Long before I discovered where I was politically, I needed to find where I fit in spiritually.  I was born into Judaism, but religion was not part of our every day lives.

We were “holiday Jews, “attending shul only during the High Holy Days.  I understood the liberation of “my” people, through the Haggadah, read each spring at Passover.  I understood Kaddish, the prayer for the dead, having lost my Grandfather when I was very young. My comprehension of Judaism ended there.

Jeannie Werther, my best friend in elementary school, attended classes in Judaism as part of her long road to Bat Mitzvah.  One day, we had a play date scheduled after school and I went to class with her.  My eyes were opened to an undiscovered part of who I was.  I asked my parents if I could also attend the classes, which they dismissed as a passing phase.  So, regardless of their decision and without their knowledge, the following  week I left school with Jeannie once again.  While my parents were frantic, thinking I had been abducted by a child molester or kidnapped for ransom, I was happily sitting in a classroom, learning how to be a Jew.

In Junior High, brought on by a fascination with Godspell and the story of Jesus, I befriended Mary Conklin as my new BFF / Catholic tutor.  She loved her religion, and would positively glow when she returned from retreats.  She presented me with my own rosary, which I concealed from my parents.  After all, if they would not support my interest in being a better Jew, they certainly would not be thrilled by my interest in converting to Catholicism.

By high school, I was searching for unorthodox options.  I read a few books on witchcraft, but quickly dismissed that option.  At the time, Wicca was either non-existent or unknown.

In my early 20’s, a friend of mine brought me to a meeting, where she practiced Nichiren Shoshu Buddhism.  People sat cross-legged in front of an alter adorned with fresh fruit, flowers, water and a scroll and chanted, “Nam Myoho Renge Kyo.” Following the ritual chanting of the full Lotus Sutra, participants would stand and give testimonials. They would exclaim how they chanted for true love, and found it, a new job, and found it, a new refrigerator, and found it.  After a month of meetings, I decided that I, too, needed stuff. With my friend and a senior member of the group, I traveled to Brooklyn, where I underwent my conversion to Buddhism.  It was only then that I learned that the true goal of Nichiren Buddhism was world peace.

I received my very own scroll, and I set up an alter in my bedroom.  Twice a day, I would chant, wishing for true love, a better job (and, also, world peace.)

But my inquisitiveness, as always, was my downfall.  I began to question what I was actually chanting.  I asked for an English translation and, after a few months of not receiving the answer (no matter how diligently I chanted,) I rolled up my scroll, dismantled my alter and ate the apples in the bowl.

I left the concept of religion alone for a while.  Then, while undergoing radiation therapy for Hodgkin’s disease, I met many people who were finding great comfort in their faith and my search began anew.

Shortly after, while living in California, I learned that a co-worker also taught Hebrew and Jewish Studies to elementary schoolchildren.  I had every intention of joining her class, with absolutely no qualms about being the only adult, but the 4 PM mid-week time conflicted with work, so my goal of becoming a Bat Mitzvah was dashed.

After I returned to New York I learned that a new friend, who was Thai, was Buddhist. (Real Buddhism, not the pop culture version that I had practiced.) I pressed him endlessly about his religion.  I realized that I was far too Western in my ideals to fully embrace Buddhism, although the Noble Eightfold Path has become my touching stone for times of stress in my life.

I concluded that I would take the best of what I had learned from Jeannie, Mary, Tali and Tawee and live as a spiritual person without feeling obligated to an organized religion.

My religion is the beauty of a sunset, the first firefly of the season; it is in the rabbit that stops so close to me that I can see it’s nose twitching.

This week, while taking in a few moments of sun outside my restaurant, I noticed a strange flat squiggle in the parking lot.  On further inspection, I discovered that it was perfectly identifiable as a snake, which apparently was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  For some reason, I was drawn to it, and was fascinated that, even after heavy rains and hail, nothing could wash it away.

The following day, I took a stroll during a break and found myself looking, once again, at the snake.  Perhaps, I thought, this is my spiritual guide.  Given a choice, I would have liked it to be a snow goose or a leopard, but spiritual guides are not ours to choose.  I was dismayed, thinking of all the negative connotations of snakes, until I realized that snakes are only evil within organized religion, which I don’t participate in.  I found myself liking idea of the snake as my spiritual guide.  It is the symbol of the Gadsden flag, and it was the snake that, figuratively speaking,  first said,   “Take the red pill.”

Fulfilled at last, I looked around to admire the beauty that surrounded me.  I watched as a finch hopped from the grass and across the parking lot, repeatedly returning to a storm drain.  It alternated between chirping and trilling.  When I returned a few hours later, the finch was still repeating its agitated actions.  I walked over and peered through the heavy iron grate that covered the drain.  Inside, were two baby birds standing in a few inches of stagnant water.

Perhaps it was fate that our afternoon crowd had thinned out, and only our friends remained after a leisurely lunch, enjoying a visit.  I announced a rescue mission, and Rich and Robert found a crowbar and somehow managed to remove the heavy iron grate.  Robert and I were able to guide the baby birds into a long-handled dustpan with a broom.  We gently placed them on the grass and stepped away.  Stunned and wet, but no worse for the wear, they were soon joined by the two adult finches that stood protectively by, as their babies’ feathers dried in the warm afternoon sun.  Shortly after, they took flight and disappeared into the summer sky.

Hello, Nature.  It’s me – Ellen.

Rise up this mornin,
Smiled with the risin sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin, this is my message to you:

Singin: dont worry about a thing,
Every little thing gonna be all right.