Sliding Into Home

I am settling in to a life that is not mine. I am a visitor, yet for now I am living here. I am familiar with this city. There are landmarks here with which I have memories. And yet I am not from here, in the way I am from my home. 

In the last two days I have been privy to discussions of or lectures on Spanish history, in particular the history of Santiago the city and Santiago the apostle. It has occurred to me that there may never be anything that can be called the "true" description of events, even in the present. When I describe an event, I bring to that event my own view of the world then filter the event through the sum total of all my experiences. The facts, from my point of view, are as I filter them. 

In law school my evidence professor had a couple of people run into the room and perform a short vignette. They left and he asked the class to describe what had happened. There were as many versions of the "facts" as there were people describing them. If this is true of a two minute segment of time in the here and now, imagine that magnified over time periods of years or centuries. 

I know what I was taught in school was, to describe it generously, a white washed version of a collective story. So, I wonder about "facts" about events that occurred about 20 years ago, never mind 2000 years ago. I view history, or even current events, as a story woven by the teller. I must have developed this point of view early in life, because I often questioned things that were delivered to me as "facts." Yes, I was a "difficult child" or a "trouble maker" from a very early age. 

There were many times in my life when I wished I could just accept what people said without questioning, without debate or argument. But, that just didn't seem to be my role in life. I believe though, that maybe, just maybe, after years of practicing these principles in all my affairs and trudging this spiritual road, that I may be approaching the point where I can listen without disputing another persons version of the "facts." It certainly makes life a lot easier. 

Today I listened to a discussion about religion and spirituality in Spanish among mostly folks who have devoted their lives to the Catholic faith. It was a philosophical discussion for the most part, though clearly there were some that felt their opinions strongly. These kind of discussions, when they last longer than an hour give me a headache, even when they are in English. I did get a headache, but I didn't need to dismiss, argue, or debate. It's all ok. 

I cannot come close to describing what a miracle this is for me. It is, perhaps, another moment of Grace. Just being present physically and mentally to recognize and experience that is occurring within me is, for me, a spiritual experience. I feel a quieting within me,   It is like I finally fit in the puzzle. This is very hard to describe. I feel like I am slipping into place. Maybe, in time, I will find, or be given the words to describe it. 

A Day of Faith and Laughter

I wake up to Sunday in Santiago. I have three flat mates in a four bedroom flat that overlooks the train station. Two of my flat mates are a Spanish couple from Mallorca, Carmen and Gabriel. The other flat mate is Janet from Canada who teaches Spanish, so she is fluent. We have a nice kitchen, a living room with a dining area, and two bathrooms. It is quite comfortable. 

Yesterday I had a day off from work so I could go to mass and lunch with my friends, John and Stephen. John plays the organ and Stephen sings in the most beautiful tenor voice. If I didn't already believe in God, listening to Stephen sing would convince me that there was a God. The mass was in Spanish, of course, so I only understood about half of it. But, it was nice sitting still and looking at the church. 

After mass we had a two and a half hour lunch. There are no rushed meals in Spain. Sitting around the table were a Irish priest celebrating the 45th anniversary of his ordination, life long Scottish Catholic, a former priest, an Episcopal Deacon, a professor of theology, and me. It was like one of those  IQ tests where you are supposed to check the one that doesn't fit. lol 

They discussed Liberation Theology. I had no idea what that was. I was brave enough to asked, but didn't really get an answer. So, this morning I did a Google search and got an idea of what it is and I think I like the idea. If you don't know what it is, look it up. I don't want to color your understanding.  I spent my youth studying and writing papers about the religions of the world. I think I was searching for faith. I then drank myself into a state of sweet reasonableness and was graced with faith. It wasn't something I needed to earn or study, or even understand. It was a gift, unsolicited, unexpected and to this day almost 32 years later, unexplainable. 

We discussed Grace, which I do know something about. If you were a desperate wretch who was lifted from the depths of debauchery to a life of joy and service, you live in Grace. To it was and is a gift. I did not earn it. It certainly was not a reward for good behavior. I don't know if I can define it, but I know I received it. And, I continue to receive it, even when I'm too busy to notice or recognize it. 

It comes in moments as simple as having a random conversation with an articulate ten year old boy and realizing that I was present and open in the moment to have the conversation. At the same time knowing even five years ago, I wouldn't have taken the time.

It comes in moments of peace on a mountain top feeling the miracle of just being. 

It is the ability to share my experience with another woman and then watch her step into the sunlight of the spirit. Whether you call it Grace, or being present, it is a gift. 

It surrounds me all the time. When I am quiet I know it without thought or words. 

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound . . .