Scape the Goat

This week was an interesting week, if by interesting I mean a week of finger-pointing misfortunes at blurred and mysterious forces at work in the world. “God did this to you,” “Spirits did this to me?” And I’m taken aback by the responses to these accusations – both for and against these particular points-of-views.

First off, as we all have heard in the news, an earthquake in Haiti wreaked terrible and heartbreaking devastation that Pat Robertson, seeing the world through the eyes of a douche bag, slapped the blame on two parties – Satan and the Haitians for making a pact with the party of the first part in order to attain freedom from the French. But this is typical Pat Robertson. His view of God is juvenile, narrow-minded, and anachronistic - in other words, shit-house rat crazy.

He’s not alone, though. CBN wouldn’t have endured as long as it has if his viewers didn’t find merit in his philosophy. Whether he’s disparaging other people’s religion – Hindus, pagans, and Muslims; agreeing that it’s okay to kill off dictators; praying for his idea of “righteous” Supreme Court judges; or considering a small nuke dropped on Foggy Bottom, Washington D.C. as a good thing; the man’s a dick, but he’s an empowered dick with his own group of dogmatists.

Let’s face it: there will always be Pat Robertson’s in the world who think that a choleric and punitive God really gives a rat’s ass about our daily affairs - how we pray, how we vote, what we eat, where I put my penis, whether Adams and Eve’s marry or Adams and Steve’s do.

There’s no avoiding them, people who think of nothing but reciprocity all the time. You have the alleged Great Flood from the Bible that says it happened because Yahweh got his panties in a bind. Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed because the Almighty is a prude. A reasonable person would understand that when bad things happen to people in history, the enemies of the afflicted are always going to put a moral twist to the story – to point like the Simpson’s Nelson Muntz with a mean-spirited “HA-HA!,” and say God did this to you because you think differently than we do. Because, sometimes people are asshats and they love it when bad things happen to other people that they don’t like.

On the flipside, you have the self-flagellating kind. These are the folks that believe that they had done something to warrant the disfavor from the Invisible. The feel that they are either being punished by Higher Powers or believe particular spirits have a toxic nature to them, like traveling nuclear fuel rods that grant you what you want, but exposure to them for too long may lead to ironic and unpleasant consequences.

On Wednesday a magician and a blogger, after days and weeks of pondering, acquired insights over the reason why his house caught on fire in December. After going through his own personal stages of grief, he came to some interesting conclusions. One, he felt a spiritual sense of renewal and appreciation for what survived the fire. It’s a very commendable response and a healthy one at that, too. Most people would wallow in self-pity for a long time before they achieved his realization.

The other insight he attained was that the cause of the fire was because of his workings with Goetic spirits as often as he had when he should have been working on himself, and not planning the process well. In his self effacing blog he beats himself up, describing his short-sightedness for working with the Goetia as long as he has and not seeing the connection between his triumphs for working with them and his bouts of tribulation that followed. Some of his argument I agree with whole-heartedly. I believe you should plan in detail what you want if you’re going to work with spirits. I think that you should get your “mind right” and change negative patterns that sabotage you from achieving your goals and keeping your prizes. No doubt.

However, was his conclusion correct? Did things happen because he worked with the Goety too much or for too long of a length of time? Was his misfortunes, including the fire, happened because the spirits sought the center of least resistance to give him what he wanted? I don’t know. I’m going out on a limb, assuming that he didn’t ask the spirits themselves if that were the case, that the answer is no. You can’t blame them, the spirits, unless you know for sure by using the correct mediums to get your answer. That’s just blind speculation.

To me that’s the same as if I were to blame God for my misfortunes. Indeed, it’s something that I did do a year and a half ago. When my wife died, I thought maybe I did something wrong. Maybe God was penalizing me.

