The
Hunt for Easter
(or
Alice’s Search for the White Rabbit down the Rabbit Hole)
4/6/10
Okay, so I’ve been warned by my
new cell phone’s horoscope today saying:
“You might be pegged as the wise guy who’s unable to take anything
seriously, Gemini. Regardless of the situation,
you can turn it into a joke of some sort.
Your humor likely lifts the spirits of everyone around you. Be careful of taking this too far, however. There could be some people who are
uncomfortable with your constant jesting.
Let them know that you do have a serious side, too.”
So I’m going to try to strike a
balance in this Heartsong Newsletter by bringing in both humor and
sincerity—but seriously, I can’t help but see the humor in practically
everything! Take Easter for instance. Easter is one of my favorite holidays as it’s
the perfect marriage between Christianity and paganism. We get to witness Christ being crucified on
the cross and then rising from the dead; and, at the same time, we get to watch
our children (or grandchildren in my case) scrambling to find Easter eggs
hidden by the Easter Bunny in the grass (or snow in case you stayed in Utah
this year). How does one reconcile these
two events in the human psyche? The Easter Bunny and Jesus dying on the
cross? By simply calling it Easter
Sunday? I won’t go into the whole
history of Easter here. There are a few
good websites you can go to if you want to research it for yourself on the
internet. However, for this Newsletter
I’m going to share my own personal experience surrounding my “hunt for Easter”
this year. Or what may be better called
“Alice’s Search for the White Rabbit down the Rabbit Hole.”
Well, it started out innocently
enough—my plans for the Easter Weekend.
I’d planned on driving my son’s red Ford truck up to Montana to give to
my daughter, Kelsey, who was getting her driver’s license the following week
and had convinced me she needed her own vehicle to drive. I’d inherited the truck from my son, Jordan,
for a debt he owed me and although Jordan warned me “it would never make it to
Montana” (what does a 20-year-old kid know these days?) I was determined to
try. I had my trusty (but perhaps not
trustworthy) mechanic go through the truck on Tuesday to make sure it was
road-worthy for the 400 plus miles to Montana.
After a thorough inspection, he assured me it would make it. The plan was for me to follow Jordan (who
volunteered to drive the truck) in my mini-van behind him. But you know what they say about the “best
laid plans of mice and men.” (I’m not really sure what that cliché actually
refers to, but my “best-laid plans” rarely turn out the way I plan.)
Brad begged out of this
adventure to Montana as he’d spent enough road time going back and forth to
visit my children in the past 10 years that it wasn’t a trip he looked forward
to. But when Mother Nature played her
April Fool’s Day joke on us all by dumping three inches of snow that
morning—Brad knew he’d probably be enrolled to help drive one of the vehicles
up to Montana. Because Jordan (and my
two other sons and son-in-law) couldn’t frame in the foot of snow that was
dumped on them in Logan, they all decided to leave a day early—on
Thursday. Jordan came down to Salt Lake
to pick up the truck early that morning to convoy with my oldest daughter
Aubrey, her husband Mike and their three children Sean, Carly, Jaxen and Brody
in their Honda Pilot. As the snow
continued to fall all day Thursday, Brad took work off for Friday and Monday as
he knew he was destined for the arduous road-trip. (That and I think he was a bit worried I
might not return from Montana once I got up there and leave him to move
everything the next two weekends by himself.
Hey, there was the temptation, no doubt:-)
Sometime Thursday afternoon, I
got a call from Jordan—the truck had broke down 20 miles outside of Butte. The transmission had gone out so they were
just going to leave it on the side of the freeway for us to deal with on our
way up the next day. Brad wasn’t too
impressed by the “irresponsibility of some people” but I knew it was the only
choice considering Aubrey and Mike had four young children to worry about to
concern themselves with finding a way to haul the truck the rest of the
way. Besides, everyone knows that Brad’s
finest moments are when he can “fix everyone’s problems.” This is truly when he shines!
So Brad tracks down Gary (our
not-so-trusty mechanic) to see if he can loan us his car dolly in order to haul
the truck. Gary agrees to bring it by
before 10:00 Friday morning (we wanted to get an early start) but ends up
meeting us at the Albertsons near my Mom’s (I had to drop off Mom’s Easter gift) at around noon. But praise God the roads were clear and the
clouds began to break once we left Utah.
(Is there a metaphor here somewhere?)
By 6:30 we’d located the truck and somehow finagled a way to load it (it
would only drive in reverse) uphill onto the dolly. (This is another area where Brad has some
expertise—figuring out the impossible.)
Voila! By 10:00 p.m. we were
safely at my daughter, Deserae’s, home near Missoula and by 10:30 I was
contentedly snuggled between my two sweetest grandchildren on earth, Emalee and
Fisher, watching Walt Disney’s Alice in Wonderland. (No joke!) Could life get any better? Probably not!
The next morning Deserae
rousted me from my bedcovers with an invitation to go to the Easter grab at
Frenchtown High School’s football field at 11:00. The sun was barely peeking through some
scattered clouds, so I figured the weather wouldn’t be too frigid for a morning
frolic. Dressed in the warmest clothes
I’d brought, I spent the next hour or so watching my six cute grandchildren
(Aubrey’s kids included) and my 12-year-old Andrew wrestle for eggs, candy and
prizes in the nearly green grass of spring.
Emalee traded me her extra sweater for my wool gloves so “Grandma’s ears
wouldn’t get cold.” I looked like the
Easter Bunny and the gloves made it challenging for Emalee to grab stuff, but
she still ended up with enough candy and prizes to satisfy her (at least for the
day).
After that, we went back to the
house to roust the others (Brad and my two teenagers, Kelsey and Jenny) to get
some brunch. But they’d already eaten
cold cereal and were anxious to go into town for a movie and to play billiards. Jordan had managed to get their old Explorer
from off the mountain running (it also had transmission problems) and so the
three of them took off for town. (Andrew
had hitched a ride from his “other-mother” Christy and her children to
town.) Brad and I had volunteered to
watch Emalee and Fisher while Deserae did a photo shoot with Aubrey who
recently informed us she was running for Mrs. Utah (surprise!). Her platform (or motto) was “the ripple
effect”—on how what we say, do and become has a ripple effect on others. Her photo shoot included standing in a cold creek
to show the ripple effect of water around her ankles. I shivered at the thoughts of Aubrey (my
daughter without an ounce of fat on her bones) wading in an icy Montana creek
on a cold day for a photo shoot. It
kinda reminded me of what they put models through on “America’s Top Model”
show. Later on Brad and I argued about
whether or not Aubrey needed to perform a talent for Mrs. Utah. I argued she didn’t, but Brad affirmed that
she did (because he had judged many a beauty pageant in his life and they all had talent shows). We both finally agreed that if she did, her
greatest talent would be as a stand-up comedian.
Aubrey has a lot of her mom
(and dad) in her when it comes to humor.
In fact, the last time we went to lunch together (Destiny, Aubrey and I)
we all laughed until tears were rolling down our faces at the absurdity of my
being arrested for prostitution. (Now
that should be an interesting commentary when she wins Mrs. Utah.) Aubrey almost had me convinced that the only
reason I did “naked Tantra” at my age (by golly, I’m an old grandma she
reminded me) was cause I wanted to make sure I still “had what it takes” to
attract men. But her next comment got a
gut-splitting reaction from both Destiny and me—that if the CSI cops came in to
collect DNA evidence for my trial, my room would look like a scene from Avatar.
(It was obvious Aubrey was clueless as to what a Tantric therapist does, but it
was hilarious none-the-less.) I just
hope the Mormon judges (criminal and pageant) can see the humor in all of it
like we do.
