Losing (and Finding) My Religion

In honor of Earth Day, I post this today!

I have finally found my religion. I've been practicing it for a number of years now, but all of sudden I have a name for it. Pantheism.

I was raised Roman Catholic. And all that goes with that. I got faith and education and rules galore. I went through all the motions: weekly church, the requisite sacraments (Baptism, First Communion, Confession, Confirmation), years and years of CCD. I have been a professional wake-goer since a young age. We went to mass on important holy days (Feast of the Assumption anyone?), kept the Baby Jesus out of the manger and wished the little clay babe a happy birthday before getting our presents on Christmas morning, and told tons of non-Catholic kids that we knew we had dirt on our faces on Ash Wednesday. Right around high school, I either started listening better at mass or I started thinking better in general, because that was when I started wondering what I was doing there. I didn't like what I was hearing, all of a sudden. First year of college, I stopped going completely and when home for summer or visits, told my mother I wasn't going with the family anymore. I told her (and meant it, even if it sounds like a good way out of it) that I didn't want to go and disrespect all the people (including her) who really believed and wanted to participate by standing there hating every minute and not believing any of it. I kept going on Christmas and Easter, but that was it.

Through the years, I've considered finding some other organized religion. Episcopalian would make sense. You know, Church of England. Created by Henry VIII out of the tenants of Catholicism so he could get divorced. Basically the same deal as Catholicism, but with far fewer rules and a lot more tolerance. I tried it. Felt weird. I've never really considered anything beyond that, since I finally figured out that I really don't dig the organization of coming together in a room on a schedule to worship. I just don't get anything from that.

There's been a few times when I've felt really lonely and I've sought it out. Once, I went to an entire Catholic mass in Hanoi, in Vietnamese. I had no idea what was being said, obviously, but the cadence of the mass made sense and I knew when to kneel and what was happening during the consecration (what Catholics call turning the wine and bread into the actual body and blood of Christ). It was a cool experience. I also finally cracked and went to a mass in Ita, Paraguay, since every damn week, they played it over the loudspeaker anyway and it woke me up. All in Spanish and Guarani, so I didn't get much, but again, the cadence felt familiar.

As we all know, the sex scandals hit the church. By then, I was already disillusioned enough. I somehow had turned out pro-choice, pro-birth control and pro-tolerance for just about anyone and their lifestyle. All those things are in direct opposition to the teachings and beliefs of the church in which I was raised. And I started hearing more and more of these big-church preachers on TV and in the media promising people that as long as they were saved, all would be well. For almost all of the 2000s, we had a president who pretty much believed that God was telling him what to do, and many of those things weren't all that nice. So all the God talk added to my further disillusionment.

I just don't go in for organized religion or God in general. I have been speaking of the Universe and its plans for me for a very long time. I tried out using "The Goddess" in place of God for a while, but that just felt false to me. I went diving on Easter Sunday one year and told my mother that I felt closer to some other being or God doing that than any visit to a building would do for me. She still tells people about that as evidence that I actually have faith.

As far as I'm concerned, my faith has never been in question. I've been telling my mother that my relationship with God is between me and him and does not need an intermediary (church, mass, priest, etc.) for years. Slowly, I've figured out that my faith is less in some unknown guy in the sky and is more a core belief that everything is interconnected. My actions affect others. My actions affect the Earth. My actions and my attitude affect me and how I experience the world.

When I want to feel connected to something bigger than I, or when I want evidence that there is indeed something bigger in charge or that my faith in fate is not unfounded, I head for nature. I head for the woods. I head for the sea. I head for a mountain. Gimme a tree in bloom and my ability to sit under it any day over a hard wooden bench and speaking in monotone with 200 other people.

I have just recently learned that I am, therefore, a Pantheist. I was explaining that I don't really have a religion but believe in nature to my new supervisor, and he said, "Pantheism!" (He knows a lot of things, many obscure.) I then promptly forgot to look it up for a while until somehow it came up with my mom. And so I did a little research. And I found out I am indeed a Pantheist.

What Pantheists believe is basically summed up easily by the beginning of the Wikipedia entry for it: "Pantheism promotes the idea that God is better understood as a way of relating to nature and the Universe as a whole - all that was, is and shall be - rather than as a transcendent, mental, personal or creator entity. Pantheists thus do not believe in a personal, anthropomorphic or creator god. Although there are divergences within Pantheism, the central ideas found in almost all versions are the Cosmos as an all-encompassing unity and the "sacredness" of Nature."

Some of the Transcendentalists were Pantheists. You know, Thoreau, Emerson, Whitman. Those guys who sat in the woods and wrote stuff. Makes sense. Apparently, it was such an up and coming religion in their time, the Vatican got all threatened and issued the Syllabus of Errors to decry this and any other close iterations. (Fit throwers, those Catholics.) And so, Pantheism didn't move from a heyday into an actual day. There have been some other famous Pantheists, too: novelist D.H. Lawrence, scientist Albert Einstein, architect Frank Lloyd Wright and some other dudes I've never heard of. Apparently Avatar (a little movie recently) has been accused of being Pantheism-ish.

