Spiritual Rebel

by Sarah Bowen

  Like a sheep.

  Sheepish. Being fleeced. One of the Sheeple. We’ve given sheep a bad rap, relegating them to derogatory slurs as an example of unwanted conformity. Their lives are commonly undervalued—they are mere animals to be used for food and fashion, based on our beliefs about what a sheep is for.

  But beliefs are not facts. They help us navigate our world, but do not have to be fixed, unchanging. Which is lucky for us, because sometimes these ideas help us; other times, they can limit us. For example, let’s reconsider sheep. Due to amazing memory capability, sheep can remember at least 50 different other sheep and humans for many years, and even recognize emotions through facial expressions. Extremely intelligent, they can solve complex problems, with IQs nearly as high as the notoriously clever pig. Skilled herbalists, some sheep will self-medicate illnesses by seeking out specific plants that can alleviate their symptoms. Sacred to Egyptians, many sheep were mummified with the same care as humans.

  Quickly, new information begets altered beliefs and helps us toss out biases. While visiting South Africa, my opinions about sheep did a 180 when I met a remarkable Thaba Manzi Pedi sheep named Lammie. Dwelling at the Hoedspruit Endangered Species Centre, Lammie is a surrogate mother for many of the wildlife sanctuary’s orphaned baby rhinos whose parents have been killed by poachers. Comforting, playing with, and guiding the colossal animals, Lammie is clearly a valued and respected member of both the family of rhinos and the center’s staff. (One might even say she’s lovingly raising chubby unicorns?)

  Now go back and take a closer look at the cover of this book, specifically at that fuzzy yellow dude you probably thought was a unicorn. I call him Unifred. (I call everything I name some version of Fred. I have no idea why.) I suppose you could label him a sheepicorn or unisheep. (My friend Steve calls him a wooly unicorn.) Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Because the label is not the point: The process is the point. For me, this zany mythical creature embodies the best qualities of both unicorn and sheep. He’s a symbol for what happens when I bust my biases, and he’s ever reminding me I don’t have to slur anyone to build myself up as unique. I can hold fast to my individuality while still being in community.

  What happens if we apply this concept to our spirituality?

  Sex scandals, power plays, and the political co-opting of religion have turned many of us away from the religious institutions of our youth. Hurtful statements that God was anti-this, anti-that, or even anti-us may have sunk in and festered. Or we just may have misunderstood what was being presented to us as we tried to process complex concepts before we were old enough to comprehend abstract thoughts. Sometimes the narrative, or story, of the religion we were taught fell flat for us in the modern age—we were unable to feel the story as our own or connect with it. Others of us grew up without any knowledge about religion or spirituality, except for what we saw on the news or the stories we heard from our friends’ painful experiences.

  And so we inherited—and often created—beliefs about what spirituality and religion meant. As spiritual rebels, we can relook at these beliefs to see if they should be held or adapted based on new information and experiences. As spiritual rebels, we can reject things that don’t work for us, yet still allow others the autonomy to believe what is meaningful to them. During our redefining process, it’s important to clarify our own beliefs rather than to just stand in opposition to what we don’t believe in.

  I’d like to go down the rabbit hole a bit on this, using one of my favorite renegades: Richard Buckminster Fuller. I fell in love with him the first time I set foot in a geodesic dome. As an architect, Bucky popularized that innovative design. He was a true nonconformist—so much so that he was expelled from Harvard. Twice. He struggled with alcohol and depression, and even attempted suicide.

  Yet Bucky was awarded 28 patents, authored more than 30 books, served as the world president of Mensa (the elite high-IQ society) for almost a decade, and received the Presidential Medal of Freedom. His futurist philosophy would go on to influence 20th-century design, fuel the sustainability movement, invigorate energy-efficient housing, and shake up linguists. The Buckminster Fuller Institute refers to him posthumously as a “comprehensive anticipatory design scientist.”

  So what happened?

