glasses1Last year I attended a weekend workshop in which we were asked to identifying our “Basic Assumption” about life. The idea was that we all experience life through a particular lens and that knowing what kind of glasses we are wearing might be helpful. The workshop was facilitated by Maria Nemeth, a razor smart women with a wonderfully high forehead and charming willingness to crack jokes at her own expense. She handed us a list of a dozen or more “Basic Assumptions” and we spent the weekend trying to figure out which one we were. I struggled. I hedged. After two days of narcissistic, self-absorbed, self-exploration, I was as confused as ever. None of the options seemed quite right. Finally, at the end of the weekend, I took my turn in the hot seat. I stood in front of thirty people, palms sweaty, heart pounding, sure I would be made the fool. But, with Maria’s steady arm wrapped around my shoulders, I discovered my Basic Assumption: THIS ISN’T IT.

dog1I like to pretend I’m not woo woo but between you and me, I’m full of crap. I poo poo the wackos who unblock chi by ohming into their chakras. I question the motives of the people who take pilgrimages to Dharamsala. I feel sorry for the people who continually plop down credit cards to pay for endless “Harnessing the Law of Attraction” workshops in the hopes of manifesting the BMW they always wanted. In my darkest, most cynical moments, these poor souls are lost sheep  in search of a shepherd—someone or something who can lead them out of the briar patch into a new, less prickly life. I judge them as irrational nuts but, ladies and gentlemen, the hard truth is—I’m one of them. Yes, indeed. There is no denying it now because a few weeks back, I picked up the phone and called — wait for it — an Animal Communicator. AN ANIMAL INTUITIVE. What, dare I ask, is  woo wooier than that?

maryjanesWhy do people dress up for God? I remember being a kid on Sunday mornings watching my friends climb into their parent’s station wagons to go to church. The girls had on prissy, pressed dresses and patent leather mary janes; the boys wore skinny neckties and little plaid sports jackets with sleeves that always seemed too short. They were miniature versions of their parents. Looking back, I’m not sure who they thought they were kidding. I don’t imagine God was fooled by a primly folded, breast pocket handkerchief or string of pearls. Being all omniscient, God sees everything, right? He knows what we look like in the morning in our ragtag pajamas and cockeyed bed-head hair. He knows we wear stained jeans and socks with holes in them. He knows, to my horror, the condition of our underwear. And, because he’s so damn omnipotent, he knows how badly we can behave — bitchy and cranky and passive aggressive (who me?) and impatient and judgmental and superior and…oh, how I could go on. There’s no slipping a mickey past this God guy.