Did my magic and workings with angels and gods bring about her cancer then her death because of me and the celestial company I kept? Of course it didn’t. You want to know why? Because no matter how adept we are in doing magic, how successfully we bring down LVX, invoke angels and spirits, life happens. There’s no escaping the truth that we are born, we die, and a bunch of wonderful and horrible things happen in-between

This is planet earth. We are mortals. Bad shit is going to happen to us no matter how pious of a life we live, how many spirits we employ, or offerings we cast to the ephemeral. We’re humans. We are hardwired to fuck up. We make mistakes and if we’re wise enough and brave enough, we own up to them.

Shit happens. We catch colds. We get flat tires. Family members die. We spill coffee on our shirt. Wars start. Then, eventually, things improve (or they don’t). And it happens all over again. At least with magic, you can change how you react to circumstances – even change your software. But that’s all you can do. The planet revolves around the sun, autumn turns to winter, winter to spring and summer, and we get to do this all over again as creases form at the corner of our eyes and hair grows out of our ears.

Sure, I believe there should be caution for working with spirits. They don’t think like we do. They’re graceful and clumsy in their handling of the mortals. They have a whole different idea what a blessing entails; therefore, we have to be specific with them when asking for their assistance. But…and I emphasize my disclaimer here…they can’t be blamed for when life sideswipes us. Life is going to speed-bag our nut sacks till we adapt to the pain. We either form calluses where need be, or we live our life in a fetal position twitching at every shadow.

For me, magic has helped me to get to this point in my life to feel that life is what it is, and we can change circumstances around us to a degree, a fraction, a humble smidge; but we can definitely change our inner worlds with no limits. Life is alchemy in which we may never achieve gold status, but we are never the same material leaving the furnace as we were going in the first time.

Question Acknowledged With A Pointless Rant

I received an email from an online colleague who asked the question “what the hell kind of magician are you anyway?” The heart of this ass-hat’s – I mean, friend’s - question, and I understand completely why he asked it, was based upon our past email correspondences and my blog entries. According to my writings in one instance I behave like a solitary. In others I act as a member of an Order. Then the next thing I’m studying material from a correspondence course (an awesome one at that). Add experiences and practices that I’ve learned over the years since 1987 and my work with my HGA, and collectively my way of doing things presented confusion for him.

My answer is “I don’t know” what type of magician I am (so quit asking). I have no title or rank. I do what I do according to my needs. When I need more money or a better job, thaumaturgy (along with crafting a winning resume’) is the solution. That could mean working with planetary energies, candles and/or saints.

When I want to get closer to the Divine, theurgy is the means. That often means working with the system that was assigned to me by the Order, or I perform rites that my HGA and I developed over the years. Sometimes I do things that lie in-between. But neither to me – thaumaturgy or theurgy - is a single path all its own that I intend to embrace with a single-minded commitment; but rather they are multiple accessories, like a Swiss Army knife to a holy way of living that I want to attain.

Whoa! Did I just say holy way of living? Yes, I did. Because, what else is life altogether if not holy, if one were to put aside one’s cynicism for just a moment and think about that concept? Though, to be honest, if you had used that description in a conversation with me – holy way of living or a holy life - a year and a half ago, I understandably would have told you to shove it up your pious ass, considering what I’ve seen and what I’ve endured. And I still might tell you that; well, because I am kind of a jerk.

I try to remain mindful of the Divine in all things. It’s not easy. I get distracted easily from watching either too much TV, porn, dealing with work-related issues, living a regular life and my continuous coping with the loss of my wife. So, I have enough going to keep me distracted and focused too much on the ordinary.

But morning and evening rituals, and lessons that I’m integrating into my lifestyle do help more than I can say. One example is the daily offerings to the strata of spirits that I perform at dawn. With an open invitation to the spirits, incense, libation, and a lot of imagination, my offerings to them leave me feeling appreciative for all I have and my willingness to share. You know that good feeling you get when you make a donation to the Salvation Army bucket or you see a homeless man and you give him a buck or a cup of coffee and not expect him to do silly antics for your entertainment? That’s the feeling I come away with after doing my daily offerings. After doing my Order’s ritual work, I head off to the front patio and make the offerings.

Wait, wait! Are you mixing separate magical rites? No…yes…maybe. Meh.

