I Prefer to Call it a Midlife Opportunity. Part 2: Dreams of Disembodied Poet(ic)s

Did you know I didn't go to school for either marketing or art? I went to study writing, and once I discovered it, philosophy. Dualism? The Mind-Body dichotomy? Arguments for and against the existence of God? Before college I went to Catholic school for 12 years — you'd better believe God exists. And now I could actually question it, in front of people? At 18, I found such liberation in turning everything upside down and giving it a good shake that I'd actually leave class feeling dizzy with it, thrilled. Like clouds, half of those philosophical theories flew well over my head, but I didn't care. Like clouds, just learning the overall shape of them gave me a clue about what was going on in the atmosphere of thought.

Then I took my first Oriental Philosophy class and discovered Buddhism. What logic! What simplicity! Four Noble Truths and an Eightfold Path! Practice non-harm. Don't eat animals because they are sentient beings! Of course! Bear in mind I'd never heard these concepts. The Catholic church considers non-Catholic religions to be "gravely deficient," their rituals constituting an "obstacle to salvation" for their followers. This is not my interpretation, these are the words of the Vatican.

Certainly, the various religious traditions contain and offer religious elements which come from God, and which are part of what “the Spirit brings about in human hearts and in the history of peoples, in cultures, and religions”. Indeed, some prayers and rituals of the other religions may assume a role of preparation for the Gospel, in that they are occasions or pedagogical helps in which the human heart is prompted to be open to the action of God. One cannot attribute to these, however, a divine origin or an ex opere operato salvific efficacy, which is proper to the Christian sacraments. Furthermore, it cannot be overlooked that other rituals, insofar as they depend on superstitions or other errors (cf. 1 Cor 10:20-21), constitute an obstacle to salvation. — from the Dominus Iesus

Don't misunderstand — I was taught significant spiritual lessons in Catholic school. Just learning how to have faith of any kind in the first place is a priceless practice. But information about other religions? That was definitely never offered. Growing up, I thought other religions were either the antiquated sects of foreign lands or dangerous mind-snatching cults. What a loss, when each path to God is beautiful and fascinating in its own respect, rich in symbolism, song, and scripture, abundant in myth and miracles. Personally I think the more I study other religions the more faith I have.

So there I was a freshman with Buddhism and philosophy offering a whole new way of looking at life. It was during this year I also began my worship of all things Kerouac, and I spent most of my time writing. Scrawled in red on a returned assignment is a comment from my freshman writing professor. "I don't know what I can teach you if you already write this well, the way film is cut. It will take an act of God to keep you out of the writing profession." Thrilling! And crushing. Because really, is that it? I expected this college business to be a bit more challenging. I became increasingly restless. My long-held ideas were changing rapidly, and in order to test them I needed independence from my parents, something all of my private school classmates had already attained at out-of-state colleges. I needed to start making my own rules.

So I hatched a brilliant plan, inspired in part by advice from my writing professor who, in addition to her compliments about my writing, admitted that she was very concerned about my "condition of soul." I would leave my state college and study Buddhism and writing at Naropa, the University of Buddhist Inspired Contemplative Education and home of The Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics, in Boulder. To me, this plan radiated sheer brilliance, and Boulder became my mantra. BoulderBoulderBoulder. I sang it. I ate it. I breathed it. Not only did Boulder and the surrounding mountains look like a slice of heaven pie on the plate of the earth, it had writing, it had beat poets, it had Buddhism, it offered independence from my parents, it held the archetypal adventure of heading out West, and, as the icing on the cake, my (then) boyfriend, my first love, was studying math in Boulder at the University of Colorado. Perfect.

There was a slight catch. Not only was I afraid I wouldn't be accepted to Naropa (thanks, math) I was very hesitant about admitting to my family that I wanted to dedicate myself to studying a gravely deficient religion and bohemian hedonist poets best known for their rejection of mainstream values (not to mention the drug use and sexual experimentation). I decided it would be safer to apply to the University of Colorado Boulder as an English major first, get my bearings, then sneak my way over to Naropa where I was certain a full-color version of my life would begin, like Dorothy waking in OZ. I applied to CU Boulder. I was accepted. I still have the letter.

That's when I discovered a second, more serious catch. My parents were aghast. Not only did the potential cost of this proposal stagger them, they couldn't comprehend the thought of their daughter needing to travel 2,000 miles away to go to school when she was already lucky to be in college at all, not to mention saving lots of money by living at home. Besides which, my mom asked, why would I want to give my boyfriend the satisfaction of being chased half way across the continent? Thank God I hadn't told her about Buddha and the Disembodied Poetics. The plan was regarded as crazy with a capital "C" and morphed into a a raging battle of slamming doors, screaming and crying, followed by thick silence that settled over the house. I don't know how long it carried on — it was many months, certainly, before I let it drop, and they felt like an eternity.

I'm sure you can imagine what happened next. I became a very angry 18 year old. I felt trapped. Trapped at a college where I was a commuting student, a situation that didn't afford me much opportunity for meeting people; trapped in the house I'd grown up in while all my friends had moved on; trapped in a religious tradition I was questioning; trapped 2,000 miles away from my boyfriend. To stay at home and admit my my plan had been defeated felt impossible, so I did the only thing I could think to do and rebelled against my parents, against college, against religion, against everything. Rebellion became my best friend and my Plan B, and I embraced it for a long time. I'm still undoing its wiry tangle, trying to separate its lessons from its bygones so I can move forward on my path with clear sight and renewed, you guessed it, enthusiasm.

To be continued...