The Man, The Bear, and The Divine Feminine

Just to bring the three people who haven’t heard about the man and the bear up to speed:

A woman on social media asked her husband if he would rather have their daughter alone in the woods with a bear or a man. You can see his tortured thought process in the brief video. What kind of man? Can I pick the man? How far away is the bear? When his wife shifts the question to whether he would want his daughter in the woods with a bear or a woman, he doesn’t hesitate — “A woman.”

The internet has erupted with this conversation, and women are saying a LOT:

  • “Now you know why we walk to our car with our keys between our fingers like wolverine claws.”
  • “The bear won’t try to convince me he’s a friend before he attacks me.”
  • “At least people won’t question whether I led the bear on or dressed too provocatively.”

Men also have a few things to say, but their defensiveness often proves the point. One meme shows a cartoon man walking away from a woman being mauled by a bear and saying, “Hey, you chose the bear.” That’s not quite the flex the meme creator believes it is. Implying that women should be mauled for seeing you as a danger makes you . . . dangerous.

But this question really isn’t about men. It’s about maleness, and more specifically, toxic masculinity. It’s about years of patriarchy, both social and religious, that have created an extreme imbalance of energy. It’s about the way we belittled and buried the necessary qualities of feminine energy — gentleness, intuition, non-hierarchical collaboration, receptivity, nurturing — and emphasized the masculine energy — leadership, assertiveness, power, strength, protection.

It’s important to remember that female and feminine are not synonymous. In the same way that my Aries nature often causes me to express as an assertive and strong woman, many men I know excel in following their intuition and nurturing those around them. Those men in touch with their feminine energies seem remarkably silent in the man-and-bear debate. It’s almost as if . . . they get it.

In religious circles, the slow recognition of the need for more divine feminine energy has sometimes led to a placebo that seems to have an effect for a time but doesn’t really heal. I’m talking about women in leadership. The answer to so many well-intentioned religious organizations who want to balance patriarchal energy is to put more women in leadership. But, if those women have been steeped in the same masculine soup of traditional religiosity, they are likely to perpetuate the divine masculine because they have learned that’s how you survive and succeed.

Eastern religions have long revered the divine feminine. Perhaps that is why their popularity in the West has grown so impressively over the past several decades. People may not always be able to put it into words, but when droves run from a religion that systematically reduced the role of women, Mary Magdalene in particular, and move toward wisdom traditions with goddesses and yin-yang balance, it seems a connection could be made to the yearning for balance.

You see, the real question is bear or toxic masculinity, and we’d all be better off with the bear, women and men alike.

And for those men who don’t know how to respond to the man v. bear question, here’s a suggestion: Don’t. Just listen. Acknowledge that women are generally terrified of toxic masculinity. And work to balance your feminine energy so you’re the Gentle Ben who would protect those around you.

Why Interfaith

Interfaith is a term that can be used in two distinct ways: first, interfaith can mean, and usually does mean, when people from different religious traditions join together for a common purpose. This is big. This means that people who identify with a religion that is probably more than just a religion — it is probably also culture and family and possibly even geopolitical ideology — decide to love and welcome and interact with and respect people of other faiths.

But there is another way to define interfaith, and it’s the one with which I most resonate. For me, interfaith is not just appreciating other traditions, but dipping into them as I feel called, creating my own syncretic faith, which, truth be told, is ultimately what we all do to varying degrees.

Picking one great wisdom tradition to claim as a sole identity would be like tilling a half-acre garden and then planting only marigolds. It would be like fielding a Super Bowl team with 11 running backs. It would be like trying to write a great symphony using only B-flat.

From Buddhism, I learn zen and mindfulness. From Judaism, I learn history and tradition. From Islam, I learn reverence and devotion. From Hinduism, I learn true yoga and the wisdom of non-duality. From paganism, I learn to honor the earth and recognize my place on it. From Christianity, I learn compassion and grace. From atheism, I learn respect for science and reason. From Sikhism, I learn service and kirtan worship. From Baha’i, I learn unity and peace.

Should I go on? Because I could. So many gifts from so many sources — how could I ever choose one?

Being a minister from this perspective means that no matter what spiritual identity a person claims, I will hold space for hope and divine connection on their behalf, offer my support for their journey regardless of which path they are on, and rejoice in their spiritual evolution, even if it looks nothing like my own. I will love Jesus with them and chant the name of Shiva with them and revere the Prophet with them. I will pray for them, meditate with them, light a candle for them, or sage them. I will accept them fully even as I am accepted fully by the One Supreme Being with whom I have my most precious relationship.

What a beautiful and glorious work is that to which I have been called. I live in a state of wonderment and delight that the Divine has entrusted me with this sacred task.