I won’t go into the tiring diatribe of traditions and “currents,” and keeping them pure from unrelated skills and contradicting knowledge. I do, however, believe in being respectful to the wishes of a group that don’t want dissimilar spells, gods, spirits or talismanic work coalescing into their group, or as they say, their Temple’s egregore. Personally, I think the egregore can decide for himself what he wants circulating around his bits and junk. But I’ll leave the topic of the egregore for another occasion. I’m talking about what one does IN the temple itself. At home is a different story.

That’s why I love my personal oratory. It’s a simple spare room with a roll top desk serving as an altar. There are pictures of saints encircling around it. There are bookshelves glutted with a mix of magical books, novels, 30-minute Meals by Rachel Ray, and references for just about anything ranging from fixing a showerhead to selecting appropriate magical correspondences. There are cluttered corners and knick-knacks and menacing gargoyles with nobody in particular to menace. In spirit, the oratory is me, metaphorically speaking. A collage of meaningless meaningfulness scattered about with no rhyme or reason for their being other than the attached memories only known to me. Here in my oratory I can intermingle diverse traditions or create my own in cooperation with my HGA.

Here (including my front patio), the rules are my own. The consequences are mine, if there are any. As a matter of fact, in the years that I’ve lived the magical life, there’s never been blow-back that I can recall – and if I can’t recall any, then it didn’t happen. Disappointments, yes, when magic didn’t pull off the desired effects. Or worst, it did realize my desires, only to make me grasp the cliché: “be careful what you ask for….”

But the old tiring caveat that the short-sighted and unprepared magi who called upon “energies” that they weren’t prepared for were dealt a debilitating blow is an urban legend. Most believers carry over this dire counsel onto their students because that’s what was imparted to them when they were students themselves. But there are no documented cases to justify the admonitions, other than word of mouth of “I knew a guy who knew a guy….”

In my years of magic and invocations, the only injury I’ve ever bumped into was accidentally inhaling incense smoke and nearly coughing up a lung lobe. Aside from that…nothing that indicated a mental psychosis or a gimp leg as a result for my lack of forethought.

Though as ass-hole’ish as I may come across to some if not all, I do believe in being considerate to traditions by following the old adage “when in Rome.” It’s similar if I was a practitioner in a specific martial art and decided to try a hand in jujitsu. If I want to learn anything viable in the art, I have to release what I know and embrace what is being instructed on the mat. How I conduct myself outside the dojo is my business.

The same applies in a Temple. Again, the emphasis is “when in Rome.” While in my Order’s temple or when I perform a ritual that’s wholly my Order’s I don’t jumble them together in my oratory with another. This is not to say that later in the day I won’t practice a different tradition or style in the same oratory. Because, I do.

The truth is, as a magus, I’m not much on labels. Theurgist or Thaumaturgy, Hermetic or Hoodoo – it doesn’t matter to me. I have my needs like anyone else, and at my disposal I have the choices on how to face up to them. I’m not one to flit from art to art (and I mean “flit” in the most masculine way possible, thank you), but I’m not against learning a new trade while actively functioning with another. It’s all based on needs, and not on fickleness.

So I guess my answer to his question is stated as before: I don’t know what type of magician I am. I do what I do to get by in this world and make living in it worthwhile and sacred. Walt Whitman once said, “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes.” Ditto, Walt, ditto. That’s a very poetic way of telling folks to go do you-know-what to themselves.

Up and Coming Magical Rite

A couple of weeks ago a friend asked me to help her, magic-wise. I am more than pleased to do this for her. Since agreeing to it and designing the rite, I’ve had very interesting dreams that seem to indicate that I've been given the green light to make this happen, or the correspondences - oil, incense, colors - I've chosen are agreeable to the Powers that Be.

I have all the supplies I need to make this happen. I designated Christmas Eve to perform it. For reasons only between my friend and me, it seemed very appropriate timing.

Halloween Past, The Following Day, and Who Cares?

