Chapter 1

He was standing at the bar, I didn’t see him come in or walk toward it.

He had a tuque on, his head tilted down enough that he was speaking only with his eyes: large, dark, and slightly sunken. I was so attracted to him.

He ordered a shot of Wild Turkey and a Blue. His voice was so deep. The beer request gave me a moment of grace. At least I knew half his order.

I turned toward the bar, holding my breath, feeling my heart, scanning furiously while trying to be undetectable. “What the hell is ‘Wild Turkey’ and where the eff is it??...’”

Found it. I took it to the counter. Shaking from private embarrassment of not even knowing my job, and intimidation from his beauty and firmness, I spilt quite a bit. No mind. This has taken long enough. Move on.

Without smiling, mostly likely with a look of amazement and terror instead, I put down the shot in front of him. My boss, Sylvia, took inventory as though it were the eighties. Even those paying cash had to leave a paper trail. I over-heard his name. Chris. I tore off a clean sheet from my pad and silently wrote down his order.

It’s a friendly bar, only regulars really frequent. I went to the back to fetch beer to stock the fridge. My third last patron, Bruce, had left. My second, Manuel (pronounced [Man-well]), a Portuguese man who was about sixty and has an accent though he was born in Canada, was downstairs using the washroom. When I returned to the front I saw that Bruce was gone. He didn’t say good-bye. Did he know?...

In my naïve, friendly, and absolving fashion, I ran toward the door to shout good-bye. Manuel was now coming up the stairs, located right beside the door, and told me to get away from it. It was nearly the dead of winter. He then bid me a good-night.

Manuel didn’t get along with Sylvia, I never really knew why. They didn’t say and I didn’t ask. He would put me in awkward situations because he would bad-talk her within my earshot, but he would prove to be very dear to me: he played my cupid out of his usual sheer generosity.

Chris went downstairs. I hoped he was staying. I went back to get more stock.

Just as I hit the threshold between the back and the bar, Chris was right there, we literally collided. It was perfect. I knew then and there something magical was happening. Nothing ever worked so organically or timely for me.

I think he would have walked into the back had I not gotten to that dividing point first. The regulars treat the bar like their home, that’s how Sylvia can keep it running, even though it’s usually quite empty. Many have seen the disarray of the back room and kitchen, though I was told on more than one occasion that it wasn’t allowed. I soon saw that there were more rules for me since I was new.

Chris said that he wanted to play a new album he just bought between work and the bar. I said sure. I continued to move behind the bar and neatly placed the beer in the fridge. First things first! Chris was now a few steps behind the bar. I nearly panicked. “You can’t come back here!” I exclaimed. He looked taken aback, but also endeared.

He handed me the CD. Amy Winehouse’s post-mortem album. I wasn’t fond of her music until that night. At this point, it was only Chris and me in the room. We sat directly across from each other, with the bar in between, forming a safe barrier.

The music was so smooth and sensual. There were waves where I felt that we were bonding, where I felt that we were falling in love. That made me feel uneasy.

I admired that he spent money on actual albums instead of stealing them online. He said the two most important things to him were books and music. That he had more albums, books, and movies than his tiny bachelor apartment could manage, and that he even had quite a few of his CD's there at the bar. I was officially enamoured.

I was the one in control, running the bar, but he controlled our interaction, talking non-stop; it was quite remarkable. And when I wasn’t floating in and out of paranoia, I felt like a princess.

He influenced me so much. I even became patriotic that night. I asked him what his background was. He told me Canadian. I told him there was no such thing. He, with more authority than my timid being could feel comfortable with, said that was not true: that once we are even just first generation, where our ancestors came from has no bearing. I think the fact that his mother’s side were pioneers had much to do with his view as well. Then and there I stopped thinking about the UK. I didn’t want to be English anymore. I wanted to be North American.

No one else came into the bar during my shift. I knew God was working with me that night.

I hoped to see him again on my next shift.

Words are the building blocks of society

After writing an email of restitution to one of my dance coaches this morning with tears in my eyes, I realized in its entirety why I unconditionally love writing matter which is of serious nature.