All I know, is that when I get off the ski lift and I start down the hill and I look around at the snow and the hills and the ice crystals, I know something's out there. And I believe in fate, and faith and the Universe's plan for me and I believe that what I do in synch with that, matters. I know that in the breath of the dogs as they race across the silent frozen lake in Maine, there is peace. I know that being a visitor under the ocean when I dive allows me to participate in the world of the fish and the animals and that seeing them interact (such as watching the shrimp and goby share a home) is because Earth says it is so and so it is. I know that in the early morning, in the silence as I canoe across the pond there is hope.

I can sit and look at a heron on the dock at my aunt & uncle's house in New Hampshire and wonder at its being and its shape and color in a way I don't wonder about much else. I believe all is linked and that we are all responsible to each other and to every being and that I am lucky the plants provide me with oxygen. I feel really light in the spring, when everything is blooming. It's all big and whole and a circle that creates energy and us and a system that sustains.

I'm pleased to have a name for this. This feeling I've had for a long while now. This motivation for asking someone to turn off the tap when they aren't using it. This desire to plant a garden and delight when it grows. This energy I have to spend time in nature. This strong belief in the Universe and it's plan for me, which I have the ability to help mold. Pantheism.

Musings Brought on by Ash Clouds

I am meant to fly to Reykjavik next Friday night.

There is a giant ash cloud from the recent eruption of Eyjafjallajökull about 75 miles outside of Reykjavik.

There's no imminent danger in Iceland, really. Assuming that Katla doesn't blow.

If I were trying to go to Europe, I'd be SOL. Since all the air space is shut. The cloud is hovering over Europe and slowly moving eastwards. It is made up of rocks and glass and shit that, if it got into a plane engine, would destroy it.

I'm not linking to any news story because every single one says something different. Nobody really knows what is going to happen with this volcano or Katla or anything really. Because it's the Earth. And nobody can ever figure out what it is going to do next.

Apparently, tourists and scientists alike are hanging out looking at the volcano.

When this volcano last blew in 1821, it kept erupting for over a year, until 1823. Woah.

In 1821, there was no air traffic to worry about. There are also only 320,000 people in Iceland right this minute, so there were probably far fewer in 1821.

I am not really worried about my trip to Iceland. Flights from the US are uninterrupted. Seems there's nothing really to worry about.

Dude, though. This is interesting.

Badass Bike Commuting

I have begun a new daily adventure which I absolutely love. (It's amazing, actually, how many things I try that I end up loving.)

I get up in the morning, and I go to fitcamp or to the gym or to the pool to swim or whatever. I bike to get there, in the dark, with my flashing red safety light on the back of my bike and my regular head-lamp wrapped around the front handlebars since I haven't invested in a front light yet. (That will be taken care of this weekend.)

After whatever workout I'm doing that morning (or, in yesterday's case, my extra hour of sleep!), I have a shower. Then I don what have become my spring biking clothes. These are the things I've discovered I like to ride my bike in - my long running/workout tights and a t-shirt with my yellow light-weight LLBean anorak that I've had for a million years, and my Keens. (A word on Keens. They are the bomb. If you don't know what I'm talking about - check them out here. I got them years ago when they first hit the scene. My mother bought them for me for my birthday, saying "You want ugly shoes for your birthday?" Yup! Yesterday afternoon, a woman who I passed caught up to me at a light. She said, "Aren't they the best shoes to bike in?" as she glanced down at her own Keens. Totally.)

Then I pack my courier bag, which I've also had for years. (I got a stupid gift once at Gettysburg from my boss and was able to return it to the bookstore on the sly and get this bag instead. I've used it intermittently over the years and am thrilled that I own it now.) In the bag goes my regular purse stuff (wallet, keys, lip stuff, phone, vitamins, planner) and whatever clothes I'm going to wear at work (this week - a dress or skirt and top). Also packed is deoderant (although I need to get one of those to just leave at work) and make up (which for me is just base, mascara and an eye pencil). All of this doesn't weigh very much. (The first day I also had shoes, but I'm pretty much going to leave those at work from now on.)

I refill my water bottle, put on my helmet, and drag the bike from the front hall of my house (where it lives now, my upstairs neighbors finally giving me enough space to store it there so it doesn't have to live in my bedroom anymore). Pick it up, walk it down the front steps, and off I go.

The route is pretty great. I follow the Jamaicaway out of my 'hood and pick up the bike path that takes me through JP and Brookline and the Fenway along the Riverway, but in the woods. It dumps out at Park Drive/Landmark Center right by the Fenway T-stop. I turn left here and get on the road. Cross Beacon Street and around the corner to get into traffic to get to the BU Bridge. I'm about 15 minutes into the trip at this point.