Peace be unto you. Om.

The Bluejay

John William Hill, “The Dead Bluejay,” watercolor, 1865
I saw him on the bench
as I pulled into the carport,
a bluejay, on his back,
pencil-lead feet curled
around a ghost perch.

I took my dinner inside
to eat before it got cold
and to give the bluejay
a chance to rouse if
it was only a stunning.

It was not.

Satiated,
I went to the shed,
got the shovel, then thought twice,
and got two shovels.

With one flat at the bluejay's edge,
the other tipped him onto the metal --
I feel it was a him --
bluejays so often seem more
they/them.

I suppose I could have
thrown him in the woods.
But I didn't.
I took him to the spot
where I dump yard trash --
not trash trash, yard trash --
sticks and weeds and the
dried husks of hanging
baskets I forgot to water.

I dug a grave, a shallow grave,
no more than six inches.
I was tired, and my full belly
didn't care for so much activity.
But, still, I dug a grave.

I put the body of the bluejay
in the hole and stood for a moment.
Should I say something?
I didn't know what.
I just looked at him,
saw him, stayed with him
in that moment.

It took just two heaping
shovels of dirt to secure
him in his final rest,
and I thought,
I wonder if he knows that
every time I take yard trash
to this spot, I will
think of him.
He will be remembered.
HIs grave will be visited.
He will be mourned.

I took my shovels back to the shed
and only then did I think of my father,
placed into a cremation oven
before I could see his face
one last time,
buried in a jar that sits
on my stepmother's mantel,
I suppose,
or was he scattered
in the mountains?
No one ever told me.

I have no grave to visit,
no headstone to decorate,
no symbolic point where
his memory lives on demand.

His voice fades a little every day.
His smell, I can almost . . .
not quite.
His laugh, the music of his laugh,
dying away.
And I don't know where to go
to bring any of it back
even for a moment.

So,
I named the bluejay
"David."


How Hinduism Made Me Love Jesus Again

The first Hindu I met was Mahatma Gandhi.  Actually, it was Ben Kingsley in the epic 1982 Richard Attenborough film Gandhi.  I was a senior in high school, and the life of the man who was arguably the most important worldwide figure of the 20th century was, for all rights and purposes, beyond me.  But I remember one statement made in the film and by the actual Gandhi himself: “I like your Christ; I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” 

Little did I know that hearing that sentence may well have been the first step of my thousand-mile deconstruction journey.  For the next several decades, I would lean farther and farther away from the fundamental, evangelical, protestant Christianity of my childhood and deeper and deeper into the freeing, expansive, profound spirituality I came to realize was ultimately Advaita Vedanta, a.k.a. Sanatana Dharma, a.k.a. Hinduism. 

The religion I left behind was a set of rigid beliefs. Because of that rigidity, it only took one question, one moment of doubt, one raised eyebrow to bring the whole shebang tumbling down. There was great serendipity in the church’s homophobia — it broke the chain binding my questioning mind. 

The spirituality I embraced was a direct experience of Divine Presence.  Advaita Vedanta is the spiritual path of non-dualism.  Rather than a God who is Thou and a me who is pathetically crawling toward the cross, nondualism recognizes the Oneness of all creation, the Unity of all life.  On this path, God is not a being you seek or invite in — She is already there, in you, in me, in all of us, . . . the very life of all of us. 

As I began to know a few more Hindus, I met some who actually keep a picture of Jesus on their home altar right next to their statue of Krishna.  I began to realize that what Gandhi had said all those years back was a fairly common opinion. Hindus had no trouble with Jesus. In fact, many Hindus deeply love Jesus. The Hindu mystic and teacher Ramakrishna even placed Jesus into the Hindu pantheon in the 1870s. This non-restrictive acceptance of any worthy guru opened the door for my own reconsideration.  

I began to read the gospels again through Hindu eyes. I began to see the nondualism of Jesus so clearly.  How had we missed it?  If “the Father and I are one” and “you will do greater things than I have done,” then the Father and this I were one also; the Mother and I shared the same DNA.  Jesus didn’t come to set himself apart; his entire life was one of connection, compassion, and oneness. Considered away from the rigid set of beliefs, I began to see him anew.  

The French poet and writer Charles Pe’guy (1873 – 1914) wrote that “Everything begins in mysticism and ends in politics.” The Benedictine monk David Steindl-Rast (1926 – ) paraphrased it more directly: “Every religion begins in mysticism and ends in politics.” 

The church of my youth has turned into a political force.  But Jesus started it all in mysticism, and that was the Jesus I learned to love again. Not as a Christian. Not even as a Hindu. But as a devotee of Oneness.  

Just like him.