I have not written due to the need to study and pass my Neophyte examination. Of course there were other reasons, too. One being that October is a difficult month with Halloween on the tail of it, a fanfare of spooky movies, ornaments, and other little festive cues reminding me that the 31st was on its way. Other than being Hallows Eve, it was also – or would have been - my wedding anniversary, too. So, I had a choice. I can either focus on my loss, or I can focus on my test. I chose the latter since last year was dedicated to mourning and heavy reminiscing.

Not that this stoic and militant-like resolve kept the intruders behind the walls, so to speak, while I spent time reading and memorizing symbols and letters and other Hermetic concepts. Losing a wife a little more than a year ago is in no way an easy memory to put on the backburner till my examination was complete.

But I have to admit, a year plus some months of consistent magical practices, self-talk, meditations, communion with my HGA, a recent initiation into an Order, camaraderie with like-minded blokes, and dedicated ritual work helped me with the ability to heal and ground. Collectively they allowed me to do several things over time. One, they gave me momentary breaks from mourning. Two, they gave me something to look forward to each day or the power to do so. Three, they gave me the direction where I want my life to go, magical-wise…in the personal arena, the jury’s still out on that one. And finally, they assisted me to look at life differently - that there is no true separation between spirit and matter, between God, spirits, and us.

The separation lies within our specific and limited point-of-view. Whether we want to believe it or not, we are all interconnected in this huge mandala of ours - or for us western esotericists, instead of a mandala, picture a larger than life magical seal with us at the center of it and outside of us concentric hierarchies mapping the process of Grace from the realm of God Names to the denser center of form and illusion.

Aaaand…..maybe not.

I'm blowing air out of my ass. What do I know of such things? I only know what I read, why I feel, the experiences that I encounter – or that encounter me and transform me - as a result of me indulging in the bliss of ritual work and Hermetic studies. Again, what the hell do I know?

Which brings me to the result of last Sunday afternoon: I passed my Neophyte examination. In spite of Halloween night of drinking myself to near-retardation; a cruel hangover that lingered till Monday morning; last minute review of the study material; hand cramps from jotting my answers; and what felt like clumsy blundering through my demonstration of the required rituals, my teacher deemed my efforts worthy of passing.

This means that if everything proceeds as planned, I’m looking at a 1=10 initiation in January. Till that time arrives, my teacher gave me a new ritual to spotlight. While I work on that, I will also bring together the tools and resources to conduct angel summoning, Trithemius-style. Over time I’ve collected the raw material to design the table of practice, the wand, and the specific seals…but this lazy magus is not all about multi-tasking, unless multi-tasking means sleeping on the couch with the TV on and his laptop warming his lap. I have to change that ungainly way of living, that’s for sure.

I have to say, though, regardless of the incompleteness that identifies my life such as it is, I’m not doing too badly. A little more discipline and I should be able to make something of myself other than the complete buffoon that I am with a perchance to muse over the unknowable.

Oh, and what did the image above have anything to do with anything? Nothing. I just liked it.

Seven Times a Day…Unless I’m Likely to Forget

Like an addict looking for his next fix, I enjoy reading the blogs from those who either share or almost parallel their interests with my own. It’s complete swag when I can crouch low in my cubicle when I should be processing invoices or monitoring work orders, and shoot up my brain with the insights of magi, mystics and conjurers instead, and see a world of spirits and demons, moon phases, tinctures, and geometric holiness dolling out changes where needed.

Their understanding gives me things magical and divine to ponder, and in some cases, rites and habits to consider for experimentation. Case in point is Carl McColman’s blog that involves Christian mysticism. Though I’m not a Christian in the common term of the word, his mystical discernments offer ideas to keep the meditation experiences that one enjoys in the morning and evening ongoing by doing small “one minute meditations” seven times during the day. He picked seven as a number based on Psalms 119:164 – “Seven times a day I praise You” as a reflection of the monastic Liturgy of the Hours. As a supplement to two anchor meditations, morning and evening, he suggests adding “short periods of recollection and quiet mindfulness at regular points throughout the day.”

