A Further Thought on Anne Rice. . .

I wonder (without investigating it) how much of a repudiation of her earlier literary production is implied in her conversion? I mean, what about that Sleeping Beauty series? As an author, she is of course already distanced from her early works, but really. . . I suppose I'm not supposed to think about this, but well. . . "Forgive me Father. . . Just go read chapters 3, 8, 9. . ." Because I had not previously been Baptized, I was spared the pain and mortification of digging up all of my past since--for better or worse. I probably should have had to do so, though I was thankful that I did not. But when one's sins--intellectually speaking--are part of one's professional ouvre? Most creative writers regard their earlier works with some embarrassment and a little contempt (a former professor of mine referred to his "baby book.") I can imagine the discomfort of having spiritual baggage attached also. After all, I've written poetry myself--and published a poem or two. But I wonder about the practical side--what does it mean to have this side of one's faith--or doubt--on display? Perhaps that in itself is a penance.

Baptism Reflections. . .

On Sunday, during Mass, we witnessed the Baptism of three infants, and while the addition of half an hour or so is typically not the best thing with a temperamental toddler who is, nevertheless, getting better about staying in the pew, the Rite was very well integrated into the Mass and oriented those present towards the meaning of the Sacrament in a quiet yet profound and even scholarly way. It was nice to see the Baptism, as it always is, though I was a bit sad to note that all of the babies seemed younger than mine, whose Baptism we have been planning for. . . well, months now, but our plans have really been coming together in the last few weeks. I sometimes forget, now, that the importance of Baptism was something that I rejected initially as a mere display--an impression I received from other churches--then because I did not hold with the idea that a newborn could be "tainted" by anything. But I grew gradually to doubt my own certainty, losing faith in my skepticism, until fear that Baptism might be necessary to Salvation gave way to acceptance and faith. It was the biggest step in my conversion process to accept the necessity of Baptism, and I first considered the possibility of its truth for the sake of my family--particularly my son. I couldn't have anticipated the fullness of what it came to signify for me. . .

Apart from the Grace of the Sacrament, Baptism is a gift that I give to my children so that they will always have the Church as a spiritual home--a place where they belong. I know that there are many who were raised Catholic who don't now feel this way, never have felt this way, or never will again. But in the stories of Catholics who have returned to the Church after being away for a period of time, there is always the sense of returning home. I felt this way myself, though I was not baptized Catholic as an infant. I knew that both of my parents were raised Catholic, that my aunts and uncles were raised Catholic, that my grandmother was devoutly Catholic in her way, that many of the older adults I encountered were Catholic, their houses adorned with the trappings of Catholicism. So when I decided, finally, to become Catholic myself, I had a sense of returning home--of being where I belonged.

We have scheduled my little daughter's Baptism for March 1--an oasis in the desert of Lent--and this is what I wish for her: to be initiated into the Catholic Church as a spiritual home, where she can belong, to which she can always return, and where she can learn (about God), and grow (towards God), and thrive (in His Grace).

Random Bullets before Lent

Things I should give up for Lent for wholly unspiritual reasons:

• French fries
• Chocolate
• Coffee (unless it's Mystic Monk coffee*)
• Dr. Pepper
• eBay
• Sewing!!

Thing(s) I want to give up for Lent for wholly unspiritual reasons:

• Housework!!

Things I should do more of during Lent (in no specific order):

• Pray
• Write a dissertation
• Play with a toddler
• Spend time with a 'tween (I only use the term as a tribute to Tolkien)
• Read (anything, really)
• Meditate
• Exercise
• Cook (especially meals from monastery cookbooks!)
• Think happy thoughts!
• Recognize the beauty around me (physical and spiritual)

Things I have thought about recently (in wholly unconnected ways):

• The very natural-seeming portrayal of Tevye's relationship with God in Fiddler on the Roof
• Whether the Tevye stories would be worth finding & reading
• Undergraduate & graduate education and the right relationship between the two
• More job market issues
  
• Children's media and the very excellent show "Charlie and Lola"
• Breastfeeding & NFP
• Hormones, mental health& genetics, and panic attacks (little ones)
• The beauty of children
• The difficulty of children
• All that stuff about children & relationships that didn't seem relevant until child #3
• Upcoming Baptism plans (March 1!)

What have you been thinking about?


*In fact, I think we owe it to the brothers to step up our coffee consumption during Lent so that we will need to purchase more, thus contributing more to help them to establish their monastery in the mountains of Wyoming.