  Recalling his turnaround later in life, Bucky described being on the verge of committing suicide in Lake Michigan, when he heard the following, as Jonathon Keats recounts in You Belong to the Universe: Buckminster Fuller and the Future:

  You do not have the right to eliminate yourself. You do not belong to you. You belong to Universe. Your significance will remain forever obscure to you, but you may assume that you are fulfilling your role if you apply yourself to converting your experiences to the highest advantage of others.

  Whether this was “Universe,” Bucky’s true self, God, or some other voice isn’t the key point here. What’s most significant is the effect on Bucky’s life. He had found a new perspective, leading him to a higher purpose. In the process, he would author this wise advice: “You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.” I think Bucky hits on a paramount point here, so let’s dissect it:

  You never change things by fighting the existing reality.

  Yet this is what we rebels often do. We fight against what we don’t like instead of working for the change we want to see. With the rise of social media, I see this type of behavior every day. My feeds are full of memes and quotes about what people hate, sound bites about what they are against. But when I ask for more information about what someone is for, often they answer with a version of: “I’m for the cessation of what I’m against.” So let’s go back to Bucky’s quote:

  To change something build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.

  Let me be clear that I’m not advocating for religion to become obsolete. Far from it. People have a right to their own opinions and perspectives on religion; that’s our First Amendment in action: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.” This is what the rebellious early Americans sought, and current generations work hard to maintain. What I am advocating is for us to keep building our own personal spiritual models that make any existing model of how we were living without spirituality obsolete.

  Shel Silverstein’s book The Missing Piece Meets the Big O makes this point in a mere 519 words. Unable to move due to its shape, a triangle-shaped “missing piece” searches for another piece to complete it and take it somewhere. But each attempted pairing doesn’t fit properly. It tries changing itself in numerous ways to attract the “right piece.” Finally, after some time, the missing piece finds a Pac-man shaped piece that works, at least until the missing piece begins to grow and outgrows its newfound friend. Again, the missing piece is on its own. Before long, it meets a circle named the Big O and becomes hopeful for a match. Yet the Big O declares it is complete on its own and advises that the missing piece could be complete on its own as well.

  The missing piece must build a new model. It must realize that it already has everything it needs; the model of incompleteness is obsolete. Being triangular, it just needs to start rolling to wear off its sharp corners. Then it will be a rolling whole. Like the missing piece, we need to wear off our sharp corners. We need to toss out the perspectives that no longer work for us.

  We need to throw out our sacred trash.

  Taking out the sacred trash

  It filled the can, it covered the floor,

  It cracked the window and blocked the door.

  SHEL SILVERSTEIN

  * * *

  Admittedly, releasing long-held beliefs is not always an easy task. Some of us have been threatened with some pretty horrible consequences if we think for ourselves. Others of us may have intermingled our principles and personality to such an extent that we worry without them, “Who will I be?” A friend once described the process to me as,
“My insides are being rearranged.”

  Letting go can be uncomfortable. Spine-chillingly scary. Somberly sad. Disorienting. And at the same time, it can also be joyful and hair-raisingly exciting. Freeing. Relieving. Delightfully comforting. Embracing a both/and instead of either/or mindset, we can allow all these feelings to coexist.

  Below, I offer a spiritual experiment for you to consider. As I waded into my own personal rubbish pile, I was surprised at the sheer volume of beliefs I had not reevaluated since my teens. For many, I was unable even to remember where the idea came from or who taught it to me. For others, I remembered with chest-tightening resentment just exactly who told me. Because I vehemently reject “Do as I say, not as I do,” here is a peek into what I discovered.

