Wishcasting Wednesday

I find it a hilarious, cosmic, booming moment of laughter that questions, asked by virtual strangers, can all at once call me into a brand new place, and send me reeling into the crevices and caves of my own past. This time, I don’t even know why. I will set my intention that by the end of this story, I will begin to imagine why – whether or not the proper words will allow themselves to be yet articulated. (You know of course, that of course I damned well know why; I just don’t really want to know, but I do, and maybe so do you.)

I read the question and immediately, before there was time to create my own thousand reasons why this question should be difficult, I had a memory. It was a layered memory, one built atop the other, with connections I’d not made in my every day waking life.

In the gateway memory, it is a Sunday morning. I have quietly entered our small chapel and had glanced around in haste at faces not yet very familiar to me. In the dark, I could make out a few features; a few familiar profiles which allowed me to feel safe in my stocking feet in this dark place. There sat Chip, our long lost friend, and a few others who had been friendly and kind to me in the passing months since I’d been attending these services. The incense was heavy in the air, not all that pleasant to me. Whether the fragrance, or the instinctive return Home that I’m sure my daughter felt, she rolled and danced inside me, making it a bit uncomfortable to sit in this dark and still strange place. I was supposed to be meditating; I was supposed to be preparing myself for Holy Communion. I remember none of that. I only remember being hot, feeling heavy, and struggling to remain seated while Satori danced and punched inside of me. Finally the Priest arrived. Finally, there would be something to occupy and direct my thoughts.

There are more gaps and I remember nothing of his opening statements, nothing of the songs that must have been sung or the prayers that must have been offered. But I woke up as he told this story…somewhere in the middle of it I suppose, for I recall neither the beginning nor the conclusion. Father Michael had asked us whether or not we recalled a particular television show. How odd, I thought, only a newcomer, I knew enough to know that these folks didn’t particularly “approve” of mass mind television. So those conflicts must have demanded my attention.

He recalled, for us, a particular episode of Kung Fu, when a group of men had happened upon David Carradine’s character and had demanded to know his occupation. After a moment of silence Carradine answered, “I am a Priest.” Of course, we all knew that. Father allowed a dramatic moment of silence, as Priests and other charismatic speakers are wont to do for effect and then he continued. “Some viewers, “Father Michael said, “might have missed that at the moment of answer, Carradine, our beloved Priest, was shoveling pig shit.”

He really said that. Right there in church! At that moment, I could swear that I’d seen that episode. And, in truth, whenever I’ve told this story before, I always leave the listener to believe that I indeed, remember the episode. 30 years have passed and I’m not so sure now that I really do recall that particular television moment. I can see it clearly, I can hear the words spoken…but then, I can also smell the pig shit mingling with the incense, so I’m not really sure that I didn’t create the memory on the spot. I’d like to come clean about that now, because I think that some readers might not realize that what we imagine that we remember, what we create when we attempt to remember, is likely the more precious nugget weighed against the proof of mere fact. I remember that at some point he said, quite without elegance, that those of us who would long for the Priesthood (and all are called to it) would do well to remember that quite a lot of time is spent shoveling pig shit. Then we sang, then we prayed, then we left.

So – I guess, my friends who still read, that I am wishing for that Priest to show up on my doorstep and shovel out some shit for me. Eh? Except then there’s that nagging detail, that small, priceless truth...

Each of us is called to be our own Priest.

Where’s that shovel?

Cheers and happy shoveling, ~LeeA

Oh...P.S. The fascination just doesn't stop...isn't it also interesting that I'm "behind" in writing my next Tarot Thursday post - and that card would be, oh, umm, I dunno, the Mage?