Skip to main content
Journey
by Frank Kotowski

     In the religion I follow, Spiritualism, there is often talk about each person’s journey to the next world, the World of Spirit, where we go after physical death, since we believe that life continues for us as spiritual beings devoid of physical matter.  It is in this other world, called the Summerland, that our souls reunite in a more intimate way with God, what we call Infinite Spirit or Infinite Intelligence.
     This is not to say that there is little emphasis on the life here on this physical plane. Spiritualists strongly believe in and emphasize personal responsibility. We “make our own happiness or unhappiness,” as stated in our 7th Principle.  Life is to be embraced with joy and courage and interconnectness with all beings and with the Earth itself.  Understanding those of other faiths and beliefs is an ethical and humanitarian necessity.  Spiritual progression and attunement are certainly goals many of us strive for, but physical pleasures are healthy and life-affirming for most of us. 
     It is a wonderful and exciting experience to be fully engaged with our physical bodies, senses, and other people and our environment. To plant a sweet kiss on a loved one or to receive a warm hug or handshake from someone reminds us that we indeed are living physical lives where most of us are fortunate enough to have active physical senses. Of course, physical sensations include pain in many forms and degrees, the price we pay for our physicality.
     Our memories are often enhanced and recorded by our physical senses: the smell of a fragrant rose, the vision of a sunrise or sunset, the sensual feel of water lapping at your feet at a beach with the accompaniment of the smell of salt and sand.  And some memories burned into our mind include the loving words of those who supported us or the last words of those near their time of death.  Great speeches and poems are remembered that recall our human condition, both sublime and ugly.
     I have a memory of being a young child, playing with a girl down the street.  She was teaching me how to make a mud pie.  I was gloriously happy, until I went to reach for more soil under a shrub and was stung by several yellow jackets in a nest that was hidden by the shrub.  I ran home in intense pain, and the entire neighborhood could hear my screams.
     Our physical lives inform us of our human stories and experiences.  We carry the scars, bruises, and wrinkles of all our physical experiences.   Our physical lives and senses are vehicles to align with our spiritual journey.  As often has been said, we are spiritual beings having physical experiences.  Let us not diminish what we learn on our physical journey from embryo to old age.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Our Diversity is Our Strength

I was riding the subway with my husband.   We were headed towards Penn Station, returning home after seeing a Broadway show in Manhattan.   It was rush hour, the subway was crowded and I was lucky to get one of the last seats.   It was amazingly quiet for such a crowded car.   Most people were looking at their phones or listening to a device.   There were quite a few pairs of wireless earphones on people.   Their heads nodded slightly to the beat of noiseless music, or their eyes glazed over as a mystery book played in their ears.   There was a rich variety of humanity on that single car- multiple ages, ethnicities, races, ages and income levels.   I marveled at the diversity and the peaceful coexistence in this tiny piece of New York City. My eyes glanced over to the man sitting next to me.   He was holding a book and reading it very intently.   Reading an actual book is a relatively rare occurrence these days, but what truly caught my attention was the unusual prin

Make even these days count

One of the most popular features on a local newscast of a small TV station is something rather surprising. It is a feature called- “The Day of the Week”.  Today is…….. Monday!  The station put forth this as a kind of joke at first, but it was so popular that it became a regular daily addition to the morning newscast.  Apparently, so many of us have lost track of what day it is that we need a reminder. During this stay-at-home time, every day seems to blend into the next.  It is truly difficult to remember how many days we have all been quarantined at home, what the date is and what day of the week it is.  Many of us have a few markers that help- jobs that pause for the weekend, celebrations of Fridays, Saturdays or Sundays- special days of worship.  But even with these, the days seem to bleed into each other like a striped shirt washed in hot water. The period that we are in right now in the Jewish calendar is ironically, a time of counting. A time when we purposely try to keep

Advent Lessons

As we come to the last days of Advent, the season in Christianity of waiting, I am reminded of the words of Sr. Joan Chittister, a Benedictine Sister of Erie Pennsylvania, known for her social justice stance and working with and for the marginalized. “Advent is that unchangeable season when the same concepts, the same words rise over and over again, year after year, to challenge our hearts and plague our minds. Advent is the season of waiting. And who hasn’t waited? When we are little children, we wait for gifts from our parents. When we are young adults, we wait for the lover who will take us to the magic world of Everything. The problem is that the presents pale and the magic world sags all too quickly into reality. But then Advent comes, relentlessly and throughout life, with its words of hope and faith—shepherds and magi, crib and star, Emmanuel and glory—and stirs our hearts to pinnacles of possibility one more time. Ruben A. Alvez wrote, ‘Hope is hearing the melody of the future;