Yesterday I had an hour free before I had to pick up the kids from school. I finished my errands early and tried to decide whether to jump into a design magazine that would turn my mind into consumer jelly or pop by the Buddhist Center nearby. I had my eye on the Center for about a year and it seemed laughable that I’d never gone in.

Ironically it is the same center (different location) that a friend took me to in 1992 when I had a life crisis and needed help. There I learned to chant nam myoho renge kyo and quiet the bear inside me (or at least that’s what I used to say). I’m not exactly sure how I drifted away from the practice or even why. I recall being intimidated by Gongyo (it went so fast and I felt so awkward) but was that feeling strong enough to tear me away from chanting too? (And what was my bear doing now I wondered.)

Perhaps this same fear is what kept me sitting outside the Center in my car yesterday, just staring and wondering. It felt like I was going on my first blind date at a restaurant I’ve never been to. Was I at the right place? Would I know who he was? Would I like the food? What did it look like inside? Somehow the unknown kept me at bay like a child staring at a toy store that had closed ten minutes prior.

I never went in. I got an important call that took me in another direction. Wasn’t the right time I guess. Lately I’ve had the strong desire to find a spiritual outlet, a home if you will. Both for me and the kids. I raised them with a Golden Rule mentality, but no focused religion or group to call our own. These days (and after reading Eat, Pray, Love) I feel called to share my beliefs and values with others and move toward a greater spiritual connection. But how?

It’s been decades since I came to the realization that Catholicism didn’t speak my language. The ritual is one thing, but my heart is another. I was raised by two strict Roman Catholic parents who counted on my being Catholic. Shortly after my dad passed away, it all kind of fell to pieces. Since the mass reminded my mother of my father, most Sundays were spent in tears and painful regurgitations of his death. When I tried to attend mass as an adult, I finally listened to the words, not just go through the motions. It wasn’t for me.

That is how religion/ spirituality has been with me over the years. I sit in the stands watching (and admiring) from a distance, but never getting up close and personal. What do I think I’ll find if I go searching? Why so much fear? I’ve come so far lately- finding my voice, opening up to a new awareness, tapping into a newfound sense of courage and honesty. Perhaps tomorrow I will take a deep breath, open my mind and just walk right in.