First Post of the New Year

The new year arrived quietly at the Literacy-chic household. I was on the computer perusing the blogs and my mother was on the floor cuddling the toddler before she had to leave today to return to New Orleans. The 10-year-old was trying to get to sleep, while my brother was in the shower. The Chiclette was, I believe, in her bed, and I seemed to have misplaced my husband in this memory. . . We only realized that the new year had begun, bringing and end to a pleasant holiday visit, when we heard a small cacophony of fireworks and realized that the "Happy New Year"s were in order.

I have relaxed my attitude towards New Years over the past couple of years--as the family has grown and staying home & spending a normal, comfortable evening has become more attractive. I guess I'm growing into my age and my family. (hahaha) When I was an undergraduate, I had a friend in a French class whose family was Vietnamese. She told me something about Vietnamese culture and belief about the new year that I will never forget, and which made the new year more significant: that what you are doing when the old year passes into new is what you will be doing the entire year. I believe that the New Year's Eve after I heard that was not a very interesting one--I likely spent my time moping, being lonely, and generally feeling sorry for myself. All I got out of the following year were some poems--go figure. However, the year after that, as 1995 faded into 1996, I spent New Years' Eve with my husband. It was our third date. The first, which I initiated, we went to my favorite pub, which I knew (through mutual acquaintances) that he liked also, to see a Celtic Christmas performance by Danny O'Flaherty. Afterwards, we went to see the lights at Christmas (now Celebration) in the Oaks in New Orleans' City Park--again, something we both enjoyed. We talked the whole night, and even as early as that first night, he mentioned marriage (mostly conversationally, once more specifically--in a joking way), and I was surprised that I was not put off by the mention of the word, as I had been with other dates. Our second date was much less formal and came after our mutual interest was reestablished after a few weeks incommunicado during a bout of bronchitis that left me concerned about his interest since the ball was clearly in his court!! So our third date found us, on New Year's Eve, at dinner, and a movie, and roaming around New Orleans trying to find an open coffee shop(!), then on the levee watching fireworks. That New Years' did not hold significance for that year alone, but for a lifetime. So we have this to smile about every year, whatever else we might do to celebrate.

The past year has been both difficult and, in retrospect, amazing, as I might say of our married life in general--difficult because of circumstances (and, sometimes, my attitude towards them), but amazing because of love. A large part of the year was occupied by a emotionally and physically exhausting pregnancy, the anxieties of which I have chronicled here. I have had toddler trials and ten-year old trials, and I believe that I am learning to learn in a new way from God's Grace and the wonders of my children. In addition to my own wonderful birth and amazing daughter, I have been more or less involved in the pregnancies of several friends--and for the first time in my life I have friends with whom I can share motherhood. I have also found friends with whom I share faith--and Faith--and I have had the almost surreal experience of making friends online--including getting to know more closely or keep up with people I knew only in passing, or could not keep in touch with easily. The year has seen a number of spiritual obstacles, which I suppose are natural. Someone should tell new converts that the euphoria of conversion is difficult to sustain and to live up to. This may be for the best, or we would all abandon our families to pray all day and night--and then when would we blog? ;) But in the challenges of my growing family, I have found time for meditation and prayer--as I am rocking my toddler. So while the growth may not always have been apparent, I enter 2008 with the hope that the insights I have gained from difficulties encountered will blossom in the new year. Although it feels like the dissertation has remained pretty much the same, I realize that I finished revising 2 chapters in the spring and almost completely rewrote the introduction from only the proposal, which was not yet fully realized, and wrote a new chapter this fall that is almost complete. I have ideas for the conclusion, and have begun the second-to-last chapter. It sounds like a lot when I think about the finished product rather than the process. In spite of the exhaustion of the pregnancy, I taught 2 classes, one in the heat of the summer, and one in the last months of pregnancy, showing (to myself if not to others) that it can, indeed, be done. Our family has a new life in our midst, and a new home in which to nurture her. Newness speaks of hope, and it is with prayerful hope--especially for my mother and my grandmother, and my aunt who has cancer not likely to be cured--that I greet the new year. I pray that I can remember this side of difficulties as I face them in 2008.

