One day late last year with the urge for spiritual fulfillment upon me, I did what I thought all novices in search of enlightenment should do. I went to a spiritual expo!
What better way, I thought, to discover which path to lay my spiritually naked and eager feet upon. In my usual, intense style, I yearned to find faith ... in ... in ... in something. So, my mind, with its simple complexity, reasoned that a whole bunch of enlightened choices lying side by side, like lamb chops at the butcher's, could have the answer.
I must confess, though I'm most definitely open-minded in a narrow sort of way, the path of self-discovery was new to me. Like many, I was confused by what little real truth and real wisdom I could see and grasp. Faith was a rare commodity for one bought up in the home of a staunch atheist. So strong was the atheistic belief (how's that for an oxymoron) that it was almost religious in its fervour.
But the heart called and, for once, I decided to follow what I felt, as one very special and very enlightened dear friend suggested I should do. Whether my friend expected me to go window-shopping for spirituality, I don't know. But for one so far from any form of enlightenment, it was a start.
I was not sure what wild pagan rituals would await me in this shopping mall of alternatives, so I did the only wise thing a spiritual novice could do - I cased the place. Not too obviously, of course; just quietly sitting in my car pretending to read a most enlightened script. (Ok, it was a road directory. I was pretending I was lost, in case I needed to do a quick get-away.)
One lesson my spiritually enlightened friend had taught me was to observe - to walk around and notice my surroundings. So I observed. And was surprised.
Most of the people wandering through the front doors of the expo pavilion were ... well ... kind of normal-looking. I mean, ok, some of them were a little weighed down with noisy amulets and jingling chains, but most were basically pretty standard people. That made me feel a little better, though there was something a little different. I just couldn't place it at the time.
Plucking up courage, I strode forward, walking the walk of one who handles matters of the spirit as part of his every day ritual ... the sort of guy who manages to meditate just after shaving and just before teeth brushing. The sort of guy who receives messages from spirit guides and angels almost as often as he does bills from the telephone company. I forgot the lessons my friend had told me about being myself. But there is no shame in being a novice ... in most cases, anyway.
In I strolled, parting with my entrance fee at the door. (Luckily at that stage, I did not know about my spirit guides because I didn't have enough cash for their cover charge.) I meandered through the place, and the first thing I noticed was, it smelled good. It really did. And I'll be damned if for some reason that didn't relax me. I never quite worked out the scent, but it set the mood nicely.
I began to explore and did so with fervour. I watched people drawing other's auras with cheap coloured pencils, marveling that one could colour an entire aura from a selection of only twelve pigments. I was blown away by what seemed to be a perfectly rational woman sticking a candle in another's ear and setting it on fire. I considered trying that, but figured with my novice's head of hot air, I might either blow the candle out or the pavilion up, so I passed on by. I saw one man dangle a crystal by a piece of string, then tell a young woman, as he watched the crystal move, what the Great Spirit was saying to her. (Ok, I have to confess that I did glance around to see if someone had left a window open, letting in a breeze.)
There were people with thick books about personal encounters with aliens, and an old lady with proof that Satan was still after Eve. People practiced healing arts upon each other with the only surgical tools, I could see, being their hands. Clairvoyants sat in rows, partitioned from each other by flimsy, removable panels, brooding over all manner of things - cards, crystal balls, jewelry, open hands, and even flowers. I watched a man read Tarot from cards with Native American animal symbols on them. That one was a little difficult for me to comprehend, since I am sure Native Americans never used Tarot. There were a thousand things I did not understand, but I did keep my mind open and found a few things that worked for me.
One was the smiles. That was the difference I saw at my entry. Lots of smiles and open faces, with enjoyment of the surroundings obvious upon them. I listened in on a few of the conversations, and while there is no way I wished to throw my two cents in, the courtesy was beautiful. Listen, speak. Listen, speak. Not a new concept probably, but it was one lesson I took away that day. Taking time to listen, before speaking. (I was already on my way to becoming a dedicated novice.)
Then it was time to participate, for I was ready. Ready for ... ready for ... well ... I don't know ... awakening, enlightenment, a quick word from God. I had no idea, but I was eager for it. (My spiritually enlightened friend would have pointed out that focusing intensely on the search for experience may not be the best way to achieve it, but hey ... we have already established I was a novice's novice.)
Where to start? Auras intrigued me. I figured if I was glowing and others could see it, then I wanted to, also. I mean, what if I was not properly colour-coordinating with myself. And what better way to prove its reality than with something my mundane mind could understand. A photograph. Something tangible. Something a man can believe is possible. A chance to hold my own aura in my hand and say, Wow! Look at that; I do glow. (And here, my friend, in her annoying way of always being right, would poke her head in and say, what, you need to prove that you shine?)
So I sat down and paid my money (I don't know why I expected awareness to be cheap) and smiled into the open, beaming face of the photographer. Who smiled back and then blinded me with a flash after I took three deep breaths as I was requested to do. Apparently I did that quite well.
