Of Two Minds

To embrace or not to embrace spirituality?

There are so many things about me and my life that I can’t seem to take a firm stance on. I am of two minds about so many things- particularly in the realm of spirituality. A prime example: I own a large amount of crystals and even though I tell myself their “abilities” are bullshit, I keep buying them anyway. I often play the devil’s advocate in my own private debates. In therapy, this kind of ambivalence is discussed as part of my anxiety. I used to think that being raised to believe in superstitions was the root of my anxiety, but I’ve come to understand that I’ve clung to, and inflated, these superstitions because of my anxiety. My clever illness found superstitious belief to be an ideal framework for perpetuating and exacerbating my anxious feelings. 

The Evil Eye is something I was always warned about as a child. Not only my mother but my grandparents, and other relatives on their side of the family, would frequently warn me of unknowingly attracting this curse. I was given a red string to wear around my wrist from a young age. The color red being some sort of protector from the curse, of course. This then grew to necklaces with eye charms and a hand-shaped symbol called a Hamsa. All given with the sentiment that they were there to protect me. My mother and grandparents often placed their hands over my face and spit three times on the ground while reciting something about salt, water, and fish. This was also to protect me (FYI - it’s more like pretending to spit than actually spitting). The list goes on but, the point is, constantly being told I needed protection from an ever-present curse that could originate from anyone I encountered was the perfect potting soil  for a garden of all kinds of catastrophic beliefs later in life. 

You see, the Evil Eye is what happens when someone envies you. Different cultures have different ways of interpreting it but, in my Sephardic Jewish household, the Evil Eye was all about envy. Don’t show off, because someone envious might curse you for it. On the bright side, this does instill the importance of  practicing humility and avoiding being braggadocious around others, or whatever. Good stuff to be aware of. But on the less bright side, living with this paranoia also instills fear and distrust in even your closest friends. Can I tell people about my good news without anything going wrong? Who can I confide in that’ll truly be happy for me? 

My time in therapy has been spent learning to better manage my anxiety and, in doing so, unlearning superstition. In particular, I’ve been learning how to handle the pesky little Evil Eye in my head…which I still capitalize as a form of respect…and even though I know that’s silly it just feels rude not to. As you can see, there is still a lot of work to do.  

Despite not being a religious Jew, like my mother, I can’t help but feel I’m somewhat a spiritual person. I’m simply unable to subscribe to atheism. I mean, I don’t want to be a damn atheist, and not just because Ricky Gervais annoys the shit out of me. I don’t like the rigidness of it; the joylessness. It’s no fun. Deep down, I really want to believe there is something going on with humanity, and our existence, that’s more than just circumstantial or coincidental. With every scientific truth uncovered about our existence and how our universe functions, come new unanswered questions. I am of course on the sidelines, gathering just bits of information and trying to understand it all as best I can. Dark matter, dark energy, deep time, black holes, etc. I really don’t know shit past the basics, but I see how believing in the possibility of something unproven is actually quite prevalent in science. I believe in things I can’t prove and oftentimes these beliefs are upsetting but, just as often, they can be quite uplifting. 

I want to believe in souls and spirits; in fortune telling and psychic abilities. I want to feel our ancestors watching over us and protecting us from harm. I want to be cleansed after lighting dried herbs on fire and bathing in the smoke. I want to believe that I can manifest a better life. I want to believe there is a greater purpose past ‘just living’, and that death is not just rotting in the ground. Can I be this person, though? Can I fully lean into the beauty without also leaning into the bullshit? To let myself completely go, and believe in all that, I would have to keep entertaining the Evil Eye, wouldn’t I? Would I have to keep knocking on wood and storing that black tourmaline, “protection” stone, in my purse (and in my head)?

So logic tells me to call it quits. To let it all go for the sake of my mental health. I should stay grounded in rationality. Be pragmatic. Sometimes this is appealing. There is something nice about detaching and viewing life as completely meaningless. We’re here until we’re not and that’s it. Make the most of it while you can. Focus on the things you can control. Yadda yadda.