My hopes for the new year include being able to maintain my family's finances, finishing the dissertation, finding employment that allows me to keep my baby-friendly schedule. I hope to balance my time with my children, remembering that even self-sufficient ten-year-olds need their parents' time and attention, to keep a clear path to walk through the apartment at all times, and to cook meals at home consistently. I want to renew my spirituality, whether that means finding a path to spirituality at home or deepening my connection with God through the sacraments or C/church more generally. I am looking forward to being able to schedule our daughter's baptism--hopefully for this month. I want to renew my personal devotion to the Eucharist in particular, and to learn what that means exactly!

A side note: I find myself keeping baby names in reserve. Has this birth made me more "open to life" than I had been? Do I understand that better now? I do think that 2008 will be a pregnancy-free year, but after that, who knows?

That's as close to New Years' resolutions as I will get. . . I am surprised at how much I have learned, and how blessed I feel looking back, though it did not always seem so at the time. Wishing you all blessings and all of the hope that a new year implies!

~Literacy-chic

Time for Another Madonna Lactans -or- Breastfeeding as Sacred Sensuality

I have been "pacing" my breastfeeding Virgin images, which I intended, though I had not intended to lose track of them for so long. Though there is a sensuality in the Madonna Lactans images, the sensuality is not to be confused with "sexuality," which was the subject of my past breastfeeding post. Rather, the sensual nature of mother-child contact is shown here in a sacred context, as the contact between mother and child is also the scene of the nurturing of the Son of God.

Kate commented on my last breastfeeding post that it is always good to take the opportunity to appreciate the spirituality of day-to-day activities, and I know that's a useful reminder for me. I have posted before on maternal spirituality, and how I find it difficult to see daily tasks as a path to holiness in the manner of a Saint Therese's "Little Way." Breastfeeding, in practice, is not very spiritual for me when I'm doing it. There are usually other distractions. Though it is nice sometimes to have the presence of mind to realize that this is not just a mundane reason to stop whatever else I was doing; rather it is an excuse to stop what I'm doing and focus on my son or daughter, whom I may shuffle aside for one reason or another at other times. Interestingly, this is not what Michelangelo portrays here. Rather, this Virgin is somewhat distracted from her rather older Christ Child, perhaps anticipating that the supper will burn! She is in motion, and even the unfinished, sketchy nature of the image conveys the motion, as my life has been in motion of late--so much so, that I have not even thought of maternal spirituality, or of much that is spiritual. Other bloggers help me with that by posting their own reminders, for which I am constantly grateful. I DID learn recently that Schubert's 'Ave Maria' has a strangely calming effect on me when I am agitated. Another nice reminder, and one of the few semi-spiritual connections I have made of late.

Maternal Spirituality, contd.

Okay, so I started to write a really long comment in response to the recent posts from Melanie and Mrs. Darwin, but the more I wrote, the more I began to feel that a new post was in order. The suggestions provided by Melanie and others are great--very solid suggestions, some of which, like praying with the little ones, are things I do. It is nice to hear from Entropy that she, too, feels guilty for getting distracted! And nice to hear about the "selectiveness" of blogs, which I did realize on some level, but there is such a feeling of unmodified reality on some blogs (the ones that I read are like this, but I know more "artificial" blogs exist), that it's easy to get lured in and assume that the serene spirituality of Catholic mommy bloggers is the norm rather than the impression gained from highlights!! C's mention of praying for ourselves instead of others was amusing, especially since there have been real occasions when having someone tell me that they would "pray for me" was rather grating--mostly because of how it was said and my own experiences in Protestant churches when I was younger. My newer religious friends (on and off of blogs) have helped me to see the difference between the judgmental prayer offers and those that proceed from a sincere heart (not that I can tell the difference always, but I do know that having a teacher at a Catholic school say that she will pray for you & your family after a dispute about how she has wrongly insinuated that your child was rude is not appropriate!). I have to admit that Entropy's comment about the VBS teacher raised an eyebrow because I wonder sometimes in what spirit people share their prayer intentions. . . But that comes from a cynical place, and we don't want to go there! I definitely appreciate Melanie's analysis of the Our Father, which draws attention to the neediness of that prayer. While I had certainly thought about the words and heard a wonderful homily once on the meaning behind the imagery in a daily campus mass, I had not really thought about it as asking for things for ourselves. If only these were the main things we asked for! I try to focus on the "Thy will be done" part to the exclusion of the actual things I desire, and it's not always easy. Especially since I doubt my impressions of what I think I "need." This makes me think again of "Et tu, Jen?" who, I believe, has posted on the "need" vs. "want" question, but more in the first fervor of conversion spirit rather than from the place where I now find myself.

