Someone once pointed out to me that fear, as an acronym, stands for Fantasy’s Appearing As Real:  F-E-A-R.  The mind can run amok with dreadful visions not grounded in reality, but the more we think about them the more they feel real and cloud our experience.

Humans are masterful visionaries.  Why not use that creative flair for painting gloomy scenes and train it toward thoughts of love and appreciation?  Perhaps we can dare to imagine our highest aspirations for the world and ourselves, focus on positive possibilities and take action to support our vision.

One way to do that is to honor the fuller picture of what is by acknowledging all the good that has come to you in this past year.

What did you learn about yourself this year that you didn’t know before?  What gifts and strengths emerged from the hardships you faced? What risks did you take?   How did you surprise yourself?  What did the difficult people in your life teach you?  What helped you find (and keep) your center?  Can you acknowledge your resilience?

How have these experiences strengthened you and revealed what matters most? Who do you wish to forgive?  Who do you need to thank? Imagine absolutions and gratitude flying from your heart toward your intended recipients.

Now you are freer to set your intentions for 2010.  What do you want to be celebrating at this time next year?   What fun stories will you be telling?  Who are you with?  Writing this down is powerful.  It becomes the first tangible expression of your dreams, taking them out of your head in placing them in physical form.

Earlier this year, as one of my clients sorted her belongings for a corporate relocation from San Francisco to London, she came across a list of goals she’d written four years ago, tucked inside her favorite book, long forgotten.  She couldn’t remember looking at it since writing them and was surprised to discover most of her goals had been realized, except this: to live and work in Europe.  That one took longer to achieve than she expected, but hindsight gifted her with an appreciation for all that unfolded to bring it into her current reality.

May the New Year bring you dreams realized, passions unleashed and joy rising.

After leaving Catholicism, she didn’t want anything to do with God or religion.  But life had other plans and she is now a highly regarded author, lecturer and religious scholar.

Her meticulous comparative study of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam reveals that compassion was at the root of all of these religions.  At their beginning each of these faiths organized themselves around the principal of the Golden Rule and the ‘ability to feel with the other.’  The larger purpose of these religions, she says,  “was to teach us to dethrone the ego (i.e. remove yourself from the center of your universe) over and over again and place another there.” It is through this practice that faith comes alive and we are able to access the Divine.  Buddha said “Compassion brings you to Nirvana.”

Clearly, the original intent of these major religions has been hijacked.   Those of us who have been shunned by our families and religions have personal experience with the twisted interpretation of the compassionate counsel “do not judge.”

I agree with Karen’s observation that “any religion or ideology that does not promote a sense of global understanding and global appreciation is failing the test of our time.”

Appreciation goes beyond social or religious tolerance and allows us to transform polarizing ideologies through an increased awareness of our inter-connectedness. I am you and you are me.  (You will know your faith is alive if you can even feel appreciation and compassion for those who shun you. And if you can’t quite feel that yet, just wanting to in the future is a good start.)

Last year Karen Armstrong was awarded the prestigious TED Prize (www.tedprize.org) to create, launch and propagate an international Charter for Compassion, which came out of her heart’s desire to do something about our dangerously polarized world. The Charter is a cooperative effort to restore not only compassionate thinking but also compassionate action to the center of our lives.

Over a period of six weeks, 150,000 ordinary people from 180 countries went online and suggested wording for the Charter, contributing their stories of appreciation and tolerance. Then those stories were collected and reviewed by a group of 18 influential religious figures from many faiths (people like Desmund Tutu, Rabbi David Saperstein, and Bishop John Chane).

Beginning with the next paragraph of this post you can read the full Charter, unveiled this month, and if you find it inspiring, follow the link and add your name to the long and growing list of those who affirm it. You can also read over one hundred uplifting stories and contribute your own acts and experiences of compassion.  We can learn from each other.  Together we are better.  There has never been a more important time to energetically align around the act of compassion.

The Charter for Compassion

“The principle of compassion lies at the heart of all religious, ethical and spiritual traditions, calling us always to treat all others as we wish to be treated ourselves. Compassion impels us to work tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of our fellow creatures, to dethrone ourselves from the centre of our world and put another there, and to honour the inviolable sanctity of every single human being, treating everybody, without exception, with absolute justice, equity and respect.”

