fear ... the fear of dying.

My fears were based on the following thoughts:

Should I die prematurely...

My children, toddlers at the time, would be without a mother - who would take care of them?

How would they cope without me to comfort them the way only a mother can?

Would they grow up angry, resentful and scarred due to my premature absence from their lives?

What effect might this have on their future - where they live, the education they receive, the circle they mix in? These are things which I had carefully planned before they were even born, as most mothers do.

How should I spend my remaining time with my children if death beckons? Should I be distant and cold so that when I leave they do not grieve, or should I remain close and adoring so they treasure their memories of me? At this young age, will they even remember me at all? Is my wanting them to remember me selfish? Would it be better for them to forget?

Will I endure prolonged pain during treatment/illness, and how will I cope? Will I become depressed, suicidal even? Who will look after me while I am ill?

What effect will my death have on those remaining? What hole will I leave in their lives? How will they cope with their distress at seeing me ill? What about my lover? This is a new relationship, this is not what he signed up for. Should I let him go?

What preparations should I make for death... guardians for my children, a will, and diaries? Will access be allowed for all those I wish to remain part of my children's lives?

Will I be angry and resentful about being ill and dying, my time with my children and family cut short?

I did not afford these fears much time or consideration, for I generally remained positive and concerned myself with what I knew, which was nothing until I was told. After all, there is no point in being morbid and sad for the sake of it. Yet on that rare occasion when I did allow fear to grab hold, these were the concerns I had.

Who did I talk to about these fears?

Well, aside from stating the facts relating to my diagnosis, I was positive and rarely mentioned the matter. This was for two reasons:

1. I was being proactive in taking steps to improve my general health. I was eating anti-cancer foods and taking coriolus mushroom supplements which I mention in my blog [need the link].

2. I felt that people, whether they be close or distant, do not really want to listen to others talk about their fear of death.

The nearest and dearest will try to keep you positive; they won't allow you to be morbid or glum, or to prepare for death. You'll see the fear in their eyes - their own fears of losing of you - so you'll be brave for them, to keep their spirits high.

Should you talk to strangers who don't care enough about you to be hurt by your possibly imminent death but who care enough to listen? Do they really want to hear the nitty gritty of your fears? It seems not, but why? Perhaps it makes them think about their own mortality and what difficulties they themselves may face. Perhaps because they are on a 'high' and don't want your fear to make them feel low. All of these are good reasons for deflecting your fear away from them.

So who then is left to talk to? God, Angels, deceased friends and relatives, a priest, a counselor, others who are also dying?

During this time I thought about my relationship with God. I am not religious but I do believe in an interfering presence, which I call God. I asked God what important role these events were playing in my life. How fair would it be if I could not learn from them but died instead? What point is there in that? What deal could I strike up to ensure survival? What promise could I make?

Well, I promised to value my life, and I do!

I am grateful for this seemingly negative set of events because valuing life is no small thing. Consider for yourself what not valuing it means.

Life is a big deal, and being alive is a big deal. It is a miracle that life ever got started on this planet at all. While theories abound, it remains a mystery, at least to the non-religious. So not to value this time here, short as it is, is wasteful in the extreme.

I know what it is to suffer through dark moments of depression and despair, feeling like you want to die. In reality, though, it is not death that is sought, but merely escape. Escape from the feelings that gnaw away at your body, a physical pain manifested from a psychological source. Escape perhaps from a situation you feel trapped in, for to remain is intolerable and you are at the end of your patience. You may just be weary of existence, tired and wanting a rest from it all.

I have no answer to this except the old cliche that it is good to talk. In times when we feel this way, we need each other.



Creative Blogger is a single full-time mum of two who is presently employed as a freelance Writer. She is also a qualified Stress Consultant and Character Analyst, though her work history is varied and mainly within the realms of Business and Health Management. She enjoys interpreting dreams and blogging. Her work can be found at SearchWarp.com and her blog, Girl Talk.