Then I saw the photo. I must confess that up until now I have been talking a little tongue-in-cheek, but that was to capture the mood of the man at the moment. Or the nerves of the novice on the night, depending on how you want to look at it. But the photo touched a cord. I mean, it really glowed, and the description was quite impressive too. The colours were mainly orange, which initially was disappointing as I imagined myself glowing in many colours. I had a novice's ego and was expecting to blow the photographer away with a blinding burst of brilliance that reflected my carefully hidden godhood. (Which, according to my spiritually enlightened, fountain-of-knowledge friend, we all possess anyway.)
The colours on my left side, my future it seemed, were a mixture of active red and intellectual yellow, meaning activity, wakefulness and creativity unfolding. Orange gives way to green apparently, but in my enthusiasm I forgot to ask what green means. (At this stage my exasperated friend would probably have slapped my wrist for not taking the time to absorb details, but hey, I was listening intently.)
Above my head, my colours of experience were also orange. Creative and artistic ... energy with mental direction. Constructive self-expression is important to me, the computer print out claimed. (Which would explain my need to waffle on about what many would consider a quiet afternoon's outing).
What most impressed me was my right side. My expression. The image of me that most people see. It was gold. Phrases on the print out read as follows: Centre of attention. Radiant and expansive. Representing relaxation, a release from burdens. Apparently I shine like the sun (and wasn't that tasty nourishment to my ever-hungry ego!). Also lots of nice words about my smile. I was beginning to be rather impressed all round with aura reading.
But the most impressive part was the strange dark "blobs" over my left side. The photographer took much time musing over these, and I found myself glued to the spot. Those blobs (and my intellectual mind hated me for it) had really drawn my eyes. These, I was told, were my spirit guides. One in particular was important. A grandmother from a past life, she was to be my guide to ascension. A guide to help me through the emotional batterings I was used to giving myself. A kindly spirit looking over my shoulder; someone to help me through life's ever-present dramas.
Slowly I realized I was listening, absorbing, not scoffing, not denying. I felt comfortable with what I was being told. But the euphoria didn't last long. He went a bit too far for my novice's mind. I mean I was trying, but when he said my spiritual grandmother would be able to help me find the transporter system hidden somewhere on Earth and fly me across galaxies to a star millions of light years away, I panicked. But give me my dues. Two hours earlier, I was having trouble getting the courage to enter this pavilion, so a flight across the galaxy should be expected to have the result it did.
My feet planted themselves firmly and fully back on the Earth. I lost interest and belief, and I lost faith. (My friend later told me that I did not have to believe, but to only keep my mind open. She said we each have our own truth, and the aura reader's interpretations of ascension did not mean ascension in some form was not a possibility for me.)
Sadly, at his request, I allowed him to try and pass energy through to me. I say sadly for he did it honestly and with feeling, but the spark I felt when his finger touched my head - well, my mind had already determined it was a parlour trick. I had already begun to deny his truth, because I could not accept it being different to mine. The motion of his rubber soled shoes on the carpet, I thought to myself. Static electricity, an old prank we used to do at school.
I walked away a little disappointed, though I still have that photograph. I still hope one day to meet my spirit-grandmother. And I still hope to have faith one day - in something. (Apparently I try too hard to believe, according to my infuriatingly-always-correct friend). I got disillusioned, but I was trying, too hard perhaps, but trying none the less.
I left that afternoon with nothing to show for it except a photo of coloured lights and an emptier wallet. Or did I? My as-always-spiritually-correct friend would have been proud as I stopped by my car, key in hand, and took a moment to allow the feelings within to wash over me.
What had I felt? Anticipation, excitement, contentment, eagerness, happiness, disappointment. A lot more emotions than I normally feel in one day, not bad for an afternoon's outing.
What had I learned? I recalled losing faith in what I was hearing. And in its wonderful way, realization came to me. How could I lose something that I did not have? To have lost faith, I must have had, for however short a time, faith. (Was it just me or could I hear the gentle clapping of my spiritually enlightened friend?)
And so it dawned on me that I did have some faith, however elusive. Faith in my quest for self-understanding.
Perhaps my supermarket tour of spirituality was the start I needed. Perhaps it wasn't. But it allowed my eyes to open to possibilities and to see that there are many possible paths to understanding. While this novice walked away without finding a path well-trodden by others to make his quest easier, the eyes have been opened and the heart has gained awareness, if not understanding.
And I did leave with one important lesson tucked away under my belt. Self-discovery is like a trip to the supermarket. It is possible to wander for hours looking up and down aisles, if you don't leave home with a well-considered shopping list. Now, this doesn't mean you have to know the brand name of the soap powder you want, but be aware that it is soap powder you need. Decide what you need and you can be sure you will find it.
And so endeth the mundane man's first lesson in the magikal world of life.
(Copyright 1999 by Craig Garratt - No reproduction without express permission from the author)