I love words. I feel that I do not have the largest or more impressive vocabulary, but words for me are magical, and I often day-dream about making a new word (which is entirely possible for anyone to do, since English is a living language, ie. it changes).

I was working as a bartender from November up until this month. I endured some mistreatments, as any one in the service industry inevitably does. But the one that has stayed with me the longest, was when one of my patrons asked me how far I got in my education. I told him I earned my degree in English. He said, "Oh yes, you speak great English". For anyone who doesn't know me, my lineage is English, and it shows - sans the accent - so sometimes it feels like, "Oh yes. the girl who speaks English who decided to study it as well..."

I said thank-you, because I thought he was complimenting my eloquent and proper speech. And you know, maybe he was, but a few moments after his comment, I thought, "Hey, wait a minute...!"

I said then, "Well, yes I am quite good at it. I had my work chosen by my teachers and published in school papers, and I won contests, and I was chosen to read my pieces in poetry festivals." I still don't know if he was genuine, or giving me a back-handed compliment, but my gut tells me it was the latter.

Fast forward a couple of months. Last night I was at an awesome dessert shop. A couple, who looked like they were on a first date sat beside my table (after a hundred first dates I can spot them out like bees to flowers). I could overhear them talking as my boyfriend and I silently shovelled delectable waffles and crêpes into our faces. They were talking about a girl and her degree. The guy asked what the degree was in, and she said bio-chemistry. He replied, "Wow! So she's actually smart".

I felt ashamed, as my boyfriend most likely over-heard that comment as well. I am well aware of what people think of English degrees. I am also aware that I belittle myself, and for the most part do not take pride in my accomplishments, even though I almost didn't graduate at all after a psychiatric melt-down in my third year.

But after writing my apology with my fearless explanation for my transgression, essentially saying I could not carry on with her, I realized as I scanned my sentences over and over, fine-tuning, finding the most accurate and honest word, bleeding into my email, that I am a great writer, and I do love and am proud of my degree. It is not a joke, and I am smart. People like the men who have put me or others like me down for allegedly taking a free-ride through higher education are just ignorant and/or jealous!

I spent a year going to the campus community centre and getting tutored in the evening, just trying to appease my professors, all who wanted their own egotistical specific writing style, breaking my back trying to get right what I thought, but now know I have a natural talent for. I got nearly perfect in syntax lessons, and I proof-read anyone and everyone's papers in my residence. And even though I skipped out on a lot of my novels, took short cuts, and crammed, which I still feel guilty for, I still worked hard, and when I did, I loved it, and I produced great essays.

When I was 19 one of my professors asked me, "Is this what you really want to say?" Then and there the way I wrote changed forever. Even when I am just posting in my religion groups, or writing a little note on my profile, I ask myself, "Is this what I am really trying to say?" The way we communicate is without credit in our words, and whenever I am at my computer my dictionary browser is up and used on an average of10 times a day, mostly for synonyms. I've used dictionary.com at least 10 times for this blog alone.

Words are the root of civilization, and maybe all this guilt that I have carried all these years is just a message for me to start making some paper off my ability to write on it. Pun intended :)

The Problem of (misunderstanding) Evil, part II

("The Problem of (misunderstanding) Evil", [part I, apparently] was posted on my Facebook page).

After being launched into the 4th dimension, I no longer believe in angels or demons. Rather, I now believe that these beings are "aliens". This blog will not be addressing the archangels of heaven, but rather, their counterparts, the seven princes of hell.

I argue that these demons are the "giants" recorded in Genesis 6.4, made evil in the Abrahamic faiths which superceded the Sumerian religions, re-naming and re-creating the entities.

It is accepted that these spirits "fell" from the sky, though there is no text (that I on my own or from Googling have found) which actually states that there was a fall from heaven. Naturally, whether alien, angel, or demon, they would in fact come from the sky, but it seems to me that we have implied a state of sin with the word "fallen" in malice.

These beings who were not-of-this-world were recorded in Mesoptamian texts before they were recorded in the Palestinian texts. In the Sumerian texts, these "angels" were not fallen beings engaged in spiritual warfare with humans. In fact, these non-earthly beings were considered to be friends to the humans: offering them gifts and teaching them about the arts, sciences, magic, and so on. But by the recordings of the Dead Sea Scrolls, these beings were downsized from gods to iniquitous angels (ie. demons), in part because of what they passed onto man!

