Am I Spiritually Deprived by Noelle Sterne
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| Image | afra nur koc |
AM I SPIRITUALLY DEPRIVED?
Every day in the spiritual magazines and newsletters I read about people, enlightened beyond fathoming, who by great conscious choice and willingness to sacrifice have descended to this earth plane to help us all. Despite years of spiritual reading, workshops, and consultations, I know I’m not one of them.
My Spiritual Defects
I haven’t, with pleased shock, discovered I’m an empath, intuitive, sensitive, or indigo. I haven’t studied with Sri Ram Ramaramadananda or Don Miguel Luiz Ruiz Belize Trapize. I don’t channel an archangel named Jophial or a spirit guide named Lucille. I don’t feel the Heart of Love overflowing for all humankind or radiate an all-pervading glow of Oneness. I’m not a clairvoyant, clairaudient, telepath, telekineticist, psychic surgeon, or remote viewer (except on my TV).
Too often, I get annoyed, irritated, or downright enraged at my significant other—and life. Too often, I burst out in anger and sarcasm, cursing at the wall. Too often, I wish I could be taken care of like a pampered princess.
I love the things of this world—ice cream, fried chicken, television spy and murder shows, a pounding hot shower, my husband’s touch, the old quilt’s comforting smells, sleeping too late, a Mozart symphony or McCartney serenade, the air after rain, a football player’s butt.
Who’s There?
I’ve never received midnight visits from a gold-and-blue-robed saint smiling beneficently at the bottom of my bed.
Jesus has never come calling.
I’ve never seen a blinding flash of Light that impelled me to weep and bow to the floor.
I’ve never opened my inner door to a legion of Light Beings.
I’ve never been moved to prostrate myself on my non-prayer-rug floor at the sound of mysterious ethereal bells.
I’ve not seen a deceased grandfather appear in a startling, so-real vision to advise me whether to go or stay, say yes or no, buy or sell.
As I struggled to earn a living, the Harmonic Convergence of 1987 passed me by.
I rarely have a lucid dream, and if I do, I awaken and find my hand in the freezer on the Häagen-Dazs.
The only out-of-body experiences I ever had were a few incredible orgasms.
But Wait . . .
Sometimes I think of a friend I haven’t heard from in weeks, and then she calls a day later.
After a moment of internal pleading, I’ve found a parking space.
When an inexplicable pain attacks, I somehow know what to do without running to the Internet search box.
Daily, I have morning quiet times.
Daily, I write a page or two of affirmations.
Daily, I meditate for at least two and a half minutes before the day’s to-dos crowd in.
Some days, the answer comes almost before I’ve formed the question.
Some days, my work flows with perfect pleasure.
Some days, I no longer fear death or people who don't look like me, but I look forward to ongoing consciousness and no laundry.
Some days, I feel the rising of an inexplicable joy, knowing that all is in perfect order.
Some days, I rest in the peace of letting go.
And on some days, I feel blessedly free of money worries, anger at others, and hatred of my extra pounds.
These are the days—as I remember to keep practicing and wish for more of them—when I know I’m not spiritually deprived.
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| Noelle Sterne |
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