But I reintroduced this topic in a new post because I want to come back to the issue that Mrs. Darwin picks up on: just not knowing where to fit everything in a day! It sounds easy--or at least, it sounds like it should be easy--or at least, it sounds like it should be the focus of our daily activities, but really, it's extremely difficult, and difficult to make the time. Like Mrs. D, I do sometimes pray a quick prayer when something strikes me during the day--especially anxiety! I like the praying for the time to pray suggestion, but another issue for me is something I only briefly touch on in the original post--the location. Specifically, I mentioned Mass at the end of my post. Prayer before Mass always seems the most natural and least self-conscious to me. Like I said--it's really the solitude I seem to be missing lately, and without the space and time to think, I just can't feel spiritually satisfied. That's where the question about maternal spirituality comes in--is it necessarily cluttered by things and events and shared with others? What I seem to be hearing in other mothers' experiences is yes. Before my daughter was born, I relished the daily Mass on campus. But all of the times I tried to attend daily Mass when she was younger were abysmal failures. The interesting thing, too, about going to the daily Mass by myself before she was born is that everyone else was safely squared away--my husband was teaching or working (depending on the job), my son was at school. Those were the places where they belonged and I didn't feel the need to be spending time with them--or, more accurately, the want, since I'm with them more because I want to be than because of a sense of obligation!! So I was able to spend this prayerful 25 min. or so twice a week.

Interestingly, what I'm describing is not unlike not being able to find the time to write poetry. The last time I wrote poetry was when I was taking a class, and then I generally wrote the poems the day they were to be workshopped in class. Poetry writing, at least for me, proceeds from the solitude in a given day--the ability to consciously look at the day, it's events, its images, put them together using experiences from the past or present in language that departs from ordinary daily experience and makes us see those experiences differently. I guess something similar is the rationale for this blog, really--to take daily experiences and try to see them differently, to add a little bit of analysis to the events of a given day or week. It somehow requires less solitude to write analytic prose than to write poetry or to pray (and I seem to be seeing those two as somehow analogous). Writing poetry usually made me want to get beyond myself and see things more objectively, which isn't quite the same as what I've been saying about prayer (at least the "objective" part), though getting beyond myself is also a goal for prayer. On the other hand, most of my most successful poems were the deeply self-conscious ones. I think I have exhausted this comparison, however! I can put aside poetry writing indefinitely, even though there is a poem that I began writing shortly after my conversion that I want to finish someday. . . I had a professor who once made the observation that women rarely continue writing poetry after they become mothers because they feel fulfillment and no longer need to write poetry (!). She was a wonderful woman, and this likely says more about her own attitude toward motherhood (she became a mother very late in life) than about female poets!! I think that the reason behind the phenomenon she mentions is simply not being able to find the time for contemplation! (or perhaps not having a suitable space) Which brings me back, in a rather circuitous way, to my subject.

How much of spirituality is determined by the meeting of personal preference (that is, busy-ness vs. quiet contemplation) and opportunity (time and location), and how much is discipline? I could likely ask the same question about dissertation-writing, I guess. (Notice I'm not asking that. . .)

Maternal Spirituality: A Consideration and a Confession (of sorts)

I have been contemplating this phrase recently, as I realize that there is no semblance of spirituality in my life as present, and I feel as though I am creeping back into my pre-Catholic ambivalence toward prayer. I find it increasingly difficult to remember that I should be praying, much less to actually carry through with a prayer that isn't in direct response to something I have heard or read--either about a friend of stranger's needs. I have always had a difficult time praying for my own "needs"--usually because I feel that they are imagined, or that I am beneath notice (a perspective that our pastor described as coming from a place of spiritual dryness, which describes me pretty well, I think) but that is a different topic altogether.

I have never been a very spiritual person, really. I found Catholicism liberating in part because the types of spirituality were varied, and the ones I was acquainted with required very little of the "personal relationship with God" kind of thinking, and memorized prayers provided much comfort--even though I hadn't (and still haven't) memorized all that I should have. Also because intellectual activity could be a form of spirituality. My first experiences of letting go of my defenses against spirituality was yoga, which immediately preceded my conversion, and on which I have posted before, in the earliest (and least successful) days of the blog. Eventually, I discovered a shallow level of Eucharistic spirituality, and developed a sense of closeness to God in prayer (particularly to Christ) which I had not previously experienced. This left me hungering for more, though since my daughter was born, I have had only minimal glimpses, occasional tastes. Moving, teaching, another pregnancy, and personal conflicts of one sort or another (often of the religious variety) have made these less frequent and have made me forget to seek them.