The major intersection at Comm Ave by the BU Bridge is pretty crazy at rush hour, but there are always cops there. And the best part is that usually, we bikers can get in the front of all the cars at red lights, so when the light turns, we are the first across the whole mess. This takes some paying attention to start moving AS SOON as the light turns and to pedal hard to get through the intersection and not annoy too many cars. The BU Bridge is under perpetual construction and there are huge signs that say BIKES MAY USE ENTIRE LANE. So, I just join the line of cars as if I was one. Stop, start, stop, start. Then hang out at the red light afterwards, trying to get across Mem Drive to head into Cambridgeport.

I follow along for a short time and then take this awesome road called Putnam which a former boyfriend showed me a long time ago. I don't really know Cambridge all that well, but I'm pretty pleased I know about this road. First of all, hardly anyone is on it (I think they are all fighting it out on Mass Ave, which runs parallel a bit north of Putnam.) Secondly, it's quiet and pretty. There are a bunch of lights, but when you are a bike, you can cross a red if the pedestrian crossing light is on in your favor while the cars just sit there. There's a school along the way, and I love watching all the kiddies arriving - some in cars, some on bikes themselves, some walking along with Mom or Dad or whoever.

Putnam dumps out on Mass Ave just shy of Harvard Square. I am LOVING biking through Harvard Square. It's busy, but not crazy busy. I love that once again, I get to go to the front of the line of cars and then book it when the light turns to get around the little fake-rotary thing and off to the right to get back on Mass Ave. And GOD BLESS Cambridge, which has the best bike lanes ever. Clearly marked, and well positioned all along Mass Ave. So GREAT!

So onwards down Mass Ave and through Porter Square and then turn right to get to Elm and into Davis Square. Around the Square and up College Ave towards Tufts. Powderhouse Rotary is another awesome bit, as again I become like a car and enter the rotary like any of them and make my way around to the other side. (I love the looks I get from some of the cars - surprise that I'm actually riding in a rotary makes some of them just stop and wait for me - others just treat me like a car, looking for my signal of where I'm going to exit.)

The last bit sucks. A long, slow hill along Broadway until I hit Packard and then a more steep hill, albeit only for about 500 yards to the house I work in. Both directions of this commute involve hills right at the end, when I'm most tired and almost there. Ah, well. I have the motivation of almost being there to get me through the hills.

The whole trip is about 8.8 miles. Has consistently taken me 50 minutes, only 10 minutes more than my car commute. So far, the mornings have been cool and I arrive at work barely sweaty. A little bit, but nothing requiring a shower. Eventually, I'll need to shower when I get to work, which is fine - since I work in a house with a full bath on the third floor. Very convenient.

There are moments in the ride where my thighs are burning because of the effort required to get up a hill. Most of the hills I encounter are long rather than steep. I have no idea, being a new biker, which is harder. And there are moments when I have to stop for something and I take one leg off the pedal and place it on the ground to balance and I realize I'm shaking with exertion. And there are moments where I am totally out of breath. But this isn't a race, so I just take it easier for a short bit until I can breathe normally again. I am consistently passed by men. Sometimes I catch back up to them at a light or intersection, but they then blow me away again. There is no way for me to keep up with any man I've encountered so far. But other women? Them I usually pass.

This morning, when I arrived at work, a bunch of dudes were doing the landscaping around the house. I greeted them with "Buen dia!" and they responded in kind. I was out of breath from that aforementioned last hill and as I carried my bike up the stairs to the front porch to lock it up, one of the guys said "Cuanta millas?' ("How many miles?") And I said "Nueve" (9) and he said, "Nueve?!" And I felt like a badass.

Because you know what? I'm a badass. Let's just call a duck a duck, shall we? I-AM-A-BADASS. That's how I feel all the time now. Fitcamp makes me feel great and I love that I consistently work out and gain strength. But it doesn't really make me feel like a badass. But biking across the city, through 8 neighborhoods and towns for 50 minutes makes me feel badass. And I look forward to the ride home all day long. I can't wait to get back on my bike for the return trip. In the afternoon my muscles are tighter, not having had some pre-workout to warm me up, so the first mile or so is tough. But once I'm all warmed up, about when I get to the far side of Davis Square and make the turn to head out to Mass Ave, I'm good to go.

The plan is to ride to work as often as humanly possible from now until it's snowing or so cold that I'm shivering on the bike. There are a lot of people in Boston who commute year round on their bikes. I'm not sure I'm one of them. I suspect I'm not. But we shall see. There are days that I won't be able to bike to work - days when I have night commitments or somewhere to be right after work that's too far to bike to. This week, today is my last day biking because I have to work until 9p on Thursday and until 10p on Friday. I suppose I could ride home that late on my bike, but those are going to be long work days and I need the car for things happening on those days. And so. But next week, it's on again.

I cannot wait.