Passover is timed perfectly this year – a bright spot halfway through level 4 lockdown in New Zealand. I am grateful for the abundance of good food and good vibes.
There’s a palpable difference in the air now that Alma has disappeared. Peter says that she has to stay in bed, as the accident caused severe vertigo.
Lieutenant Christine has risen to the occasion splendidly! Christine knows order, and her voice strengthens every day as she’s learning to impose it on this unruly community. We all pitch in, with vigor and honor, if not enthusiasm. The chores are easy when there are so many hands to help. And I think we all respect her authority because nobody wants the responsibility of attachment to this lodge.
I think They are finally starting to understand that I’m not a part of their cult. I’ve always been quite honest about my spirituality; I’ll express joy and gratitude towards God without shame. This does overlap with Christianity, so I can see where i might have been misleading.
Papa is part of their cult, so they probably assumed I was indoctrinated, and that’s why they were so happy to have me. And probably why Peter gave me free wifi. I think they’re struggling to understand me – I wish they’d just ask, instead of not allowing me to teach yoga and meditation, as if that would keep things safe. I wonder if I could really channel demons in meditation. Surely that’s redundant because the Absolute encompasses both angels and demons.
Christine keeps trying to pin down my beliefs, but I don’t want to tell her that I believe that her beliefs are antiquated and misogynistic and invasive. My number one rule is still to do no harm. Ahimsa. I’ve been neatly dodging her with: “I believe that Jesus was a good guy, and his messages of love and peace are exactly right.”
I will challenge her very gently; just enough spine to uphold my own beliefs. I don’t want to lose my place here.
She has reverence for the wonder and beauty of her spirit, and of course it’s natural to experience that in a church. She’s trapped in her preconditioning, poor girl. This is such a delightful age; 21, and she doesn’t even see the wonderful buffet of life in front of her.
After the Seder, I was far enough away from Christine, Peter, and Jessica to respond truthfully when Ariel needled me about my beliefs. I think i’m still uncategorized in most of the Israelis’ minds, and that’s a barrier that i’d like to remove.
“Do you really believe like them?” Ariel asked. He’d caught me rolling my eyes during hour 2 of the PowerPoint-assisted Messianic sermon.
“Uh, no. Not at all. This was my father: these are his beliefs that he pushed on me when I was a child. So, I understand it, i know what these people are, and they mostly have good hearts. But no. These beliefs are limiting and destructive.”
“I do believe in God, but not like them. I believe God to be life force that is not restricted to one form or expression, but is limitless, and therefore in all forms and expressions. This conversation is God. I am God, you are God, the peach tree is God…”
At this point I trailed off into laughter that echoed the welcoming grin on Ariel’s face. I love him – that grin is ten miles wide, and there’s always a vague naughtiness in his eyes. He’s loud, restless, single, charismatic, and of there was a rebellion here, he’d end up being the leader of it.
This is the kind of spirit that I am grateful to witness and enjoy.