Many of the blogs I occasionally peruse (I can't really call it reading them lately--I hardly get a chance to sit down in front of the computer, and wouldn't at all if didn't have a laptop) have a definite relationship with prayer. There are prayer requests, accounts of prayer, even blog entries that feel like--or explicitly resemble prayer. There are accounts of day-to-day activities that are prayer-filled (the accounts and the activities). Many (but not all) of the blogs that I'm describing now are written by mothers. These are busy women!! So there is not a lot of discussion about solitude and contemplation. If there were, I am not sure I would believe it! So from this I get a rather busier version of St. Theresa's "Little Way"--that spirituality is to be found in little, everyday acts which are the path to holiness. I can see the various benefits in that kind of thinking. It was quite a novel idea to me in a way when I first read about the "Little Flower." But I confess that this kind of spirituality is beyond me--at least at this point. Yet I almost get the message--and the feeling--that this is "maternal spirituality." So many things alter with pregnancy and caring for children, it seems natural that a quieter, personal spirituality (shared spirituality is also beyond me--at least outside of Mass) should be one of the casualties. And the sheer logistics of trying to arrange my daily schedule so that I can teach for an hour and a half and make it to campus with a half-hour or so of office hours is exhausting. That reminds me! I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow and I don't know how I will make it. I believe in the possibility of doing academic work int he presence of children, and in caring for my own children as much as possible, but sometimes it all becomes cause for despair. And with the new apartment, I don't have to pay tuition for my son, but I can't really afford child care if I need it for the toddler. Luckily I have arranged it so that in the fall, once again, I will be free during the day with my daughter (a mixed blessing some days, as it becomes increasingly difficult to keep up with her, especially as she enjoys her new-found taste of freedom in the new apartment). But I digress, and forget where I was heading anyway.

My point here is that the "Little Way" Spirituality doesn't work for me, and I have no solitude either for contemplation, prayer, reading, or academic work. It has not always seemed this bleak. I feel awkward leaving by myself in general, especially if my purpose for leaving is vague even to me. I always feel that I am leaving something behind. And during the day, I have no time alone and I am constantly busy with something that involves someone else. I feel guilty about the dissertation because I know that someone will be on my case about it at some point--in a couple of weeks when he returns from vacation (what a concept!!), actually. I had felt guilty about prayer. Recently, I haven't even remembered to feel guilty. And this is only one of the things that I imagine becoming more difficult when the new baby arrives. I have become a "Sunday only" Catholic, and not by choice. And Mass is so hurried, and so occupied with a squirmy toddler, and my thoughts stray to how the new one will fit in to the wrestling with children scheme. . . It goes by too quickly, and not quickly enough. In my first ecstasy of conversion, my discovery of spirituality, I did not imagine that I would experience such a waning. I think of this sometimes when I wander over to or check the post titles of "Et tu, Jen?"

Yoga & Spirituality

This is a conversion story, of sorts. Or, more accurately, it is part of a conversion story. Sorry about that. Consider yourself warned.

Yoga taught me about prayer. Not about New Age spirituality, but about real, honest, Christian prayer. You see, I didn't really know much about prayer, really. Or spiritual prayer, anyway. I was taught "Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep" as a child, but I was always a little uncomfortable about the whole dying-in-my-sleep-as-a-child connotation. And I knew the Lord's Prayer/Our Father. My sister says she remembers our grandmother teaching her to pray the Rosary. I had no such experience, but I was less taken with shiny things. When I was older, I was always uncomfortable with the praying-in-a-group thing, with one person speaking for everyone. While it removed the responsibility from the individual, it nevertheless puts the individual on the spot in an odd sort of way--perhaps the pressure of conformity, since you couldn't really walk away from those situations. I knew that prayer was personal, individual; I just didn't really know how to do it.

