A letter sent to my dearest Friend, for a little chuckle on Wednesday before Friday’s metaphoric celebration of the birth of Christ consciousness—not the contrived date of the birth of Jesus, the man.
Uncharacteristically feeling the ‘spirit of Christmas’ this morning, I thought I’d share what transpired over breakfast.
We had a deep winter version of Breakfast Like an Emperor: steamed, finely shredded purple cabbage, garlic, fresh ginger, carrots, purple potatoes in ghee, brown rice vinegar and salt, accompanied by our individual choices of protein. Mine was organic turkey livers barely cooked in olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
During the meal, our scant conversation touched on things Catholics do around this time of year, and that brought to my recollection a headline I read this week—didn’t bother reading the article. But the headline was a quote from a Catholic priest or whatever, saying “Praying Alone Is Not the Same As Praying Together!”. I thought that was pretty funny. Sue’s wry response was, “Well, that’s certainly true…”
But it launched me into an event I recall every few years, one which always brings a smile to my face—and sometimes a song belting out of my lungs. It was a childhood experience—5 yoa—and it so perfectly reflected my entire, short-lived excursion into church and Sunday school. My parents were by no means religious, but they clearly felt an obligation to expose me to what other Americans were doing on Sunday.
In the dank basement of a grim church in La Monte, Missouri, I had one of my early—and last—church experiences. Gathered with other unsuspecting young souls in Sunday school class, the teacher suggested we sing a song. What should we sing? My hand shot up without hesitation, “Let’s sing Ghost Riders in the Sky!”. The look on the teacher’s face, by itself, was enough to seal the deal—for me. She sourly replied, “I don’t think we want to sing that.”
My favorite song! Totally captured my imagination! And thrilled my infant consciousness.
That was the end of Sunday school, church, Christianity, and religion. My parents had no problem with my guiding decision, and it stands today as a fond reminder of the unquestioned choices I’ve made for life.
Yippee, yi, AAAAAAYYY! ?
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