Spirituality

"What You've Done in a Past Life Will Influence Your Present"

by Diana McManus

The old saying, “What you do will come back to haunt you,” certainly has come up in many conversations. However, most people associate this saying with things in the present life and not with a past life. What most people don’t realize is that this saying has more to do with a past life memory than with the present. This situation rings true for my oldest son and I, as we have had to account for situations going on in our present lives.

My oldest son has had a lot of legal issues in this life. He has not always followed the rules, which has resulted in his paying a lot of fines. What he doesn’t realize is that his failure to comply with rules results from a past life memory as a judge in France during the French Revolution, in which he was my father. As a judge, he imposed high fines on people for petty crimes and when people couldn’t pay, he would throw them in jail. His guilt for imposing his strict rules on the poor in that life and sending them to jail when they couldn’t pay is causing him to become a victim of the U.S. legal system in this life through disobedient behavior.

I have had a similar situation, though I follow rules and don’t have fines to pay. I have had trouble finding stable work since I was laid off several years ago from a big corporation. I was also let go from a trade school after working there for three years. I have been self-employed and work part-time, but I haven’t had any luck in getting the jobs I want . This situation comes from a past lifetime in which I was a drunken cowboy who shot buffalo with Buffalo Bill Cody around the late 1800’s. After I rode the range with Buffalo Bill, I settled down in a town in Wyoming and worked at a saloon as a bartender. I ended up winning a lot of money in a poker game and bought myself a ranch nearby. When I hired people to work on the ranch, I made them work long hours with little pay. Then I would fire them for petty reasons and hire others. I felt that people were indispensable and I didn’t value their work, so I am experiencing that feeling now with some of the companies I have worked for. When I interview for a job and someone else gets it, it brings back feelings from that past lifetime.

Both of these present day situations with my son and I involve money, but the past life situations don’t have to do with money as much as with people. So much of our karma is based on our relationships with people and we get ourselves into present situations out of guilt so that we can learn a good lesson from it all. It is up to us to turn a potentially negative situation into a positive one.

Diana McManus lived in Houston, Texas during the first eighteen years of her life and then moved to California with a friend. She then traveled to Mexico, Guatemala, and Canada. Eventually she came to live in Austin, Texas, where she has lived for the past 24 years. She has two grown sons and had a personal tragedy several years ago which increased her interest in reincarnation. After reading a book titled “Many Lives Many Masters” by Brian Weiss, MD, Diana decided to seek a clinical psychologist who practiced past life therapy. Eventually she took a class from Dr. Coletta Long to become a certified hypnotist. She has been practicing past life therapy and hypnosis since 1994. During the past year, Diana has become inspired to write about her experiences with her clients, which has taught her a lot about the subconscious mind. She can be contacted via email and her website is at http://www.pastlifetherapy.org.

Spirituality

God’s Wonder Woman

by Mary Moss

Psalm 139:1-6

O Lord, thou hast searched me and known me!
Thou knowest when I sit down and when I rise up;
thou discernest my thoughts from afar.
Thou searchest out my path and my lying down,
and art acquainted with all my ways.
Even before a word is on my tongue, lo,
O Lord, thou knowest it altogether.
Thou dost beset me behind and before,
and layest thy hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is high, I cannot attain it.

These verses remind me of how I thought of my mother when I was a child. Not only did she seem to have eyes in the back of her head, but she also knew what I was thinking, and what I was about to say before I even formed the words in my mouth—at least 9 times out of ten! And of course, because she carried me in her womb, she did know me intimately—we were at one time one being, divinely planned, formed and nurtured by a loving God. And how did my father always know what was going to happen next on the television program we happened to be watching together? Now that I am a woman, with grown children of my own, I understand the source of that seeming omnipotent wisdom and fore-knowledge—it’s called life experience!

