In my heart,I hold a memory. My Grandmother is in her early 80’s. We have come across the state to see her, picking her up at her retirement center and driving her across the street for lunch at Applebees. She has ordered steak, and a margarita, and white wine. It is 11:30am.

Grandma’s hands are gnarled by arthritis, so I help her cut her steak. She weighs about 95 pounds these days, but she eats with relish. “Ummm.This steak is so good. Ummmm! Can I try your shrimp? ”

After the margarita and before I can surreptitiously chug most of her wine, Grandma picks up her glass and leans over to me conspiratorially.

“I got a tattoo, you know.”

This happened a year ago. Grandma, at 82, had been suddenly longing for a tattoo, and talked about it incessantly. Finally, my Aunt, in an uncharacteristic burst of caregiver frustration said, “Fine, Mom! Go get a tattoo!” My rebel cousin, Eric, was there at the time, and he and Grandma decided to take that as a go-ahead. The next week Eric and Grandma went on a field trip. When they got back, both cuz’ and granny had new ink.

“It’s an angel on my shoulder.” Here, Grandma paused for a dramatic swig of the house white, “I have my beliefs you know!”

Indeed I do know, though I’ve had to listen between the lines to find them. Grandma, always the spunky edge dweller, never towed the protestant line. Instead she knit together a spirituality that combined a little of big of Blackfoot folklore; a strong pull towards the mountains; and some affection for Jesus on the side. This angel — a small smear of blue-green ink on the soft wrinkled skin of her shoulder–this is her guide now, helping her through the drawn out years of her ‘final days’, and into the unknown and unknowable hereafter.

I take heart in my Grandma’s tattoo, in her love for the hillside she re-planted with pines after the fire, for her sudden insistence that all the great-grandchildren have leather-clad Bibles with their names embossed in gold. She has created her own path–godward, onward. In these, her final days, when stories spill out of her like down from a pillow, she has helped me to see that my gender, my era, and my distracted spiritual self can help me find the way to my most soul-felt home.

Me, Grandma Pauline, and Paul making faces for Eden’s camera.

Read more great stories about wise elders in this week’s column at BlogHer.com.

Next week I’m highlighting posts about the Summe Solstice. If you blog about the Light this week, send your permalink to moi at magpie dash girl dot com.

When I was practicing a traditional form of Christianity, there were times when I felt absolutely weighed down by the number of spiritual practices I was “supposed” to be participating in. Worship songs. Small groups. Prayer meetings. Private devotions. Bible study. Acts of charity. Evangelism. The list was endless.

In addition to the wearying psychic weight of that long list of spiritual to-dos, was the undeniable underlying reality that few if any of those spiritual practices did much for me. True there were times in my spiritual life when some of them helped some of the time. But eventually I came to a point where engaging in those practices no longer helped me feel closer to God, made me a better person, or brought shalom (wholeness) into my world or anybody else’s. Finally, I got the message. Finally, I let them go.

The thing about deconstructing your religious practices is that eventually, your soul will probably start shouting, “Hey! I’m still hungry down here.” That’s when you have to get busy with the reconstructive process. The time will come when you’ll need to find the things that will feed your soul, connect you to something sacred, or just generally bulk up your karma.

Ta da! The blogosphere to the rescue! Here are some great non-religion-specific soulful practices that might scratch where it itches. Why not surf around and see if you intuitively respond to any of them, then try out the ones that sound good?

Ask yourself, “What is it you really want?”: Liz LaMoureux over at Be Present, Be Here (which, by the way, is my current mantra) tells us a story about being brave enough to ask for what she wants. Liz’s story is an affirmation to each of us, reminding us: “You are not too much. You are not asking too much.” This once again brings to mind that familiar but powerful saying:

“What would you attempt to do if you knew you would not fail?”

Go ahead. Follow Liz and make a list – ask the universe for what you really want.

Enjoy the View: What are the snapshot images that make up who you are and what you value? Jen at One Plus Two gives her inspiring views, and challenges you to make your own list. What will your view memories reveal? (Special props to Tiny Mantras for linking me to Jen’s site.)

Capture Your Dreams: Suzie Sacred recommends that you get all paste-and-scissory with your fine self and make a dream board of what you are imaging for yourself. Sometimes we get a little stagnant and find ourselves living into our past dreams instead of extending our hands to our now-and-not-yet imaginings. Suzie asks,

“Are the images you collect out of date for who you are today? What do you need to add to your life now that these things have changed?”

Head over to her place for links to a bunch of inspiring dream boards, then sit down and make one for yourself. (Big thanks to Mother Henna for directing us to Suzie.)

Give it Up:

A young girl asks a wise old woman, "How does one become a butterfly?"
With a twinkle in her eye, the old woman replies, "You must be willing to give up being a caterpillar."

Last but not least, Blossoming Soul asks “What are you ready to give up.” Her post inspired me to make my list awhile back (several, actually) and can testify that it was literally life changing. Be bold! Ask yourself, "What am I ready to give up in order to make room for something wonderful?"

Have you got a practice that feeds your soul? Share it in the comments below, or post it and leave us the link.

Namaste!

P.s. I’ll be looking for great posts about spirituality/faith and the environment for next week. If you’ve got a good one up, be sure to let me know. Email me: moi @ magpie-girl dot com.

This article is cross-posted at BlogHer as a part of my regular Monday posts on Religion and Spirituality. See you there!

Eden, then five, sits pretty and pensive at our passover table.

This is the first time in eight years that we won’t be celebrating Pesach (Passover) with our community. Our dishes and haggadah (prayer books) have arrived, but we’ve yet to gather the kind of friends that would want to take part in a 4 hours meal with this electic goy girl. I’m treating my Passover jones by writing about how I got started celebrating with a Seder. You can find that story over in my weekly post at BlogHer. And here’s some pretty pictures, taken by my friend Emily Button, from our first Passover with Monkfish Abbey, back in 2004.

Anointing everyone at the table before going in to dinner.

On Passover, we eat reclining on a pillow to show that we are free. (Slaves weren’t allowed to eat reclining.)

A full glass is sign of joy. Here we diminish the wine in our glass to signify solidarity with those who suffer.

Paul serves up matzo ball soup to Catie. (3 yrs)