A Poetic Confession

Today is Good Friday. I’m going to write about the Good Friday’s and Easter celebrations I remember as a kid and a little beyond.

First of all, my Mother was a staunch Irish Catholic and she ruled the house as far as religion was concerned.

We did all the things that a Catholic household must do to be compliant within the rules of the church.

Nine first Fridays.

Ten First Saturdays.

Church every Sunday.

Confession on Saturday.

Mass everyday at lent.

Ashes on Ash Wednesday.

Holy days of obligation.

The litany goes on and on and even the Rosary every night as a family.

I was completely indoctrinated by the time I was a young adult.

Somewhere along the way “revelation” entered into my perception and I rejected and altered some of the ritual for the values of spiritual meditation.

I realized that to be born in a religion was wonderful, but to die in it is unfortunate. By that I mean that the believer who never investigates the universal truths available to all seekers loses an awareness of great value; a knowing within the heart that there is something beyond the rules and regulations embedded in religious dogma. I found it to be in the truths of meditative poetry.

To some, what I write is heresy. I say, I honor your belief and request that you honor mine. Not that you accept my thought as belief, but that you acknowledge there are all paths to God, not only the one dictated by a specific dogma of organized religion.