Never Make an Impression at Church

I have to remember to wear a bra.  I’m going to the church where people hug—a lot—,and I will be hugged by all shapes and sizes.  If I don’t wear a bra, there will be two lasting impressions—not only because it’s really cold inside every single building in the south during the summer—but also because I’m from Texas and don’t need AC to be below 75 degrees—anywhere, anytime.  After the hugging, I wouldn’t want for the impressions to last too long and get in the way of the minister’s message.

 I try to think about things like that.  It wouldn’t be good if I was the reason that someone didn’t pay attention, didn’t get the message about growing and nurturing their spiritual seeds -> was mean to someone at work -> lost his job or was impatient in traffic -> got in a car wreck -> hurt someone.  I can’t take on all of that, so I pull the restraints around my shoulders and accept the donning of this prop one more day of the week.  (I think the need for small-breasted women to wear bras is false marketing from “Them” and “They” who have been negligent naysayers since the dawning of human consciousness; however, we’re stuck with their subliminal messages until someone hunts down the Them-They twins and wags the forefinger at them, giving them what-for.)

Needless to say, I don’t think I need a bra because I’ve never had a baby and still have my teen—size breasts, which is okay with me because I can sleep on my belly (which gives me bags under my eyes), can go surfing (which would be great if I lived near the ocean), and can hug someone closer to my heart than someone with >C size breasts (which isn’t as snuggly of a hug as a DD one).  With all of the pros and cons weighed, I think I need to go to church to ask God why I didn’t get bigger breasts.  I’ll add this to my list of things for monkey mind to investigate when the rest of the me(s) are emptying out the week’s thoughts. 

I learned how to meditate when Ex#3 and I moved to SoCal.  Being the daughter of a wanna-be minister, I had too many religious non-sequitors bouncing off of the sides of my mind’s globe.  Despite my desire to be a missionary when I was in high school, I had mostly given up on speaking to God by the time I reached college and immediately after the second day of my Psy of Women class.  See, it’s not so simple that I can press all of the relationship dynamics into one of those 25₵ gumball machine plastic containers and say that it’s about being rejected by Christ(ians) for being gay.   After a series of not understanding most of everything, I had given up having conversations with God unless I wanted to discuss the injustices of the world which were directly affecting me at that very moment.  Whether God cares about me or not, it’s never beneficial to have a relationship with any other being where the only conversation is, “I showed up to chew you out.”  Right? 

About 7 years ago, Ex#3 and I started a new life together in SoCal.  We found a Unity church which was open to pseudo-psychic lesbians like me.  There, we met people who attended all kinds of spiritual gatherings.  That New Year’s Eve, we went to Laguna Beach and chanted/meditated with a couple hundred Hindus.  I was hopped up on cold medicine and the entire experience was so surreal that I’m pretty sure I saw Ganesh dancing with a long colorful scarf.  Anyhoo, in SoCal, I learned how to talk to God without debating the too familiar dogma because during meditation there isn’t much my monkey mind or ego can question.

It’s a good thing that I have this practice in my life because I’ll have to do it here, today.  In typing up these thoughts—and stopping to make sourdough French toast with maple syrup crusted banana slices and fresh cantaloupe on the side—I’ve lost track of time and there’s no way I’m going to be dressed before they shut the chapel doors.  I won’t have to imprison the girls but the Levis will have to come off because I’ve got to get out in the yard and trim the spreading, sprawling ivy.  Good for me that God is everywhere because I’m not going to hear the message that will nurture my spiritual seeds.  The other thing I’ll miss is the people and their ever-enduring hugging.  If you missed this kind of morning too, go out and hug a straight person today and whisper to your mind’s eye, “We are all one…until someone builds a shuttle for the planet without bras.”