We still possess that piece of the divine that God placed in us at our creation. Too often, though, we realize that our vision of that divinity and our own divine purpose—the one that transcends the here and now of carpools and grocery shopping, PTA meetings and all the other to-do list items that make up our day—has been lost, or never even had a chance to develop.

God has made each of us to fulfill a specific purpose in our lives, with our lives. We’re just so busy that we don’t have time to think about anything more than our jobs, our families, our responsibilities, our lives! And even if we did have the time . . . the world does a very good job of convincing us that we are not good enough because we aren't like those business-savvy women on a popular television show, or the ones who dare to do things we can’t even imagine to win a big cash prize. Not like those long-suffering, patient wives on the latest sitcoms. Not like those beautiful, brilliant forensic scientists on the crime series shows. And even before that, maybe our parents or our peers convinced us we’re not good enough, or outright failures.

Maybe we expend all our energy being a good mother, wife, sister, daughter, or friend. Perhaps it's being a single mom and having all the responsibility—financially and emotionally—for rearing your children. Perhaps it's caring for an elderly parent. Sometimes we give away so much of ourselves to so many people that we don’t even know who we are anymore.

At times like this, it is easy to feel lost and alone, thirsty for something real and fulfilling and thirst-quenching. We long for a taste of something that will matter, to be the person God designed us to be, but we just don’t know who that woman is. How do we even begin to figure out who we are through the eyes of God when we’re so busy, we don’t even have time to catch our breath?

We need to simplify our lives and base them on meeting some of our own spiritual needs if we ever hope to have a meaningful and fulfilling life. One way could be to block out 30 minutes in your daily schedule, 2 mornings a week, meet with God. Write it on there; it is an important meeting. Don’t break the date . . . get up early if you need to. Begin journaling your experience during these sacred times, or read the Bible, a devotional book, or some other spiritual resource. Hire a babysitter and join a women’s spiritual group, or start one of your own. How about meeting a friend for coffee and a manicure once a month? Try spending a day ignoring that to-do list and driving to the beach, or to the park, or the river with the kids. Life will still be waiting for you when you return!

The problem in our lives is not one of control. The problem is who is in control! Clearly we are unable to manage the demands of life as modern women without encouragement, support, and faith. In order to maintain our faith, we must feed it and nurture it and make it a priority in our lives. Once we do that, everything else begins to fall into place.

Mary Moss lives in Richmond, VA. She and her husband of 30+ years have two college-aged children. She is an active community volunteer, a voracious reader and a published writer and poet who believes that each person is uniquely and divinely designed for a specific purpose on this earth. Mary has been a lifelong advocate for women, children, and the underserved in society. Her calling and dream is to support women in their journey of self-discovery and empowerment and to encourage and uplift others as they pursue their own divine purpose. You may read some of Mary's devotional writings at Worship for the Weekday at www.momprays.com and to read informational articles on various topics, visit her site at AssociatedContent.com.

Spirituality

On Being Catholic

by Deirdre Sinnott

When I was growing up, there were two elementary schools near my house: Sunset School, the public one that I went to, and Our Lady of Lourdes, the Catholic version of the same. Even though I was a Catholic, I hated the kids that went to Lady of Lourdes. There was one girl in particular who looked like a prim, ladylike version of me. Every morning she walked right by the teachers’ parking lot looking clean and righteous. She carried her books like an actress clutching an Academy Award. Miss Perfect, I thought.

So one morning, I tripped her. Now I was already a seasoned sibling fighter, engaging in fierce battles with my older brother and sister, but this girl meant business. I never expected that she was a coiled spring just waiting to explode. She turned into a clawing, hair-pulling, roll-around-on-the-ground fighter. What had I gotten myself into? I struggled to snatch some of her hair as she ripped out a chunk of mine. Just when I thought that I couldn’t take any more my sixth grade teacher, Mr. Fay, came out and dragged us apart.

“What’s wrong with you?” he screamed, his round face turning bright red.

I said nothing. I had no real explanation. I just wanted to fight.