Let me give you a perfect example of how this conflict keeps conflicting. About a decade ago, I was assigned to write an article about bringing a psychic medium to a famous Hollywood hotel, seeking to channel Marilyn Monroe’s spirit. Back in the day, Marilyn had lived at this hotel so, naturally, her spirit must still be hanging around. I found someone online who agreed to take part and, the minute he arrived, the only thing I could “feel” was the immense amount of horseshit emanating from his attempt to talk to Marilyn. Of course she was “present” and of course she communicated some very obvious things about her death and addiction. None of it was intriguing enough to convince me this guy truly had a “gift”. However, there was something I left out of the article when writing. 

At one point in the evening, the medium turned to me and attempted to channel my relatives like he had with Marilyn. I figured this would be difficult for him because I am not very close to most of my extended family, and have very few close relatives to “channel”. He initially spoke of my grandfather, on my dad’s side, a topic he could tell I wasn’t fully invested in because I hardly knew the guy. However, he continued speaking of someone coming through who died of something related to the liver. He then said this person was in the military. Definitely a man and not my grandfather. He added a few other things I can’t quite remember, but I kept telling him that I don’t think there’s anyone in my family like that, so we called it a night. 

Later, I asked my dad about who, if anyone, the medium might have been referring to. I’d remembered he had an older brother - one I never really knew - and so told my dad about the mystery spirit. I soon learned that my dad’s brother was indeed in the military and died of liver failure and this was something I didn’t know and it definitely felt a bit eerie. To add to the eeriness, when I was a teenager, I remember randomly asking my dad about this same uncle of mine. I never really knew him and just had basic questions like where does he live, how old is he, etc. I don’t know why I was suddenly curious, because my dad never talked about his family other than his two brothers who I already knew and spent time with. I hadn’t really asked my dad much about his parents or other siblings, and was raised to consider my main family to be the people from my mom’s side. However, for whatever reason, I was curious that day and my dad just told me a few quick things about him and we quickly moved on from that conversation, thinking nothing of it. Then, the next day, my dad got word that this brother had passed away. He told me about it and I remember thinking how weird it was that when I finally thought to ask about my estranged uncle, he goes and dies the next day. 

It’s easy, and probably more factual, to write this off as pure coincidence. Lots of middle-aged men have liver problems and were in the military. My asking about him, a decade prior, only for him to pass the next day was probably just happenstance. And yet, what if it’s not? What does it mean if it’s not? That’s what my mind can’t help but entertain. What if there is some intangible connection between this man and me despite never having the chance to bond with him while he was alive? From the little bit I do know about him, he had a hard life. Out of respect, I won’t get into the details, but there was a good amount of struggle. Maybe a part of him is still here? Maybe there’s something, yet to be scientifically observed, that happens in death in which something like a spirit continues to exist. Maybe that spirit feels a kinship with me and maybe I feel it too. 

I mean, maybe not…probably not. But, I think it would be nice. I like to live in an, “it would be nice” state of mind from time to time. Every Friday, my mother lights Sabbath candles – something she makes me join her in if I'm visiting. She tells me to pray for what I want in life, to ask God for health and happiness. It’s a ritual that’s been in our culture for thousands of years and one she continues to participate in with an unwavering faith that there is meaning in the act. She believes that God is listening to our prayers. When I take part in this ritual, I do not pray to the same God my mother prays to. I pray to the unknown, to whatever it is that may, or may not, be guiding me in life. I pray to something beyond our grasp that might one day be revealed… but most likely will remain hidden. I suppose, at my core, I want to have faith, but I want faith without Faith. I want faith without trinkets and charms and “good luck” versus “bad luck”. Maybe I’m right where I need to be with it all, believing and disbelieving at the same time. Maybe it’s ok to remain uncertain about the big picture, while continuing to work on rejecting the impractical, more detrimental, beliefs that have done me mental harm. Maybe that liminal faith is not wrong at all? Maybe. 

I can live with that.