“It is also necessary in both public and private life to refrain consistently and empathically from inflicting pain. To act or speak violently out of spite, chauvinism, or self-interest, to impoverish, exploit or deny basic rights to anybody, and to incite hatred by denigrating others – even our enemies – is a denial of our common humanity. We acknowledge that we have failed to live compassionately and that some have even increased the sum of human misery in the name of religion.”

“We therefore call upon all men and women ~ to restore compassion to the centre of morality and religion ~ to return to the ancient principle that any interpretation of scripture that breeds violence, hatred or disdain is illegitimate ~ to ensure that youth are given accurate and respectful information about other traditions, religions and cultures ~ to encourage a positive appreciation of cultural and religious diversity ~ to cultivate an informed empathy with the suffering of all human beings, even those regarded as enemies.”

“We urgently need to make compassion a clear, luminous and dynamic force in our polarized world. Rooted in a principled determination to transcend selfishness, compassion can break down political, dogmatic, ideological and religious boundaries. Born of our deep interdependence, compassion is essential to human relationships and to a fulfilled humanity. It is the path to enlightenment, and indispensable to the creation of a just economy and a peaceful global community.”

Learn more about the Charter at: http://charterforcompassion.org/

Just like these two fish, we are all ‘swimming’ in beliefs and biases we don’t even know we have.   The most obvious, in-your-face realities can be the hardest ones to see or discuss.   Naturally, some of these beliefs were shaped by our early environment and conditioning, and conclusions we then formed about significant events in our life. Other beliefs were handed down to us by our guardians as gospel, and we innocently accepted them at face value.

Spiritual transitions give us the opportunity to question our thinking on all variety of topics, from the mundane to the sublime, and uncover where we have been operating by default.  Fundamental religions promote a black or white, right or wrong mind set and it takes time to shift that habit.  In my last post, for example, I wrote about uncovering an old belief I didn’t know I had about homosexuality, even though I’d long ago stopped believing that same sex relationships were a sin, as I’d been taught as a child.  Wanda Sykes “swam” by me, told a joke and made me aware of the water.  In that moment I was a bit freer, more open and compassionate.

I suspect most people would describe themselves as open-minded. By open-minded, I mean increasingly awake to habitual belief patterns, conscious and questioning versus operating by default.  But how do you know that you really are open-minded? How can you become aware of the ‘water’ of your own beliefs and unexamined assumptions about yourself, others, life, death, God, etcetera, etcetera?  This is an important question for anyone who has gone to great pains (and personal cost) to leave a religion and may harbor fears of making another mistake.  After all that trouble, who wants to swap one dogma or delusion for another?

In my experience, two things work well as mind (and heart) openers.  First, begin by intending to notice.  Declare your openness—your intention—to become aware and awake.  Admit you have antiquated beliefs, and things you don’t know that you don’t even know you don’t know.  Cultivate the desire to see life with fresh eyes.  If deliberate intent and willingness are present, noticing naturally follows.   The brain loves this type of assignment and life presents endless opportunities to wake up.  You might notice when you roll your eyes and what jokes make you laugh as you watch The Daily Show, or how you react to caused-related slogans on bumper stickers. Observe your judgment of that ‘selfish,’ gas-guzzling SUV driver who just cut you off in traffic, and the tightness in your chest as you wave your fist and shout out rude characterizations about his mother.

This practice of noticing might seem simplistic, but it holds the profound possibility of  popping  you out of your default mode.  And if you’re anything like me, over time you’ll realize how many things you’ve been totally wrong, misinformed, half-aware or completely deluded about.  It’s humbling and enlightening.  Be patient with yourself and assume the kind demeanor you’d use to wake your best friend from a deep sleep.

Next, question your thinking, not with finger-wagging, but genuine curiosity.  The mind was designed to collect data, assess, judge, and be right.  But are you interested in being right, or in being free?  That SUV driver might be rushing to a loved one’s bedside at the emergency room, or just received walking papers from his boss or wife.  It doesn’t really matter how likely this is, asking the question introduces new grooves in the brain, opens you up to fresh thinking and loosens that tightness in your chest.  This process also works with looming existential questions:  notice, then inquire.

One of my mentors keeps a sign on her desk that says, “Don’t believe everything you think.” It reminds me to hold my beliefs and opinions lightly, with a willingness to review and revise, or to let go of them altogether.   It’s not easy to do and if you’re like me, some days you won’t be able to do it or you just won’t want to.  It takes practice, lots and lots of practice.  But the payoff is freedom.