Easter Sunday we opted for a
family brunch, but the folks at Kurt’s (my ex’s) Mountain Retreat cancelled for
lack of money and the desire to travel the 40 miles into town. So Brad, my three youngsters and I went to brunch
and then killed a few hours in town before going to the “Easter Alive” pageant
at the Christian Life Center. Now this
was a time-honored family tradition with my older children when I lived in
Montana Of course my younger children
admittedly had never gone to it before, so this was my chance to show them what
they’ve been missing. We arrived 10
minutes before Showtime, and although we’d been previously warned to arrive
extra early in order to secure good seats—between Kelsey’s “learner’s permit”
driving and my lack of remembered direction—it put us behind schedule. We secured seven seats near the back row for
Brad, me, my three adolescents and their two friends. As is normal for teenagers, they immediately
needed some “snacks” before the performance began and so they took off for the
Albertson’s across the street. Fifteen
minutes later, they snuck in the back door to find their seats as the show had
already begun. I felt like a mother hen
with all of her chicks secured and so I began to relax. But about midway through the show (about the
time Christ was being arrested for treason), all of the teenagers got up and
left (because it was “boring” they informed me later). They did come back in time for the incredible
resurrection scene and Christ’s amazing ascension (on wires) into heaven.
Okay, so I have a confession to
make here. I always looked forward each
year when I lived in Montana to attend this Easter Pageant. And each year, I must confess, I cry each time
I see Jesus hanging on the cross for my sins. It’s not the fake blood and the way they
realistically pound in the nails, hoist him on the cross, and we all watch as
the actor gasps for breath as he utters his final words from the cross (heck, I
walked out on Mel Gibson’s “The Passion of Christ” because it was too
realistic). But it’s the emotional
impact it has on my soul when they shout at him “If you are the Christ—then
save yourself—come down off of the cross and prove to us that you are God!” He could have—ya know. But he willingly chose to remain on the cross in all his agonizing pain and
suffering as a sacrifice for our sins.
Wow—now there’s a true Master I can believe in! He’s not a wanabe Master—he’s the real deal! But the real mastery happens after the third day of lying dead in the
tomb—WHEN HE ACTUALLY RESURRECTS HIMSELF AND BRINGS HIMSELF BACK TO LIFE!! Now that’s the true miracle of Easter!
It’s Mary who brings the “Good
News” or Gospel to his disciples who are down in the depths of their own
suffering. “He is risen!” she exclaims ecstatically
to wake them all up out of their dark depression. But who are they to believe Mary—a known
whore! But if any Christian has read the
Gnostic Gospels (found at the Nag Hammadi in 1945) then they would come to
realize (real eyes) that Mary Magdalene was not a whore at all but a temple
priestess who, in fact, becomes one of Jesus’ “consorts” or closest
companions. But instead we want to label
Mary a “sinner” and so history depicts that Christ’s male disciples have a
difficult time listening to and believing a woman!
But it’s all so simple
really—like the preacher at the end of the show explains. There are two choices in life. The first is—you can pretend to try and live
a “perfect life” and pay for your own sins (karma). Or the second one is—you can believe that
Christ atoned (at- oned) for your sins and then repent (turn around) when we,
as humans, make mistakes. I chose the
second choice a long time ago—when I first accepted Christ as my personal
Savior and became a true Christian or follower of Christ. But each year as I’ve attended this Easter
Alive Pageant, I’m reminded of the simplicity and sincerity of this
promise. And each year I cry tears of
sadness and tears of joy for the sacrifice of our Savior for all men and women
kind. I can (in part) relate to this
type of love when I think of the endearing love I have for my own children and
grandchildren—and then allow that heartfelt love to expand to everyone I meet
and then to all humanity. It is a real love and an enduring love. And we can all relate to it (even if we don’t have
children of our own) whenever we touch the God within.
On our return trip home Jordan
and I had a deep and meaningful conversation about religion and spirituality.
(I didn’t realize my son was so enlightened.
I feel a whole lot better about letting him and his brother, Jonathan,
venture to Milan, Italy to model without me chaperoning. BTW—they signed a modeling contract with
Wilhemina and are destined to leave as soon as Jonathan gets his passport—which
is a whole other story.) Jordan made the
statement (and I agreed) that we’ve made religion so complicated when it can be
so simple. He said, “If we could all
learn to just follow the first two commandments—‘To love God with all your
heart, might, mind and spirit; and to love your neighbor as yourself’ then
everything in life would be so much easier.”
I couldn’t agree with him more. I
then added, “Ya know, Jordan, people misinterpret the Golden Rule as saying “Do
unto others as they do unto you” rather than “Do unto others as you would have
others do onto you.” “You’re right, Mom.
