Thoughts On the Journey, Part 1

I thought it would be a good idea to finally talk about what brought me here…writing this blog on my views and beliefs, especially in reference to the Magdalene and the Black Mother. On August 9, 2019 my parents and I were on the 3rd day of a road trip from California to Montana. After reaching our motel, I decided to stay in while my parents went out to dinner. The restaurant was just across the parking lot from the motel, which was perfect, as my dad had taken on the role of chaffeur for the trip. Just 30 minutes after they had left, I was in my pajamas, unpacking my things for the night, when I got the phone call that will probably haunt me for the rest of my life. Received a phone call from the lobby that there had been an emergency with “my family.” I got dressed quickly and made my way to the lobby. I was greeted by a sheriff’s deputy explaining to me that EMTs were working on my mom. I sensed that their efforts were not going well, and so I waited in the lobby for a while. I finally decided to check on their progress, and met with my dad, who only said, “She’s gone.” Ironically, I had, just before the trip, purchased Meghan Watterson’s Mary Magdalene Revealed on Audible. I began the slow descent as I processed what had just happened. From what the EMTs could tell us, it had been total heart failure. The irony of the parallels between this and what I had been “reading” about Mary Magdalene, as well as the difficulties faced by modern Magdalenes in the 21st Century, was not lost in me. Heart Failure had happened as both a metaphysical, and literal, event. I am still processing this. Still grieving. I don’t say this to gain your sympathy, though the camaraderie has been helpful, and I thank all my spiritual brothers and sisters who have supported me through this. Upon returning home from the “vacation” (she had been taken care of via Neptune Society and we finished the trip she’d taken months to plan), I was floundering a bit, wondering if I should consider taking a break from my spiritual studies. I’d been attending courses via Motherhouse of the Goddess. But just two days later, I came across a necklace I’d forgotten I even owned. A teardrop shape with peacock design. I honestly believe, in some strange way, that this was my mother giving me encouragement, and basically permitting me to continue my studies without pause. My family and I have never seen eye to eye when it came to my beliefs. I am the only non-atheist among them. Even my mom had given me a hard time in the past…but in the last couple of years in her life, I think she’d begun to understand that I found comfort in my beliefs, and that spiritual practices such as meditation, prayer, study, and community, kept me emotionally balanced. I think, in that moment, I cried for the first time since I got the news. It’s not that I don’t ever cry…I just don’t enjoy having an audience. I prefer to grieve in my own space and my own time. That is a right we all have as human beings. I just want all of you to know that. I still grieve a little, everyday. It’s an on-going process of healing and learning to let go.