This past weekend, my husband and I watched Wanda’s latest HBO special.  You may have heard that she “came out” as a lesbian last year, and she told some pretty blunt and hilarious jokes about that.  I was slapping my knee through her whole set.

When I was a Witness, it would have been considered unwise and unacceptable to be entertained by a gay comic.  I was taught (and had accepted) from childhood that homosexuality is a sin, a violation of the natural order.  Being gay is considered a choice—a tendency to be conquered—through diligent prayer and bible study.  You can’t be gay and remain in the religion. We didn’t go so far as to teach that AIDS was evidence of God’s vengeance, but (sadly) I did believe the disease was a natural outcome of disobeying divine law.  (“You will reap what you sow,” say’s the Lord.)

I left that religion over differences with many core doctrines, and later grew impatient with any God that cared about what I did in my bedroom.  If there was a God, I figured he had more important things to worry about.  In time I became friends with a wonderful lesbian couple, Kim and Julie.  Kim described coming out to her family and how they had disowned her. I felt a kinship with her since my own family had also shunned me over moral issues. I was touched by the shared humanity of our experience. Over the years, I’ve basked in supportive relationships with many gay friends and shared a few cold beers with them in gay bars.  I believe in equal rights for all and support gay marriage with my voice and my vote.

But it took Wanda Sykes to wake me up, yet more, and make me aware of one last vestige of faulty thinking I held about homosexuality.  She glowed as she spoke of her French wife and twins, and then wound the narrative round to the concept of choice. “Imagine me gathering my courage and sitting my parents down to announce, ‘Mom, (long pause) I think I’m black,’ and Mom says, ‘Maybe it’s just a phase,’ or ‘I warned you about hanging out with those black friends of yours—now they’ve talked you into being black too.’

My husband cracked up, and I heard a lightning bolt of stunned awareness crackle between my ears. Did I choose my green eyes and white skin?  No!  And yet, after all these years I still believed what I’d been taught, that homosexuality is a lifestyle choice, like choosing to live at the ocean instead of in a city high rise.   I’m embarrassed to admit this.  I am socially liberal—live and let live. But it wasn’t until I was directly challenged through humor, that I re-visited and released yet another antiquated notion.   Voila, another light shined on a dark corner, vanquishing thoughts of separation.

Thanks, Wanda.  I needed that.

I remember when I used to believe that.

Here is an example of two rules I was taught about prayer: First, you must always and only address your prayers to Jehovah God by name. Second, it was essential to acknowledge Christ as the intercessor, so all prayers—without exception—ended with the supplication “in Jesus name we pray.  Amen.” I believed if I didn’t follow these two rules (among others) my prayers would not be heard.

How many times did I inadvertently fall asleep in the middle of a prayer, my head heavy on the pillow, only to awaken the next morning, ashamed of my laziness, believing I’d been disrespectful of the Almighty?  And because I’d failed to conclude my prayer correctly by mentioning Jesus, believed my words evaporated in the heavenly ether without reaching God’s ear?

My intention here is not to disparage the act of prayer, which I now practice regularly and experience as transcendent and transformative. I encourage my clients to be open and curious, experimenting with various forms of prayer from a variety of traditions.  I’ve seen how ritual and ordered ceremony help quiet the mind so the heart can open to reverent conversation.   In my experience, too many rules can weigh anything down, including prayer, limiting its form and ability to comfort and heal.

In the early days of my recovery from being shunned by my religion and immediate family, I stopped praying altogether. Why?  First, I was weary of all the rules surrounding so-called, “true worship.”  It was an understandable and necessary act of rebellion, a way to distance myself from a system that no longer satisfied my spiritual need.  (Even now, I bristle at the idea of declaring rules for prayer, which tells me I still have work to do in accepting those who believe otherwise.)  Second, due to years of conditioned thinking I felt guilty for leaving.  Leaving, in and of itself, was enough to make me feel unworthy to approach God.  Third, I had an aversion to any deity that punished  through shunning.  The name Jehovah carried a lot of baggage.  I wasn’t sure I even believed in God anymore.

More than anything, I wanted a new way to be with the Divine and granted myself plenty of time to explore other traditions.  Over the years I discovered—and continue to find—new ways to pray, including walking meditation, ritual, chanting, poetry, and song among others.  A named deity is not required.

