Once Upon a Slug

 

Once upon a very sluggish, non-writing season, my ability to put anything on paper seems to have all but dried up. The minute I sit down at my computer to continue my story, the Laughing Gods show up and start ridiculing.

You think you’re gonna come up with something interesting? It took you nearly the first quarter of a hundred years to grind our your last book. You think you can do it again? Hmmmfff.

Then I excuse myself, give in, and take up something less frustrating, like cooking, cleaning, writing holiday cards, or poking through my files of quilt and cloth doll patterns. I avoid writing like the plague and sometimes wonder if I’ll ever be able to put my thoughts on paper again.

Meanwhile, I satisfy my never-ending curiosity about the expanding Universe by listening to interviews of relatively new and unknown spiritual leaders like Barbara Hand-Clow, Corey Good, David Wilcox, and a growing list of such others, whom I stumbled upon on Gaia TV , my latest door to spiritual growth.

My next book (if it ever comes about) will include my interest in such nonordinary entities such as UFO’s, Angels, and  Spirit Guides. It will describe how my insatiable appetite for  spiritual growth has brought me to such practicess as Shamanism and consulting the Akashic Record. To name only a few.

Some family and friends have long since grown leery of me because of these unconventional interests. Exploring and pioneering these ideas has consumed me since my exit from the convent. I acknowledge that I follow an unconventional spiritual path. The important thing is, I’m finally able to abandon the opinion of others in order to do so.

So it really doesn’t matter that I’m currently not recording my path on paper. I trust I will eventually be able to take up my pen and share more of my unique story again.

 

 

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The Pedestal

pedestal

Once I left the convent, I wanted to consider myself normal. I lived in the regular world, had a boyfriend-soon-to-become-husband, a job, and lived a regular house. Everything seemed unremarkable and normal to me. But I was soon to discover I was anything but. My family didn’t want me to be regular. They bristled at the fact that I moved from the convent to a live-in situation with my boyfriend. They were shocked that I’d given up my faith, since my parents and most of my siblings were faithful Catholics. How could I NOT be, when I’d been a nun for so long?

They had put me on a pedestal and then eventually forgotten I was real.

In the meantime, I’d spent too many years breathing the rarified air from the top of a pedestal and found it lonely and uncomfortable. I’d learned to  obey without question and respond immediately to the call of the bell. I became a dutiful nun. A good girl. A saint–a woman worthy of praise.

Having finally rediscovered my humanity, I began listening to my own voice and gradually fell down from the pedestal.

Though I have had to learn to live in its shadow.

A Good Story

grass valley church

While tooting my own horn, I decided to share a review by my much-respected and dearly beloved writer friend. She posted the following on Amazon about my book, Once Upon a Time: The Memoirs of a Lesbian Nun. . . 

“The soul of this book is what most of us look for in a story—direct talk, honesty, good descriptions, explanations, and an appealing connection to the reader. Every ex-nun story describes overlapping events, but this author’s deeper level of sharing everything adds to the reader’s understanding and experiential reactions–sometimes surprisingly, sometimes with just enough extra depth to make one say, “Oh, that’s why she was concerned–that angle of background wouldn’t have occurred to me.
If you’re looking for a titillating book about young women, you may be confusing it with last night’s television programs. This story begins with why the author went to the convent. 20th century vocations were complicated. Priest, nuns, and others in authority sometimes urged parents to give up their child (it used to be “one from each family for the Church”). Teenage girls who looked for ways to save the world and get to “be somebody” at the same time, had no clue what lay ahead of them in the ubiquitous silence, hours of prayer and physical work, constant permissions and planned humiliations, and lack of autonomous power. They were shocked at how few days a year they would be allowed to speak to their nun teachers/friends. Add the discovery of one’s Lesbianism, and the Candidate was out in the middle of the sea without a guidelines boat. At least until Vatican II.
You may be surprised at turns in this true account, or not. Regardless, you will be touched by the author’s narrative. Once Upon A Convent is a great story and well worth reading.”

Falling

The rain has arrived and so has fall. Along with the leaves,  I’m falling ever so gradually into a new and unfamiliar lifestyle. Living alone. Bit by bit, I’m falling out of loneliness and into being okay by myself. My two cats keep me company and my home is small enough that I don’t feel lost.

Many years ago, I joined a communal life after having lived in a large family with seven other siblings. Then I  lived shoulder-to-shoulder and elbow-to-elbow within a community of nuns for nineteen years. After that, I continued to live with others–in and out of relationships–until now. I only lived alone for a brief time in between two of my relationships.

So it doesn’t feel right.

Friends tell me I should enjoy it, but I don’t.

Of course, being with someone doesn’t mean I was never lonely. I mostly felt alone in the convent, even though surrounded by others. I go into detail about this in my book. Which I’m still presenting to potential publishers. Eventually. By then, maybe I’ll be happy living by myself.

Until then, I continue to sometimes stumble

and fall.