Falling in Love from West to East

Lately my spiritual practice has gravitated more toward the East as opposed to what I learned growing up here in the West.

It‘s been brewing for a while but has really intensified this year as I’ve sought more to go within to connect with God. This is quite different than the way I was taught to connect with God – primarily from without at church through a pastor.

This, to me, is one of the many fundamental differences between the Eastern and Western approaches to relationship with the Divine.

This interest in Eastern philosophies was piqued even further as I recently finished Super Rich by Russell Simmons. Now I’m sure that for many, “Uncle Rush” is one of the most unlikely Yogis imaginable. But I’m telling you he’s the real deal.

While the title of his book would lead one to assume that its focus is on gaining material wealth, particularly in light of his own, its emphasis is exactly the opposite. It’s all about cultivating a yoga and meditation practice that challenges us to shore up our inner core in order to manifest the life of our dreams. The catch is giving of yourself – your time, talents, and treasure – in order to receive more than you could ever imagine, both materially and intrinsically.

In its pages, Mr. Simmons often references an Eastern text titled The Bhagavad Gita. I recently "stumbled" across this text on my Eastern migration and, upon reading the first few pages, intuitively knew it was gonna be a GREAT read. [It was the same feeling I got during the opening credits of Mo Betta Blues when I saw Denzel Washington’s character Bleek Gilliam double drag his index and middle fingers across his lips in slow motion. In that moment, that signature gesture told me this was going to be a GREAT movie (I think I even said so out loud in the theater).]

While my discomfort with nontraditional thoughts and religious ideals has lessened over the years, my traditional church roots still run deep. I am able to more easily weed through doctrinal dogma in order to keep the proverbial chicken and toss out the bones but music remains a challenge for me.

As a lifelong musician, I offered the gifts God so graciously entrusted me with to the church as a singer, praise and worship leader, and choir director. And like most Black folk, I find gospel music soul stirring even though I’m often conflicted about some of the ideas perpetuated.

Here in Baltimore, there’s a DJ that sits in for one of my friends from time to time and signs off his daily broadcast with this beautiful song called, Falling in Love with Jesus. Even though I miss my friend when he isn’t on the air, I’ve come to look forward to hearing Jonathan Butler sweetly and sincerely sing,  

Falling in love with Jesus
Falling in love with Jesus
Falling in love with Jesus
Was the best thing I ever, ever done

In His arms I feel protected
In His arms never disconnected

In HIs arms I feel protected
There's no place I'd rather be

In between meetings on a particularly trying day, I decided to take a moment to really sit and listen. As I closed my eyes and let the words and music envelop me, I realized that while some gospel songs stir up all manner of discomfort for me, this one I had re-written in my mind and heart and had taken on a whole new meaning.

For me, beginning a love affair with myself has meant learning to accept, honor, love, and value every facet of who I have been fearfully and wonderfully made to be without judging. And that’s where meditation has really helped. It’s challenged me to be still with myself and just observe – be honest and fearless with what I see and, with a gentle, unconditional love, courageously replace what no longer serves me.

To quote another song, learning to love myself has truly been the greatest love of all.

This journey has been far from easy and is often times uncomfortable. But like most relationships, the rewards far outweigh the difficulties. What’s more, the healing that occurs when we nurse our fractures and endure the valleys makes us much stronger and deepens the love all the more.

I took a lot of long, deep breaths as I sat in front of my computer for just those few minutes, and smiled at the notion that falling in love with Jesus for me now means falling in love with myself. And that indeed has been the best thing I’ve ever, ever done. 

Everybody Wants to BE

Back in the day (my day, anyway), Gladys Knight and the Pips released a song called Bourgeois Bourgeois. It wasn’t their typical fare but it was the 80’s when, musically, many groups were being called upon to reinvent themselves.

I got a kick out of the words that referenced the so-called Nouveau Riche who were from around‑the‑way but were intent on leaving that past behind and doing a bit of reinventing of their own.

While my angst surrounding being betwixt and between this oxymoronic class clash has been well documented (see Middle Passage Part Two: The Talented Tenth vs. Bebe’s Kids, Alli’s Two Cents, April 17, 2011), being perceived as “bourgeois” has once again reared its head.

It’s a label I just can’t seem to shake.

My posture has always been that I pursue or embrace things or places because I enjoy them. Yet in spite of what I have considered relatively benign choices, I’ve had friends and family tease me for my so‑called “high‑end” preferences at the same time they would balk at the notion of me shopping in certain so-called “ghetto malls” or being at ease travelling in certain neighborhoods.

Maybe it’s my age but I’m over chasing this image of what is good and right and proper and acceptable and am focusing on choosing what is genuine and authentic for me.

It’s not about being “bourgeois” or “ghetto.” It’s about being allowed to BE.

As I mulled all of this over, I thought of this real-time life lesson that drove the point home for me:

Last week my daughter and I were on our way to an appointment when we discovered that our normal route was packed with traffic.

In comes Miss “Let Me Handle This” with her brainy iPhone that calculates an alternate route that gets us there in perfect time.

At first I couldn’t wrap my head around this alternate route but after piecing together the roads in my mind, it finally came together for me because I have a very good sense of direction that I inherited from my father.

Now this immediately strikes me as comical because I have a friend who refuses to believe that I can find my way out of a paper bag!

I’ve made the unfortunate mistake of mentioning getting lost or turned around a time or two and he insists that I need GPS. I steadfastly refuse, however, just like I insist on reading paper books instead of getting a Nook or Kindle. (I recognize that these are battles I will ultimately lose but for now, this is my story and I’m sticking to it.)

This friend has enjoyed many a good-natured laugh at my expense and I can’t help but join in because the only place he’s seen me get is lost! What I realized, however, is that his perception doesn’t alter what I know to be true about myself – I do have a good sense of direction, GPS or no.

So the moral of this story is I can’t be worryin’ about what people say or think about me or the labels they apply. Their perceptions ain’t my truth.

How’s that for improper?

And for the record, I maintain that in addition to having a phenomenal sense of direction (ahem), everybody - bourgeois, ghetto, or somewhere in between - just wants to – and should be allowed to -  BE.