What Feels Right Inside My mother came of age in Portland, Oregon during the 1960’s and 70’s with a nuclear, non-religious upbringing. She was a tomboy, ready to compete with any of the neighborhood boys at everything. She never thought about God or religion, but was baffled as to why other people couldn’t just act right and get along. Nancy blossomed into a beautiful and independent free-thinker, unbiased and unafraid of life. After birthing me at 23, she would coax me as a youngster to explore the head-high thickets behind the creek teeming with chiggers and lizards so that I could discover how and why they were there. Mother instigated my obsession with careful observation by answering every question with another question. I was a dark-skinned, dark-eyed, white kid that everyone thought was Mexican with a single mother and not enough money to keep up with the latest things most of my friends were playing with in school. My mother didn’t raise me to know much about religion or spirituality, but I did adhere to some sort of unspoken code motivated by the effects that my actions would have on others and the world around me. How did she teach me this code? Where did it come from? Was this spirituality, religion, or both? I didn’t attend any church as a kid with either parents, but I was given the opportunity to explore organized religion if I felt it necessary. I remember attending mass with a schoolmate one black-clouded Sunday in Dallas, lingering in the cool tickle of the Holy Water on my head upon entering the massive arching cathedral and wondering if I would be blessed by its magic. I sat on the hard pews, zoning out while the Latin hymnals stroked my inner ear. I thought of being baptized, but my logical mind couldn’t grasp how people could get away with anything just by apologizing in private. That meant they could act however they wanted, as long as they felt remorse, which just didn’t compute. I made plenty of mistakes, but murder and rape felt unforgivable inside. My mother always got up in the morning exhausted from working late and keeping tabs on my activities, then made me breakfast and took me to school before work, even if she didn’t feel well. If my mom said she would be there to pick me up from after-school daycare, she always was. When a lady at work she hardly knew confessed that she was cheating on her husband and needed an alibi, my mother told her that her business was her business, but she would take no part in it. My mother always maintained niceties and eye contact when interacting with people, regardless of their station or how dark their skin was. My mother always said to be the “bigger” person and let other’s faults slide. It was hard for me to let people call me names and not call them names back, but it did feel right. My mother was such a good person. After prodding her for how she managed it to no avail, I decided to explore religions to find answers. I wandered with the bald-headed Hare Krishna to his temple for meditation and free vegetarian buffets, emanating curry and coriander. I went to a local mosque, perched on my knees and bowed my head to Allah. He seemed a lot like the Krishna guy, powerful, but benevolent. I examined closely the story of Siddhartha, in which he sacrificed himself and his comforts for the benefit of others. Inside, this felt just like the story of Jesus. The courage of Haile Selassie standing up for his people in Ethiopia enthralled me. I was intrigued by the curious birthmarks he had on the palm side of each wrist. Was there a connection with some other cultural martyr? I remember serving kosher food wearing a Yamulke in a synagogue for an Israeli chef that employed me, marinating on the idea that I looked pretty snazzy in the hat. It just didn’t feel quite right. Inside, religion felt like a barrier from having a true spiritual connection with everyone and everything. I felt like I would be joining a clique, and inside it didn’t feel right for me. I finally figured out what my mom’s religion was. She did what felt right inside and that was all I needed to do. Will she ever admit to being religious or spiritual? Probably not, but what one does always is more effective than what one says. Joseph Iraggi
Posted on: Tue, 18 Jun 2013 06:53:36 +0000
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