I believe that the evil in our nature can be scientifically identified by our tRNA that is in the shape of a cross, and that ignorance or rejection of our origins is what has caused such disparity ranging from global to within.

In not recognizing these beings who have influenced our world, or, in any small and dismissive acknowledgement that is made within religious circles, villanizing them, I believe is the reason why we are in a painful imbalance, tottering between familiar depravity and poverty.

I believe that pain results from judgement, and we are pointing fingers instead of using diplomacy to find peace. I know from my own experience that when I judge and label, I have no peace; I now know after a painful year of dictatorial beliefs that were solely fear-based, it is better to risk being wrong about someone in wishing them peace, than in wishing them reproof.

Is it possible that we can break our generational curse? Yes, I think it is, and yes it is frightening, because it involves turning our swords into plowshares, which might leave us feeling defenseless. But Enoch, one of the greatest prophets in the Bible, interceded for these "demons" until he would fall asleep; and not only was Enoch not afraid, but he is considered to be the only human to have never experienced death.

"May the longtime sun shine upon you, all love surround you; and the pure light within you guide your way on..."

Sat Nam: what it means to me

Translation of “Sat Nam”: literally, “True” and “Name”, is the mantra which I have most frequently used in Kundalini Yoga. We say it to greet, to say good-bye, to bless, and to complete our classes and meditations. Sat Nam means “My name is truth” or, “I am the embodiment of truth”. 

I believe that Sat Nam is the closest connection that we have with our Higher Power here on Earth - that it is God’s gift which has been given so that we may go inward and gain strength. Our Sat Nam, I feel, is the soul, and cannot be defiled. I believe that it has been given to us by the Highest Power for our comfort and protection, so that we are able to come to personal and universal truths, and to also heal from injuries commonly sustained while on Earth.

Seekers have likened our internal force to a compass, always guiding us. I love this metaphor, because the needle points to the north, and arguably the ultimate goal of the soul is to return to its home in the heavens above. I believe that Sat Nam is what keeps our direction toward the Unnameable and Unknowable that we loosely call God.

Jesus said, “Do not let anyone call you ‘Rabbi’, there is but one Rabbi, the Christ…do not let anyone call you Teacher, there is but one teacher, the Christ.” - Matthew 23.8+10, King James Version. I believe that Jesus was not referring to himself in the third person, and that he repeats the word “Christ” as a teaching method. So then, who is the Christ?

I suspect that in his command, Jesus was teaching us of the Sat Nam: the purity within us that gently leads with clarity as the compass does, providing solace and wisdom, and guiding us in what to focus on, in what not to focus on, and in feeling confident about our choices. 

Later in chapter 24, Jesus says, “If anyone says to you, ‘Look, here is the Christ’, or ‘Over here’, do not believe it […]” (verse 23). I believe that Jesus is warning his disciples of the “false Christs and false prophets” (verse 24), because this Ultimate power is not separate from us. 

Luke’s Gospel also recaptures Jesus’ message to stay alert about those who misleading, but just before his warning, he gives a blessing, “The coming of the kingdom of God does not admit of observation and there will be no one to say, ‘Look it is here! Look, it is there!’ For look, the kingdom of God is within you.” (chapter 17, verses 20-1). Again, some translations say, “in your midst”, or “among you”, but I find these translations from the NIV and NJB to be intellectually dishonest; how can it not be “over there”, but still be “around”? 

I believe that Jesus was telling us of our Sat Nam: a reminder that we are loved just as we are, and that we already have all of the answers, relief, and strength that we need and want.

I recognize our Sat Nam to be a magical innate tool that can be used to keep us safe and happy. So when our connection to it is healthy, it will guide us to places and ideas that are true, and steer us from those that are false. Even the saints and the sages were, and are, limited here on Earth, and therefore so is their works: even the most spiritually advanced should be questioned.  I believe that our Sat Nam is God's instrument, our soul, and that it alone will never fail us.

My Sat Nam, as I understand it, is my greatest companion.