Whenever we get into expecting others to treat us the way we want to be
treated—we get disappointed,” was Jordan’s wise reply.
I sat alone with my own
thoughts as Jordan dozed off in the back seat of Brad’s green Ford truck and
Brad was consumed with keeping the two trucks on the road (his and the red one
he was hauling) during a snow flurry we’d hit once we entered Utah. I couldn’t help wondering how God judged the
recent events which had occurred at Heartsong.
Did he or she consider me a sinner or a saint? I wasn’t sure at this point because of all
the em-bare-ass-ment I’d been put through...and the suffering I’d put others
through. No one likes to
suffer—especially me who would always choose joy and bliss over pain and
suffering in any circumstance. Ya think?
I picked up Bhagwan Shree
Rajneesh’s book I’d been reading entitled The
Book of the Secrets 3 and began
to read the chapter entitled “Turning Inward Toward The Real.” It started out saying:
Civilization is a
training of how to become unreal. Tantra
is the reverse process—how to prevent yourself from becoming unreal—and if you
have already become unreal, how to touch the reality which is hidden within you,
how to contact it again, how to be again real.
The first thing to be understood is how we go on becoming unreal, and
once this process is understood many things change immediately. The very understanding becomes mutation.
Man is born
undivided. He is neither a body nor a
mind. He is born undivided, as one
individual. He is both body and
mind. Even to say that he is both is
wrong. He is body-mind. Body and mind are two aspects of his being,
not two divisions—two polarities of something which we may call life, energy or
anything—X-Y-Z—but body and mind are not two things.
The very process of
civilization, education, culture, conditioning, starts with the division. Everyone is taught that he is two, not one,
and then, of course, one begins to be identified with the mind and not with the
body…
I’d become an Osho (his AKA)
fan a long time ago, but it wasn’t until I watched his DVD concerning his life
that I fell in love with Osho. He was
the most kind, gentle and generous man I’d ever witnessed on film. He spoke and practiced everything I currently
believe in which is basically freedom and liberation of the body-spirit. To “become real” was his life’s message—but
oh, how he suffered because of it. When
he moved to Oregon from his commune in India and created a successful and
thriving self-sufficient commune there, the locals became outraged (and perhaps
jealous) at some of his teachings. He
taught “free love” and to embrace “total bliss” in ones life. When the Christian community found out that
he owned over 90 Rolls Royces and enjoyed a myriad of female consorts (part of
his bliss) they labeled him a “heretic” and forced him out of the United
States. He was unlawfully arrested and
deported; and then banned from over 20 different countries because of his
beliefs. He eventually returned to his
commune in India where he died from heart failure (a broken heart
perhaps). I only wish I could have met
the man.
I remember reading in one of
his more recent books, Absolute Tao,
his views on Christ.
I speak on Jesus Christ. I feel deep sympathy for him. I would like to suffer with him, I would like
to carry his cross a little while by his side.
But we remain parallel, we never meet.
He is so sad, so burdened—burdened with the miseries of the whole of
humanity. He cannot laugh. If you move with him too long you will become
sad, you will lose laughter. A
gloominess surrounds him. I feel for him
but I would not like to be like him. I
can walk with him a little while and share his burden—but then we part. Our ways are different ways. He is good, but too good, almost inhumanly
good.
I’m not sure Osho completely
understood who Christ is. I’m not sure
any of us really can. I do know one
thing for sure—Christ suffered and died on the cross as an “at-one-ment” for
our sins (separations within) so that we as individuals and humankind can
experience a fullness of joy or “bliss.”
Some of us have taken advantage of Christ’s at-one-ment and have
discovered their own bliss and are living it today. To the others, I have only one cliché to say,
“Get off the cross—we need the wood!”
I’m dedicated to my own bliss
which definitely includes my family as I have so much joy in my posterity. Below is a picture of my ten beautiful
children: Kelsey, Aubrey, Jared, Jenny, Andrew, Jonathan, Deserae, Destiny,
Jordan and Ariel (photo taken last Easter in Aubrey’s back yard).
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