Yesterday was my friend, Rose Pulliam's birthday. [Happy Birthday, again, Rose!] If you don't know Rose, she is a beautiful woman, in every sense imaginable. Hers is a gathering and nurturing soul; the kind that keeps communities together. She totally dispels the notion that activists, of which she is one of the finest, only throw bricks and don't build anything. Rose can throw a brick, but through her stories, comedy, outreach, and just force of personality, she constantly edifies individuals and communities in the deepest, most profound and elemental ways.
So, we gathered to celebrate her birthday. Overtime, as the crowd ebbed and flowed, about of dozen of us--all queer people of color, mostly activists, many with Bible-based religious backgrounds of various denominations--formed a large circle and began to talk about religion and faith. In the circle were 4 men and 8 or so women, people in their 20s through 50s, including African Americans, Latin@s, and women from the Caribbean. We covered a lot of ground as the conversation flowed from an academic look at religion and politics to how religion played in people's coming out stories and a host of other angles. Eventually, one of the sisters in the group asked the pivotal question that launched us into the meat of the night. She asked, "what happens to the soul when we die? Where does the soul go?"
I cannot do justice to the following events, nor can I completely recount every word (or even highlight) of the blessed conversation that followed. There was too much wisdom in the group to even imagine capturing it in words. We simply vibed together. As the Bible says, "deep calls to deep," and that's where and how we met each other. The energy in the space was so holy (for lack of a less loaded word), built on the trust and safety we recognized and built in each other. And it was as much recognized as created. The secret price of entry to the circle, demanded by the Spirit that brought us, was years of deep and intense personal reflection on who we are in the world and how our religious histories had both revealed and hidden aspects of the spiritual realities we are called to share. It was the evidence of that pursuit of truth beyond dogma--an uncommon spiritual maturation--that we silently recognized in one another. Everyone brought some truly spiritual gift to the collective, and we recognized that gifting in each other as well. Upon those spiritual recognitions and connections, we experienced our circle.
Like I said, there was far too much wisdom in the circle for me to recount it here. Truthfully, so much happened beyond the aural that even a perfect transcription of the night would give but a fraction of the experience. So let me touch on just a few things to give a sense of the conversation. In the next post, I want to talk about my experience in the circle.
So, the pivotal question was, "Where does the soul go when we die?" People offered a range of answers, generally speaking of our souls and essences as collections of energy that may or may not (or may also) remain as a self-identified unit after bodily death (as opposed to breaking up into fragments, given away in life and/or recycled in death back in to the whole). We related stories of speaking to people who had passed, whether directly or through mediums. [[I'll note here that even the Bible says this is possible; remember Saul speaking to Samuel through the Witch of Endor and Abraham's acknowledgement that it is possible for the dead rich man go back and talk to his brothers though it would be useless.]] We spoke of dreaming other people's dreams and receiving and conveying supernatural messages...and the awesome responsibility that entails. We spoke of visions; some viewed alone, others shared. We wondered how all this is possible. What truths about now and the next epoch do our experiences reveal? Conversely, we did not try to fit our experiences into the orthodoxy boxes of our various traditions. Nor did we doubt one another. We did not all have identical experiences, but we've all had experiences that were similar enough and far enough beyond the fringes of orthodoxy to know that everyone was speaking of "reality." Every story was more than sincere; it was accurate.
We wondered. We spoke of the power of this wonder and of faith and doubt and fear. One sister shared a valuable lesson. She said, "fear haunts. Truth does not haunt. Truth always manifests itself." And she is right, truth comes to pass. Fear dogs people, but the fearful possibilities cannot and do not all come into being. In another exchange, a brother spoke of doubt and faith. Relating his coming out story, he said he learned to have as much faith that God created him as gay as others have that being gay is sin. We spoke of how doubt creates much opportunity--to expand beyond dogma, to receive others, to experience spirit.
We spoke of how death is a simultaneously individual and collective experience. Even birth is a collective experience (just ask your mother), as is every subsequent experience until death. No one experiences death per se with you; we all face it individually. Yet, we can experience it collectively. Several sisters recalled being together when a loved one passed, in the very house where we were talking. Everyone recounted the different experiences, in at least three locations, that marked the instant of the person's passing. A sleeping baby sat up to witness the moment, people pulled close in immediate anticipation, one woman spoke in words and a voice unrecognizable to herself.
We spoke of shared energies. How we miss the experience of collective worship, especially the songs. We hummed the Old 100; that classic set of moans and ancestral hymns that welcome the Spirit and make the Black church so powerful and comforting. We spoke of how the songs put us on the same wave length and how our bodies and essences feel that. How that collective energy is so strong it can become visible.
We laughed. Uninhibited, joyful laughs. We truly enjoyed each other and all the people, present and past, whose spirits and other remnants, were in the place. It was a blessing. It was healing. We all held hands, felt a powerful warmth, and gave thanks.