Anybody who knows me, I can never leave anything well enough alone. I have to put my own twist on things and tailor it for my taste. You’d think that Carl’s suggestion is perfect as it is. It is, honestly, it is – if you’re a contemplative or meditate in whatever tradition that suits you. But unlike Carl, I’m not a Christian mystic or a contemplative. I’m a self-styled magus, initiated into an Order, and a self-learned thaumaturgist who sees no conflict conjuring spiritual assistance when need be, and sitting down for a time to watch my breath or perform a mantra of sorts. I commune with my HGA on an almost daily basis (sometimes I forget, when the day gets too hectic and I’m practically running the moment my feet leave the bed), though I would love to work with Her, my angel, more if being human with human needs wasn’t such an obstacle at times. That’s where Carl’s “one minute meditation” come in handy.

Three times in the morning, three times in the afternoon, and once before bed…I try to do a meditation that I refer to as Breathing in My Angel’s Name. I know! Cheesy title with an equally cheesy process, but it was an inspired technique after reading “Open Mind, Open Heart” by Thomas Keating years ago.

In my version of this Centering Prayer, I sit quietly, contemplating how my Abramelin Operation began in 2003, remembering some instances where I felt Her, what visions I saw, how good She’s been to me from then to the present. I inhale the first two syllables of my Angel’s name, and exhale the second half. I leave myself open to Her Presence, having no expectations. There is no particular visualization to speak of. In fact, minutes following (that is a full scale meditation and not a one minute type) the method will produce a visualization if not a full-scale vision in their own given time.

In the morning I do my required ritual work as prescribed by my Order, plus my own meditation and communion with my HGA. Then I do it again in the evening after my shower, unless I have a specific Thaumaturgist act I have to complete. In between these rituals, during the day, my one minute meditation takes the form of one minute Breathing in My Angel’s Name. This is my bhakti yoga, my brief devotional to my HGA, my personal Liturgy of the Hours. Easy, you’d think. Not.

Remembering to do the one minute prayers is a lot harder than you imagine. The day and evenings are so seductive you can’t help but forget. After tallying up the number of times I actually did them, three, five, or six, I never quite seem to reach seven.

I don’t beat myself up because I didn’t achieve seven meditations. But it does give me a perspective how my mind operates…how easily distracted I can be. Monkey mind leaping from tree to tree, branch to branch, focused on the next shiny thing. At the same time, I do notice that when I manage even a few of them, my reaction to the world as a whole changes a tad. It’s like I can extend that fresh, elation one feels after a ritual throughout the day till my evening ritual. Imagine what this lazy magus can mentally achieve if I can manage seven. Imagine if I can do seven everyday for at least a month.

But this is just an experiment. I don’t know how long it will last, or if I find it even worthwhile long term-wise. Like all things experimental, the one minute meditation may pitter or plateau. Or, it may become a regiment that I’ll always be grateful for. Either way, the benefits can only be a plus.

So far...today, I managed six meditations. If I don't lull into a sleepy state on the couch after a pint or two of Guinness, I think I'll achieve seven.

Pointless Rambling

The awesome thing about being part of an Order is that you meet your brothers and sisters whose religious inclinations vary from one another, but whose goals match your own. It’s like being a member of a United Nations of Creeds. We all come from different backgrounds, but we all partake of a tradition that makes us dress a little silly to outsiders, perform anachronistic gestures, and in spite of it, it’s all done in the name of becoming greater than what we are now.

Say what you will about Orders and the common dichotomies that form and separate groups, give rise to flame wars, copyright issues, and angst. All those awful results are fleeting and never completely destroy the resilience of the essence of an Order. Bylaws come and go, curriculums are tweaked, but the need for like-minded folks to find a traditional group to bond, grow, and share esoteric experiences is a constant. At least, from my point-of-view, they are.

