Okay, this next installment deals with my visit on Sunday morning to the Golden Gate Spiritualist Church with my hosts. This might lead to so eye rolling in some quarters, that is okay. Remember, this is an attempt, like all religion, to bridge that gap betwixt what we know and what we try to believe:
For a better explanation of the Spiritualist Movement please see
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spiritualist_ChurchWe caught the cab before we reached Castro, me and Joe, who was ushering that day. His partner Jim had gone on, sermon in hand to the church, located in a grand old mansion at Franklin and Clay. The driver was a big guy, looked like a former music student, and played soothing classical pieces on the local public radio station. The weather, as always was perfect and the traffic lighter, soon we were up on that hill and stepping inside.
It was a sight straight out of the Tales of the City, grand space filled with movie theater seats and flowers, filled with light from a stained glass sky light, women in pastel colors and men in suits. It was all relaxed and quite, an organ softly playing a pop tune circa 1958 in another room where the healing were on going. I took a seat and waited for my turn.
When my turn came I sat in a chair while an elderly Asian man put a hand on my forhead and a hand on the back of my head. What does this do? Think about how you feel, what it feels like when you are touched by someone, human touch is a powerful thing, like the hand on the back of me neck the night before when I had a picture taken with a friend, it is a connection with them. I sat there for a long while, until he told me thank you. I stepped out with my head throbbing, in a good way, sinuses open, eyes clear.
Joe showed me the Billits, pieces of paper to write my question on for the medium. I did not have any particular question, sure I have thought of several since. I wrote on it: I am listening, folded it, held it for a minute to magnetize it to me, wrote me name on the front, and put it in the basket.
After the welcome, the songs, the sermon, the collection, the mediums came forth to deliver the 25 or so messages to the ones there seeking answers from those who had need to hear from those who had gone on. In each case the medium would call the name on the outside of the billet, the write would identify themselves and without looking at what was written would tell something about the entity they were sensing, and give a message in answer to the unread question. It was powerful, I cried a couple of times, there were gasps from some of the people.
She called my name. I raised my hand and said Good Morning and her face looked a little strange and blurted out:
"Mary-Mae" I was puzzled. Did I know them? Maybe, I ran the panthon of the dead women in my family, there had been many Mary's, Mae had been a middle name of yet someone else, "Maybe" I told her.
She said that I had had a lot come to me recently and was dealing with it, and that in the past I had relied on them when times were tuff that their was available to me anytime, they were there for me, and if I cam to them daily, at them same time, I would see that. She told me to be earnest in all things. And that was it.
And in my mind, Mae was a key, that unlocked Mary, which was her given name, she never went by it. She was always called Mamie. OMG, of course, if anyone would come talk to me it would be Aent Mamie. My grandfather sister, dead 17 years when I was born, from a family of 10, she was one of the 6 who never married (yes it is genetic). Mamie, who had to take care of all them dysfunctional siblings, Mamie who shared a bed with my Granny when her brother was run over by a produce truck, Mamie, whose praises were sung by her nieces and nephews she had clothed all my childhood. Aent Mamie, the last Catholic in the family, I though of her that day in 1999 as I escorted my crippled mother into the Vatican, she never got to see this place, but her efforts made it possible for us to make it there.
In a gift shop there I found an inexpensive rosary and bought it. It lay on my kitchen table for months, until December. I had to go to Richmond to straighten out some matter in my personal life that was preventing me from getting my realtors license. I went thru Emporia where she is buried and laid the rosary on her grave, told her where it was from and thanked her for her hard work and sacrifices so we could have what we enjoyed. I asked her if she had any strings she could pull in Richmond to please do so. I had my license in 2 days.
After the service I spoke with the medium and let her know the rest of the story. Upstairs there was reception food and coffee, I had my donut of the month in celebration, gawd they have a lot of sugar. Joe introduced me to the main minister there, an 89 year old man, 1/4 Native American who took my hand and stared into my eyes and told me to asses every situation, not to pass judgement, but intuitively see how to proceed.
And so I shall. The space betwixt what we know and what we try to believe has a name: Faith.
Topic: Shakesthegrounds Rumblings (Read 2596199 times)