I was plagued with fears as a young child--fourth grade or so. I was too aware of stories of weird deaths, crime, etc., and these fears found their way into nightmares. My most heartfelt prayers as a child--the only kind that went beyond the "bless so-and-so" variety, involved an end to these nightmares. These prayers persisted through many of my younger years--and they worked. I later rationalized away their success. During these same years, when I was attending a Baptist church sporadically, I also would lie on my back sometimes in broad daylight imagining that deceased relatives whom I had never known looked down on me from heaven, and I imagined myself talking to them, expressing my own love and thankfulness for their watchfulness. In my naiveté, I was reaching towards the idea of the Communion of Saints and the practice of meditation. These were not things that came to me from any of the churches I attended--Lutheran, Baptist, First Assembly of God (who did, however, use the Sign of the Cross!). So what does all of this near-prayer-experience have to do with yoga?

As an amateur and occasional yoga practitioner, I like guided practices. The yoga DVD is not my preferred means of acquiring such guidance, but with a toddler, it will do, since I have found some that are not too offensive--you know, not MTV yoga. So as I was entering into final relaxation (Savasana or Corpse Pose), when the yoga instructor tells the viewer/practitioner that this is a time to focus the mind inwards. We spend most of our time focusing our minds outwards, and, seemingly, this is the time to correct that, to restore the balance. However, what struck me is that this is not my experience of yoga, or of the world. Rather, it is my experience that many of us spend time focused rather intensely inwards--on our own hopes, fears, desires, etc. This was clearly one of my obstacles with prayer (the "bless the people I know & take care of me" prayers), and still, admittedly, is. Perhaps this is not the inwards-focusing she meant, but it is internal. When we direct our energies outwards, isn't it to satisfy some inner selfishness--some goal that we have, some desire, something we need to accomplish because of a drive deep within (even a shallow one)? Anyway, in the final relaxation stage, during which the body--exhausted from the effort of the workout--is still and heavy, the person is guided to relax further, both physically and mentally, by consciously relaxing muscles, being conscious of breath, envisioning relaxing spaces.

It must be that with yoga, the mind is caught off-guard, and feels no need to rationalize and reject the spiritual experience. When practicing yoga, I can say, "It's only exercise; I'm only exercising; I'm relaxing; there's nothing spiritual here; I'm not vulnerable to anything outside of myself." At least, that's the only way I can account for my submission to it--that, and it feels really good. (See my earlier post on exercise.) Rereading even my own description here, it sounds very New Age spirituality, but recently I was quite perplexed at finding Catholic sources representing yoga very negatively, albeit the context was in reference to an ex-nun who became an ex-nun to pursue this very New Age spirituality, and in fact teaches yoga.

My experience with "live" yoga was not very spiritual. It was a modestly priced class-by-class fitness option at the rec center of a public university. No one was seeking enlightenment. Most were seeking tighter abs and a Spring Break bikini body, and soon found that they were in the wrong class. Because there is a Christian tinge to this large state school, the yoga instructor sometimes reassured the class that this was not a religious thing. But it could have been, and in those moments of relaxation at the end of the hour, I felt it. It could perhaps have been a bad thing to experience something spiritual in such a secular setting, and I may have been drawn into eastern mysticism or religion-of-self. At the time, however, I was moving hard & fast in the direction of Catholicism. As I lay on the yoga mat, I reached outwards. In an RCIA (the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults) class session, we were asked to visualize a place where we felt absolutely comfortable and at home. I felt uncomfortable, self-conscious, silly even. My mind was closed. However, when told by the yoga instructor to visualize a place where I felt absolutely at peace, comfortable, relaxed, I tended to have alternate images--neither a real place: the first was what I knew to be a mountain or tall hill with tall, soft, sun-kissed grasses waving against me as I lay looking at the blue sky, hemmed in by taller mountains or hills; the second was an hexagonal-shaped room of a wood-framed house with three wall-sized windows overlooking a pine forest at night in a downpour of rain. Floors were wood, furniture was sparse. It feels odd putting these images into print. I didn't connect--or contrast--the two experiences at the time.

What I noticed more than anything, however, was that after the relaxation, when the instructor would say "Namaste," what I wanted more than anything else was to make the Sign of the Cross--as if a prayer had ended for me. I must have felt that yoga was not an end in itself; looking back, I recognize it as a beginning.

Shopping at a Christian bookstore for a rosary at about this time, I was surprised to have the woman who unlocked the case for me describe Catholicism as intensely spiritual--it caught me offguard and perhaps frightened me a little. . . I was looking for the rational, not the irrational in religion. But gradually, I have come to accept that the two can coexist. And I don't even have to be sweaty to see it.