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I spent an unusual Easter Sunday. Rather than go to the Catholic church or do what I really wanted, stay at home and work, my roomie and I went to the Colby Temple, a spiritualist church. For those who don’t know, Cassadaga, where I live is a historic site. It’s been a spiritualist church for over a 100 years. First we went to the spiritual healing which was just odd. All the energy floating around the healing center made me feel like I was coated in honey, stick and uncomfortable. It made sitting still next to impossible. I’m very sensitive to energy flow, probably one of the reasons I’m good at the whole ‘speaking to spirits’ thing.

I wait in the queue, wondering where the French photographer who’s recording the session came from (outside of France). He added an extra layer of surreal to it all. I believe strongly in the body’s ability to heal itself, especially when you pack your own faith behind that. I always told my patients that. It doesn’t matter what faith you follow, if you believe in the healing enough it will help. Sick as I am, I figured this might be a good thing for me. The process made my head and neck feel like they were on fire. My hands felt like they were streaming ice between me and the ground. I was unable to move. People were moving in and out and my natural instinct is to look at them but I couldn’t move my head. Oddly enough, having someone behind me through the whole process (the healer) didn’t bother me which it normally would.

Sharon and I then went into the temple. This was perhaps one of the oddest Christian services I’ve ever been to and I’ve been too all flavors of Christianity and other religions. There was a definite air of informality and friendship (not to mention female reverend which is odd to someone raised Catholic). The songs were bouncier than I’m used to and the idea of praying to the “Infinite Intellect” who shares with us the spirit was different and somehow more appealing than praying to a god who rules with an iron fist. One of the spiritualist tenants is that there is the earthplane (here) and the soulplane (where we go after death) and that those who pass on can come back to give comfort and guidance.

The guest speaker led the meditation inviting us to close our eyes and mentally leave the temple and walk into the woods behind it. We were in the woods, following the Easter bunny. We follow him down the whole into a beautiful garden. Eggs are all around us. These are gifts from God. We were encouraged to pick up as many of these gifts as we could. My eggs were all blotches of primary colors, solid no speckles or swirls, like the ghosts of eggs. I didn’t try to pick them up.

We were then to imagine ourselves as an Easter egg and to picture our self egg. Mine is red, black and blue in geometric Native American styles. I try to paint it other colors but it is steadfast. We are supposed to see the garden and know we are meant to be in the garden. That is god’s plan for us. We are supposed to see all the people around us and greet them all. My garden refuses to populate. It’s just me, my spirit guide bunny (and amorphous purple blob) and I’m happy to be alone in the garden.

We were then to go to the garden chair and sit on the bunny’s lap and be a child again and just commune with the bunny. It was an Adirondack chair. I was happy to sit on it with my amorphous purple blood clot of a bunny which reminded me of how rabbit kicked a blood cot into the first human being, blood clot boy (thank you Cherokee). Then everything goes purple. Bright purple, lavender, deep royal purple. It looks like oceans and swirls and vortexes of purple and it reminds me of all the purple bunting used in the churches for Easter. I’m crying in this garden but I don’t know if I’m happy or sad or if I just am.

This part of the service ends. There is something that would pass as homily in the Catholic church then it ends with the message bringers. This is where the spiritualist reverend look out into the audience and read the spirits we’ve brought with us. Imagine John Edwards’ “Crossing Over.” As I leave, the guest reverand catches my hand and says, 'you're beautiful,' then turns to another parishioner.
Like I said, very interesting experience.

I came home, threw a ham and chicken with veggies in the smoker (or should I say Sharon did. I mostly just seasoned and glazed things). And I got both papers for my Curriculum class done. All and all a good thing.