Eleven years ago I was a member of a Hermetic order in Houston. The experience wasn’t what it was all cracked up to be. There was some posturing, egos running amok, endless ranting over he-said-she-said among members between chapters. I left the group. Eventually this Houston chapter collapsed upon itself. Others sprouted following its decline, failed, were reborn again with new agendas, learning from past mistakes.

The wisest of men can draft the wisest of philosophies; devise mental technologies that can evolve our minds and bodies. But throw in the human-factor into this perfect machine, and somebody will sabotage a really sweet ride. That’s just the way it is. We are each other’s creators, destroyers, and regenerators – our own and each other’s Isis, Apophis, and Osiris. And like most family members or a circle of friends that we form over time, some folks, regardless of their Grades or religious proclivities, are going to rub us wrong. We break away from each other. We regroup, reform, and do it all over again.

Granted, whether you’re in a Hermetic group or order, a coven, a circle, or doing a correspondence course, and if you get the opportunity to meet your fellow students or teachers in person or in forums, you may become best pals or you’ll just flat out dislike the other, and want to punch him in the face. That’s the way the Eucharist cookie crumbles. That’s being human with either too much attachments to what pleases us, or too much aversion to what doesn’t.

Based on my experience, I like my fraters and sorors just fine as they are. There may be a couple that make me squint with some suspicion – making me wonder if that person will be future grief for all, a know-it-all that nay-says members’ experiences because it doesn’t match what he or she experienced or what was read from a book? That’s expected.

Magic is kind of funny that way. When you elevate your spiritual nature, sometimes your ego tags along for the ride. Online, I noticed Solitaries poking fun of Order folks that wear badges or emblems regaling their grades; but sometimes those critics wear badges, too…invisible ones. Their successes and experiences, gives rise to ego-inflation, and those instances are their emblems. Their outrage when someone disagrees with them is their big colorful badge that they wear on their proverbial sleeve:

“I invoked an angel from a Grimoire.”

“A demon heeded my call and brought me treasure.”

“My Holy Guardian Angel speaks fluent English and leads me to my destiny.”

“Your magic is all pomp and circumstance! Archaic hooey! Historical schisms scar your so-called egregore.”

Yadda-yadda-yadda...ad nauseum.......

Those are their badges. At least I can say ours are quiet for the most part, unless we’re sitting in front of a computer and entertaining grandiosity with a forum flame war of our own.

Overall, I respect anyone who practices magic more and pontificates less. I don’t care if a practitioner is part of a group or a solitary. I was a solitary for many years, and I understand what it’s like to go at it alone. I respect them for that. I also know what it’s like to be part of an order, too, and having to follow a specific curriculum, adhere to vows and rules, don costumes, and wave magical weaponry in the air. Both have their merits and pitfalls. No one path is greater than the other, having the fortune to have done both and can make that evaluation for myself.

As anyone who joins a group – whether it’s a magical Order, a coven, PETA, or the Republican Party – we’re going to get under each other’s skins at some point. For me, so long as I remain mindful within myself of the patterns that give rise to animosity, jealousy, pettiness, the need to be one up over the other, I think I can avoid most of the problems and the schisms – or, in the very least, not be a cause for them. As long as I remain true to the goal, the Great Work, if you will, then I can forego the spitefulness and the jadedness that collectively causes an Order to cave in upon itself.

I don’t believe in being a blind adherent to any group; but at the same time, intellectual territorialism is not healthy either. Somewhere in the middle, between touching the Glory of Higher Realms and human relationship, is a sliver of space to appreciate our occult-oriented comrades and not bug the shit out of each other.

A Visit to the Sri Meenakshi Temple

Saturday, a Soror and I visited the Sri Meenakshi Hindu temple down in Pearland – a forty minute drive from Houston (at least for me it is, being that I drive like an old man high on weed on the Houston freeways).

