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Spirituality, unlike religion, cannot be easily classified. By its very nature, it has no fixed doctrine. It is both universal, coming from a source of spiritual light that fills the entire cosmos; and it is personal, as each one of us gives it a unique flavour. Yet we can also see people drawn to expressions of spirituality that share much in common.
As we awaken our spirituality, we may be buzzing with questions, full of mixed emotions, unsure which direction to go in. How can we develop our spirituality with all its gifts and challenges in ways that are as surefooted and true to ourselves as they can be?
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I am sitting in a circle with about a dozen others in a room. I notice none of us have distinct faces but rather visors like the helmets on space suits. There was someone seated at some distance on a golden throne. Although we appeared to be an anonymous group, each one of us had an individual contribution to make. We had a particular energy, like the cord of a harp or a lyre. These were being plucked like a musical instrument. In a way I did not understand - or need to understand – it was part of a kind of cosmic orchestra that guided the evolution of the universe.
Stereotypically politics is seen as 'dirty' and spirituality as 'pure'. For some, they seem to inhabit separate worlds. Yet for spirituality to have a tangible impact on our society and politics to be constructive, they both need each other.
The Cathars were probably the most serious threat to the Catholic Church's hold over people's faith during the Middle Ages. Their spiritual movement stretched from the Languedoc region of southern France, across Italy and eastwards to their original homeland, Bulgaria, where they were known as Bogomils.
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'Love' has been a much used, if not over used, word over the centuries and at times we can wonder if it has been drained of much of its meaningful content. Here we explore three ways in which it has a real meaning, based on the experiences of our contributors.
I have always loved trees. The gnarled trunk of an oak, the quirky baobab, the aristocratic redwood, the thorny resilience of an acacia. I love the smell of the forest, the fullness of its silence. Except that it isn’t silent. It’s not even still. Beneath my feet, the trees are “talking” to each other via interlinked roots, their fine hairs integrated into a complex fungal network that permeates the entire environment. These interlaced pathways allow the trees to share nutrients, alert each other to danger, and even help those who fall prey to disease
Each one of us may have a sacred memory kept in our hearts, something we will always treasure. These are deeply personal and unique to us: maybe a special moment in time, someone we loved, a spiritual awakening. Yet we also hold memories collectively, down through the ages: either as humanity as a whole or as groups of souls who share experiences of other worlds and times. Exploring these memories, many of which may lie beyond our everyday human consciousness, brings us to a deeper awareness of our rich spiritual history. We start where religious tradition says humanity started, in the Garden of Eden.
At Spirit of the Rainbow we seek to be both intellectuality rigorous and open to our intuitive senses. These can complement each other in bringing a light to our spiritual exploration as we delve into ancient mysteries.
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Spirit of the Rainbow has at its core the experience of oneness. Our shared humanity comes before any call upon our loyalty such as those of our country or religion. Translating that idea into action is a challenge we all face. This is the story of one of our contributors, Pliny, in taking up that challenge in working with refugees.
Throughout history there have been attempts to build the kingdom of heaven on earth. Some have been religious: in the mid-17th century Britain, radical groups like the Diggers and True Levellers sought to create an egalitarian paradise of “community in spirit and community in earthly treasury”. One of their leaders, Gerrard Winstanley, wrote “that everyone would share in the fruits of their labour and their love of Christ”.
After living at the homeless hostel for a while, I started looking for somewhere that might nurture me spiritually. One day I came across a centre run by a Christian minister that offered rented accommodation. From its description it seemed very spiritually open. I was hopeful.
I was 49 when I became homeless. I had been a college lecturer, I had a home, an income, everything you would expect from a middle-class professional. And then it all fell apart.