Is there a right way to pray? What do you think?  How do you pray?  In my view there isn’t ‘One Right Way’—there are a myriad  ‘True, Good and Useful’ ways.  You’ll know you’re on the right track if the practice opens your heart, cultivates compassion toward yourself and others, and helps you remember your inter-connectedness to all that is.

If you would like to read the New York Times article mentioned above, click here:

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/20/magazine/20Prayer-t.html

1. You become disillusioned with the core teachings of your religion.  Webster’s defines disillusionment as, “disappointment caused by a frustrated ideal or belief; disenchantment.”  There are many triggers that can arouse disillusionment with religion, such as a conscience-stirring conversation with a ‘worldly person,’ reading something that provokes fresh thinking or observed hypocrisy.   The very ideal that once brought you comfort and a clear path to salvation is no longer an affirming anchor for your life.

In my case, I was preaching door-to-door and had an unexpected doorstep encounter with a respected co-worker that rattled my faith. I tried to push away my doubts but to no avail. This led me to the second step.

2. Going through the motions.  You may still be attending services, and volunteering for church activities, but you lack enthusiasm or any sense of connection to what you are doing.  You’re praying and studying the Bible less, if at all.  Week after week you daydream through the sermon.  Why not stop attending church services?  The thought crosses your mind, but where would you go?   This is your community and it’s familiar.  Leaving it would upset many people.  I made excuses, passing off my despair on winter and the lack of light.  I pushed through, hoping spring would bring me new vitality, and I recommitted to a rigorous program of prayer and Bible study, thinking my doubts were something I needed to conquered.
3. You fantasize about a life outside the community.  My daydreams were filled with visions of a different life; with new friends, activities, and a freer lifestyle.  I wondered what it would be like to do ‘worldly’ things like go to college, skydive, read the Tao Te Ching, get a divorce, and take a break from the rigors of church service.  ‘Where is the harm?’ I thought.
4. You keep your doubts and fantasies a secret from those closest to you in the religion, especially the church elders.  I didn’t want to upset anyone, or raise red flags about my ‘spiritual weakness.’  My intuition told me it was wise to keep quiet until I could get enough clarity and courage to speak up.
5. You feel out-of-step with the community. I loved my family and friends in the church.  I’d referred to them as ‘brothers and sisters’ and that was more than just a salutation or title to me.  But I grew bored with the conversations, which seemed to have an uninspired sameness and revolved around beliefs I’d grown suspicious of.  I yearned for new ideas, activities, connections and a feeling of freedom to move about in the world without fearing it.  This growing feeling of separateness from the community was emotionally painful.  I cared about everyone there and wished the best for them and myself.
6. You are burdened with guilt about all of this:  going through the motions, fantasies, secrets and wanting more. My doubts and despair were growing.  Despite my renewed commitment, I couldn’t  pray or study in the old familiar ways.  Christians are urged to ‘fight the fine fight of the faith,’ but I was tired of the battle.  I judged myself as lazy, but I couldn’t muster the will to engage.
7. Something’s gotta give.  One day you have an experience or encounter which brings you to the point of enough:  enough confusion, guilt, paralyzing doubt, stifling conformity.   I came to see there was nothing wrong with me. It was the religious system that was lacking, it was no longer a fit for me.  I didn’t need to put more effort into contorting myself into a mold that had been shaped by someone else.  I gave myself permission to become inactive in the community and claimed the time and space to examine my beliefs further, unfettered from regular fellowship.   The author, Anais Nin, described my experience beautifully:    “And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

I sized up the cost of leaving—divorce, strained relations with my friends and family, and diminished ‘prestige’ in the church—but knew intuitively that I needed to go, a knowing as visceral as knowing you need oxygen to breathe.  My world was turned upside down at first, but the overriding emotion was relief.  That clarity stayed with me over the coming months when I was officially ‘disfellowshipped’ (the Witness term for excommunication) and was shunned by the entire community, including all members of my immediate family.

Fifteen years later, I now see how much my fear of loss kept me in the religion well past the time my heart was in it. I did lose relationships that were dear to me.  My heart grips with sadness when I dwell on that.  But what I gained—freedom, aliveness, unconditional love of my new friends and family, an abiding sense of my interconnectedness—far outweighs any loss.  I was true to my heart and despite the consequences, I’d do it all over again.  Leaving my religion saved my life.