I can't remember what I did last Easter. I think I was staring at the screen, growling over my thesis and wishing I could be frolicking about like a bunny hopped up on chocolate creme eggs. Pun intended. Not being raised religious, Easter has pretty much been another time for presents and goodies, basically like Christmas and Halloween all in one (after all, the Easter Bunny scared the crap out of me). Fast forward a decade or so, and it's taken on new meanings, not the least of which being the end of my Lenten experiment.
I'll start with that first. How did my Lent go? Did I make it all forty days without processed sugar? No. What, Kyle? You caved? Not exactly. I had crazy nightmares about being duped into indulging in sugar, and I have a six-inch pile of deferred confections on my desk at work to prove it. Nonetheless, it is absolutely astonishing how sugary the American diet is. These were my three downfalls: salmon sprinkled with brown sugar, a chicken sausage flavored with maple syrup, and finally, and most diabolically, a piece of kettle corn deposited into my hand by a vendor at the Poppy Festival, and instinctively put into my mouth and chewed before I even realized what it was. Yikes, yikes, yikes.
Nonetheless, I learned a valuable lesson from this experience: that there is no pleasure in life that cannot be replaced by something better. Despite the onslaught of "I'm sorry," "You poor thing," "I could never do that," et cetera (notwithstanding the fact that this was my decision and not some punishment thrust upon me), I upped my fruit consumption, focused on improving the variety of my diet overall, and even starting to lose some of my sweet tooth. My gums have even stopped bleeding when I floss! TMI? Whatever! This is freaking awesome, and I have to call the bluff of anyone who says "I need my ___."
But aside from the physical aspect of things, the Easter holiday is based on the resurrection of Jesus and thus is a time for great celebration and hope for new life. This is an aspect I'd never associated with the holiday, so I decided I would go to a service today. Combining goals, I arranged to visit the Self Realization Fellowship Lake Shrine for a group meditation and service. Unfortunately, the website did not mention that the service would be canceled for the holiday and replaced by a much bigger, much earlier event. C'est la vie. Not to be daunted on this day of new life, I kept searching.
The temple garden, dedicated to religions of the world, is rightly hailed as one of the most beautiful in the state of California. Straight away, I found a lovely tiled bench on the lake shore, sat, and watched the fountain bubble, the turtles courting each other in the water, the ripples, the callas, and suddenly, the most miraculous thing happened: I was calm. The chaos that had filled my mind for the past few weeks was gone, replaced by that pair of turtles caressing each other's faces.
As I moved from the bench to the Windmill Chapel, I became aware of a new mentality. I felt free from the rush; I didn't have to go anywhere. I could just sit and listen. I could feel the air of bodies coming and going. I could hear their breathing. A woman entered behind me and began to talk but cut herself off. Normally, this sort of action in a quiet space would have irritated me disproportionally, but this time, I had only one question: What did she just discover that made her cut herself off? It's the sort of idea I'd entertained a few times before, but I'd never really felt before now that people can still discover, still wonder, if not about the same things that I wonder. It was the effect of the silence, stripping away the misanthropic cloud to remind me that I am among people, that I am one of them... that I belong with them.
As I left the chapel, feeling renewed, I reflected on that which truly fills me with wonder. Mist. Sunsets. Stars. Tears. And on thinking of them, the realization occurred to me that all the stress I'd put myself through, all the sacrifices I thought I was making for good, all the self-denial I'd made for the wrong reasons, did not matter. I did not have to do anything; the way I live my life is my choice. Then I came to understand the name of the place, and I left in peace on a bright Easter Sunday.
I'll start with that first. How did my Lent go? Did I make it all forty days without processed sugar? No. What, Kyle? You caved? Not exactly. I had crazy nightmares about being duped into indulging in sugar, and I have a six-inch pile of deferred confections on my desk at work to prove it. Nonetheless, it is absolutely astonishing how sugary the American diet is. These were my three downfalls: salmon sprinkled with brown sugar, a chicken sausage flavored with maple syrup, and finally, and most diabolically, a piece of kettle corn deposited into my hand by a vendor at the Poppy Festival, and instinctively put into my mouth and chewed before I even realized what it was. Yikes, yikes, yikes.
Nonetheless, I learned a valuable lesson from this experience: that there is no pleasure in life that cannot be replaced by something better. Despite the onslaught of "I'm sorry," "You poor thing," "I could never do that," et cetera (notwithstanding the fact that this was my decision and not some punishment thrust upon me), I upped my fruit consumption, focused on improving the variety of my diet overall, and even starting to lose some of my sweet tooth. My gums have even stopped bleeding when I floss! TMI? Whatever! This is freaking awesome, and I have to call the bluff of anyone who says "I need my ___."
But aside from the physical aspect of things, the Easter holiday is based on the resurrection of Jesus and thus is a time for great celebration and hope for new life. This is an aspect I'd never associated with the holiday, so I decided I would go to a service today. Combining goals, I arranged to visit the Self Realization Fellowship Lake Shrine for a group meditation and service. Unfortunately, the website did not mention that the service would be canceled for the holiday and replaced by a much bigger, much earlier event. C'est la vie. Not to be daunted on this day of new life, I kept searching.
The temple garden, dedicated to religions of the world, is rightly hailed as one of the most beautiful in the state of California. Straight away, I found a lovely tiled bench on the lake shore, sat, and watched the fountain bubble, the turtles courting each other in the water, the ripples, the callas, and suddenly, the most miraculous thing happened: I was calm. The chaos that had filled my mind for the past few weeks was gone, replaced by that pair of turtles caressing each other's faces.
As I moved from the bench to the Windmill Chapel, I became aware of a new mentality. I felt free from the rush; I didn't have to go anywhere. I could just sit and listen. I could feel the air of bodies coming and going. I could hear their breathing. A woman entered behind me and began to talk but cut herself off. Normally, this sort of action in a quiet space would have irritated me disproportionally, but this time, I had only one question: What did she just discover that made her cut herself off? It's the sort of idea I'd entertained a few times before, but I'd never really felt before now that people can still discover, still wonder, if not about the same things that I wonder. It was the effect of the silence, stripping away the misanthropic cloud to remind me that I am among people, that I am one of them... that I belong with them.
As I left the chapel, feeling renewed, I reflected on that which truly fills me with wonder. Mist. Sunsets. Stars. Tears. And on thinking of them, the realization occurred to me that all the stress I'd put myself through, all the sacrifices I thought I was making for good, all the self-denial I'd made for the wrong reasons, did not matter. I did not have to do anything; the way I live my life is my choice. Then I came to understand the name of the place, and I left in peace on a bright Easter Sunday.
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