  I do not believe:

  • That it isn’t okay to question

  • That not believing in all of the religious ideas my father did dishonors him in any way

  • That pop culture myths are any less worthy of study than age-old spiritual ones

  • That it’s not okay to use the F-word in spiritual settings (though on challenging days I could use a language detox)

  • That being spiritual means I am entitled to bash religions (or religious people)

  • That there is a punishing divine figure doling out his vengeance whenever I am not being my best self

  • That spirituality must always be quiet and serene

  • That religion and science are opposites

  • That business and spirituality are diametrically opposed

  • That to be spiritual means I can’t also be a consumer

  • That prayer is only for Christians and meditation only for Buddhists

  • That because I don’t agree with all of the tenets of a religion, I have to throw it entirely away

  • That if I become a member of one spiritual community, it means I cannot join others

  • That by being part of any community, I have to believe exactly the same things as the other members

  • That I must live in a particular country or be of a specific ethnicity to learn from the teachings of Krishna, Buddha, Zoroaster, Moses, Jesus, Lao Tzu, Mahävira, or myriad other wise ones

  • That religion is for the weak

  • That scandals by some religious people negate the entire religion or the compassionate work religious institutions do to help their communities

  • That to justify my own spiritual path, I have to trash yours

  • That God is the only valid name for the divine mystery

  • That people who do use the word God are flawed and worthy of my ridicule

  • That being born with alcoholic genes (and following them) makes me a sinner

  • That identifying as bisexual means I am an abomination

  • That I am fallen or unworthy

  • That Jesus is the only way to God

  • That there is only one path to anything

  • And that wanting to embody the traits of a Jedi is somehow not “real spirituality”

  Those statements were just the top layer of my litter. Pages and pages of words poured out of me, accompanied by a healthy dose of tears, anger, and F-words. My head throbbed, as if reeling from a substantial hangover. So I took a nap.

  Many hours later, I woke up and tossed the entire notebook into the trash, committing to reject all those ideas I was told by others, or developed myself, that no longer felt true to me. Smiling like a Cheshire cat, I felt as relieved as if I had just completed the New York City marathon—or what I expect that might feel like. I am not nearly coordinated enough to run long distances without injuring myself.

  It’s true, our discrete sacred trash piles are likely to be vastly different. And some of my sacred trash may include beliefs that you hold meaningful. And vice versa. Yet our goals can be the same: to release what no longer supports us in order to build a new perspective that makes the old one obsolete. Taking out our trash can open up space within us. It clears the self-harming thoughts of unworthy, fallen, sinful. It makes space for self-caring states of joy, serenity, and bliss.

  Of course, just like in your home, taking out the sacred trash is not a one-time event. It’s a practice we can return to again and again, to refresh ourselves and our spirituality. I invite you to try to offload just a bit today.

  SPIRITUAL EXPERIMENT #1:

  TAKING OUT THE SACRED TRASH

  I suspect that you, like me, may have a stack of unused or half-used notebooks sitting somewhere. Grab one. Not the one you don’t want to part with, or the one that was a special gift. Find the one that looks a little beaten up, the one sitting forlornly at the bottom of the pile with no hopes of ever being used for your bestselling novel or doctoral thesis. If you don’t have a stack, pop over to the nearest dollar store and grab the cheap one with the ding on the front, or the one someone marred with a footprint.

  1. Silence your phone, computer, or anything around you that might ring, ding, or vibrate.

  2. Close your eyes and take a deep breath. Exhale slowly.

  3. Open to the first page of your notebook and write these words at the top: Clinging to beliefs that no longer feel true robs me of spiritual freedom.

  4. Close your eyes again and take another deep breath. Exhale slowly.

  5. Ask yourself this question: What spiritual or religious beliefs am I clinging to as “true” that do not feel “true”?

  6. Write the answer in your notebook. Whether it is two words or two full pages, keep writing till the thought feels completely expressed.

  7. Close your eyes once more and take a deep breath. Exhale slowly.

  8. Ask yourself: And what else am I clinging to as “true” that does not feel “true”? What practices, actions, or rituals no longer feel nurturing or sustaining?