“Don’t you know how to be a lady?” he went on, dragging me by the arm toward the principal’s office. “I’ve seen the way you dress. You should be ashamed of yourself. You act like a boy. I’m not going to teach you anymore until you dress more like a girl.”

He presented me to the principal, who presented me with a note for my parents. That night, as I practiced forging their signatures, I thought about what Mr. Fay had said. I acted like a boy. It was true. I loved to roughhouse and act tough.

The girl from the Catholic school was my age, but totally different. She looked sweet, wore skirts, and kept her hair in place with two matching pink barrettes. I hardly combed my hair, and I wore pants and ripped tee-shirts. I didn’t care how I looked. I wanted to be a boy, unconcerned with stupid stuff like barrettes. Nobody messed with boys.

My forgery efforts must have worked. I never heard about the incident again. Mr. Fay, however, made good on his promise. He sent me home later that week when I appeared in his class dressed in my favorite outfit—torn jeans and a peace-sign tee-shirt.

“Don’t come back in here until you put on a dress,” he commanded. After my mother read Mr. Fay’s snide note, she grumbled about not having time for all this hassle and sent me right back to school, in better pants and a button-down shirt. Somehow in the shuffle, my peace-sign tee-shirt got lost. About a month later I found a small piece of it in my mother’s box of cleaning rags.

That Thursday I ran into the girl I tripped. All of the regular Catholic school kids were dismissed early on Thursdays because we public school Catholics had to be given religious instruction. Once a week we were forced to stand up, leave Sunset School, and march over to Our Lady of Lourdes. Since half the class had to go, real lessons couldn’t be taught. Everyone who remained did some fun assignment. We banished Catholics used the classrooms in the parochial school for Jesus 101.

When I saw the pretty girl that I fought with on her way home early, she seemed tougher. Her eyes narrowed when she recognized me, her chin shot up with a challenge. But I never attacked her again; not after the beating I got.

Once inside the abandoned classrooms, we listened listlessly to the nuns tell us how we were sinners. We studied the Ten Commandments and the Holy Trinity. It seemed to me, as I stared up at the crucifix, that the commandment about “graven images” somehow got lost. In the church there was a life-size statue of the suffering Jesus on the cross, hip bones protruding, muscular arms stretched out, and a cloth precariously dangling over his private parts. I stared at it during services, my eyes caressing every sinew. Poor Jesus. I tingled when I looked at him.

My journey into the mysteries of Catholicism didn’t last long. I quit right after confirmation, when I was almost twelve years old. The seeds of my discontent had been planted three years earlier, around the time of my first communion. An ancient priest came to our religious instruction class to prepare us for the communion ceremony.

“Are both of your parents Catholic?” asked the priest. He wanted to be certain that the communion wafer, which I was convinced was literally the body of Christ, didn’t go to any non-Catholic.

“No,” I admitted.

“Which parent is not Catholic?”

“My mother.” She’s some kind of Protestant.

“If your mother is not a Catholic she will go to hell, you know.”

I looked up at the priest in horror. My mom going to hell? Terrified I ran home, burst into the living room and yelled, “Mom you’ve got to become Catholic!”

“Why?” she asked, looking up from her book. She seemed unconcerned about the fact that her soul was going to be burning in hell for all of eternity.

“The priest just told me that if you’re not Catholic you’ll go to hell.”

“That’s bullshit,” she said.

I stopped. She seemed pretty sure. I thought about it. If that was bullshit, maybe the rest was bullshit as well.

Deirdre Sinnott is a memoirist, essayist, writing coach, and literary critic. She graduated from Syracuse University and lives in New York City. Through her writing Ms. Sinnott reveals the disturbing truths, outrageous behavior, and humbling circumstances that populate her off-kilter life. Her works have appeared in ForeWord Magazine, at “Blue Collar Holler” and on the website Workers.org. She’s proud to be included in Della Donna’s première issue. Her website is www.deirdresinnott.com.