There’s a warm spot in the good Soror’s heart for all things Hindu, or as the religion is appropriately named Sanatana Dharma. In many conversations we’ve had since we were initiated together, I mentioned in passing to my good Soror about wanting to visit the Pearland temple sometime in the future, since she made it seem as though it was her most favorite place on earth. For her the future was Saturday. Talk about wasting no time. I was more than happy to agree, though. For someone like me who believes that God is in all things, why not expect God to be inside one just as he would be inside my private oratory, a church, a mosque, or a sacred grove? Sure, it’s not western esotericism as the Order is; but nonetheless, it is place that has perked my interest and my curiosity for many years.

Upon my arrival I noticed the stone masonry. On the outside of the temple, imageries of the Gods, animals, and humans going about in an array of activity were carved at the corners of the building and the rising pagoda-like spire near the entrance. In wall niches encircling the main temple, darker images of deities clothed in bright colors with sprinkled flowers and spare change at their bases were tenderly caressed by passing worshippers.

Outside the main temple, we visited a shrine that housed Ganesha, the elephant-headed god who removes obstacles, and dare I say a powerful Being that’s helped me from time to time when I was in a pinch and needed “obstacles” cast aside years before I joined the Order.

To enter either temple or the main holy grounds, we had to remove our shoes, and walk barefoot wherever we ventured. This signifies leaving behind the worldly life as we know it before we enter the realm of gods – which was fine by me; my new Robert Wayne’s were causing bedlam to my Achilles heels.

Personally, I didn’t know what to expect when I entered the main temple, especially when I had my first glimpse of gurus, bedecked in their robes, and taking meticulous care of each deities’ shrines; when I heard Indians chanting before each statue garlanded and swathed in incense smoke, I thought to myself, am I intruding in a world that I didn't seem to fit in?

I also don’t think that the worshippers and the gurus knew what to make of one Hispanic and a very Caucasian blonde Soror as they entered, honored and prayed before the gods as well. But it didn’t take long for me to feel comfortable among them, as I sat on the carpeted floor before a statue of Lakshmi – who has helped me a number of times locating good jobs when drafting outstanding resumes and cover letters weren’t enough.

Soror had no problem at all as she prayed and prostrated before gods and goddesses that she felt a strong kinship to. It was wonderful seeing such devotion; and I was pleased with myself for bringing her and her daughter to Pearland. I felt like I had done a wonderful deed for a Soror who doesn’t always get the occasion to do such things.

Adjoining the temple were other shrines that Soror wanted to visit. Each was dedicated to different regional and geographical interpetations of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva, and their consorts and avatars.

Soror gave a special tribute to Krishna and Radha. I stood back, hands clasped Hindu-style in prayer, and smiled. She was really enjoying herself.

Indeed, God was here. Among the worshippers, immanent in the statues, in the wisps of incense smoke, in the peace and appreciative glances of my friend, there was no doubt God’s Presence was just as keen here as if I were in my own Order’s temple vibrating God’s Name among my brethren.

The visit to the Sri Meenakshi Hindu temple had me thinking about my view of God and the Hindus’. With all the deities that were present, it may be hard for westerners to believe that Hinduism is really monotheistic. All these Gods and Goddess, avatars, and enlightened saints are really the many faces of one God. Some Hindus believe that God is Nirguna Brahman, in which he is formless and without attributes. Whereas some Hindus, as this temple demonstrated, God is Sarguna Brahman, containing many attributes and forms.

Which to be honest, both Nirguna Brahman and Sarguna Brahman are actually how I personally see God in my own Panentheistic view. It’s how I can comfortably walk into a Hindu Temple and feel no discomfort because their ways are not necessarily mine; or how I can walk into a church where a carpenter is worshipped and not feel the shadow of dogma afflict me with guilt for not embracing a Nordic-looking Christ as my personal savior; or it’s how I can enter the Order’s temple or my oratory and call upon the Divine with the marriage of Hebrew and Egyptian names without inadvertently summoning the vision of Charlton Heston battling the Egyptian High Priests with their staves (I’ll have to do a separate blog entry for my thoughts on that phallic imagery). God is one, as was told to Asclepius.

I look forward to visiting again. This time, I’ll have fruit to offer Ganesha, and a bit of cash for Lakshmi for all the times she insured that I would always have a job to go to.