  9. Repeat steps 6 to 8 until you’ve got nothing else left to write.

  10. Ask yourself: “Am I ready to consider letting go?” The key word here is consider. If you’ve held these convictions for a long time, you may feel slightly anxious. You may not be ready to let go. You may need to sit with your notebook and drink a hot cup of coffee. Or a walk around the block may ease your separation anxiety. Some people have told me that taking a nap helps. Take your time: minutes, hours, or days. Revisit the words and ask the questions again.

  11. When you hear yes, acknowledge the notebook. Thank it for holding your words, your sacred trash. Thank the beliefs you’re throwing away for helping you when they were necessary. Let them know it is time for you to move on.

  12. Put your sacred trash in the rubbish bin. Yes, of course, you can use a shredder if yours is juicy.

  For some of you, I suspect the word God might have popped up. That word regularly appears during this experiment, which makes sense. It’s hard to talk about spirituality or religion without the G-word appearing.

  As a spirituality writer, I find that the question I dread most (and perhaps consequently the one I am most often asked) is “Do you believe in God?” It’s impossible for me to answer the question with a simple yes or no. For me, as for many of us, the G-word is a loaded one. Instead, I answer with a question, “What do you mean by the word God?”

  Each answer to that query is different. People’s descriptions of God are unique since their experiences are personal. But the lion’s share of people I speak with (and, I’m assuming, most of you reading this book) do not believe in anything that looks like Santa’s long-lost brother—some robed character with a white beard, seated on a throne, nestled gently in the clouds, judging our worthiness, and directing our lives with his superpowers. Nor do we believe or think that it/she/he is punishing us, like some sort of supernatural pissed-off parent figure. Yet these descriptions may abound in our memories of what “religious people” think of when they say God.

  Relying on the almighty world of Google and Wikipedia for instant access to the answers to our questions, we may be frustrated that our technology can’t come up with a single, solid answer either. Hey, Siri, do
es God exist? Hey, Alexa, can you send me divine presence (with expedited shipping)? Google Maps, take me to the Source. But, alas, our mighty technology can’t resolve these queries.

  And so some of us reject God.

  But maybe, just maybe, our problem isn’t with God—it is with our definition of God. During my search, I came across this great quote by the 17th-century Indian poet Tukaram: “There is nothing in your life that will not change, especially your ideas of God.”

  Many of us aren’t aware of the seemingly endless list of descriptions people use to describe the focus of their spirituality—whether it has a form or is formless. I certainly wasn’t. I thought it was the G-way or the highway. As I started digging into my issues with the G-word, I discovered enormous diversity in the words people use to describe their experiences of immanence, transcendence, and the mystery that lies just beyond our grasp. (Which in hindsight makes sense. We are a species that relies on language to navigate our world. A big part of our human experience is naming things, which can be helpful, but also limiting because we each attach different meaning—and often baggage—to names. Like Unifred. Or Fredicorn. Or God.)

  So I decided I needed even more information. Again, I consulted books about the world’s great religions, philosophical movements, and spiritual traditions, thinking that if I could decide what system worked for me, then I’d know which interpretation or name would work.

  Fortunately, I soon accepted nailing down the precise word or concept wasn’t the point. I just needed to understand that the mysterious force working in the world wasn’t my ego alone. This force could be described in innumerable ways, each of them adding a layer of curiosity to contemplate. Exploring each one like a single pixel in an immense photograph, when added together, each depiction deepened and expanded my spiritual view.

  Refreshingly, not all were names or even nouns. Wellbeing advocate Deepak Chopra told me, “God is a process.” Jewish philosopher Abraham Joshua Heschel put it like this: “God is light.” Kabbalist David A. Cooper offered, “God is a verb.” Mythologist Joseph Campbell said, “God is a symbol.” Einstein professed, “God is cosmic.” Rev. Ani suggested, “God is the flow of life.” And Science Mike claimed, “God is the Initial Singularity of physics.” In book after book, and podcast after podcast, I heard definitions of the G-word that sounded nothing like my definition of some cross between a vengeful parent, Santa Claus, Lord Voldemort, and Darth Vader.