When a Bump on the Head is Not Just a Bump on the Head

When a Bump on the Head is Not Just a Bump on the Head

As the peeling painted wooden garage door came crashing down on my head in the spring of 1976, a spiritual journey was the farthest thing from my mind.   Mostly I was thinking:  What a stupid klutz!  And, How could my husband not know that the rusted spring needed changing?  And, Gosh I really hope I’m not permanently injured! 

Little did I know as I lay there writhing in pain, that this blow to my head would catapult my life into a new direction:  A Serious Spiritual Quest.   

This bonk-on-the-head-moment occurred about the same time I had begun, or actually re-begun, my interest in spirituality.  What seemed like “just an accident” and inconsequential, ended up being my final wakeup call.  I couldn’t ignore the inner shifts I’d been resisting for years:  I could finally, completely, trust the direction my life was heading (no pun intended) and embark on teaching others. 

Throughout most of my life I was a seeker, relentlessly delving for spiritual information and truth.  As a child, I pressed my mother with my spiritual concerns (“What happens when we die?”; “Is there really a God?”), driving her crazy with my non-stop interrogation.  Yet, no matter what questions I asked or how much I begged, I never got answers that satisfied my cosmic-sized hunger for The Answers.

My parents were non practicing Jews born in America of Russian immigrants.  They were highly educated, so it was drummed into me that logical thinking is the only sensible way to live.  No room for anything that didn’t pass the litmus test of Rational Reality.  My parents’ valiant attempt to give me left brain answers to my deep questions about life only took me so far.  I didn’t know exactly what I wanted but I did know I was still feeling famished.    

There were two incidents indicative of my insatiable desire to understand life on a spiritual level.  First, when I was about ten years old, I began a full-on campaign to convince my parents to let me convert to Catholicism.  At first they thought I was kidding, but I persisted.  They tried logic:  “Royce, you are Jewish and you are a child and you cannot possibly convert!”  It was impossible for them to understand why in the world I would want to make that change, thinking it outright absurd.  No matter how many times I explained that I just loved the ceremonial aspect of that religion versus what I perceived as the stark heaviness of Judaism, the posh beauty of the churches, the joyous singing, the ceilings painted with dizzying gilded angels, they thought I was crazy.  Understandably so.  Looking back on it now, I know I was just craving that intangible spiritual feeling I just couldn’t put into words.

A few years later during the beginning of my hormonally challenging adolescence, I was in the car with my parents on a daytrip to San Diego.  My father drove in silence, his gaze steady on the road.  I sat brooding in the back seat, resenting having to spend time with anyone other than friends. 

 

Somehow my mother and I got into a heated discussion about religion and God.  My mother, the intellectual, was as un-spiritual as you can get.  Desperately wanting to make sure I didn’t go too far askew in my developing life’s philosophy, she insisted that she believed in God, even though she hadn’t had any personal experience that would prove His existence.  This ostensibly ridiculous notion threw me over the edge of illogic and into the realm of utter frustration.  We bantered back and forth, me posing skeptical questions as to how she could possibly have faith in something she couldn’t see or touch.  I mocked her by throwing back some of the logic-laced words I had been raised to worship, but she was relentless.  Her responses did nothing but make my own developing cynical mind bristle. 

Out came words that, to this day, still come up at family dinners when we all need a good guffaw.  “Well,” I said, hands on my beginning-to-be-womanly hips, mouth in a petulant stance, in full pre-teenage drama, “I swear to God I’m an atheist!”  There was a three second pause to see if I realized what I had actually proclaimed, and if I had actually meant it.  Since it was so spontaneous and riddled with such frustration, I didn’t quite get the humor of it until both my parents burst out laughing. Duh!  I joined in and we all roared with laughter until our sides ached, an infrequent family event during that period of fierce teenage confusion.

 

My innocent outburst was a clear statement about who I was becoming:  One who questions things that others seem able to easily accept without thought.  Things that the masses hold sacred.  Faith-based notions held no validity to my logical mind.

 

Certainly not knowing it then, as I sat huffily in the back seat, I was already knee deep in experiencing a spiritual Truth:  “Thou Protesteth Too Loudly!”  Who I was swearing it all to was God.   

 

Years later, when I started personally experiencing the undeniable presence of a Universal spiritual energy as well as my connection to it, I remembered that moment of angst.  My demand for Truth, my frustration at what I perceived as unfounded conviction, was ultimately was the Gift that threw me into the Biggest Journey of my life.  

 

Excerpted from Royce’s upcoming book:  “Know”

Royce Morales is the founder of Perfect Love Awakening, an “Inner Makeover” spiritual center in South Redondo Beach where you can uncover the life you were born to live.  www.placlasses.org

She and her husband Michael are the owners of Harmony Works, an eco-fabulous shop selling meaningful creations for your soul.  1705 S. Catalina Avenue in the Riviera Village of South Redondo Beach.  www.harmony-works.com