NEVER TO RETURN:
A MODERN QUEST FOR ETERNAL TRUTH
A Multimedia Spiritual Adventure Memoir
by Sharon Janis
Life is a series of awakenings.
– SHIVANANDA
Chapter One
AWAKENING
AT TWO AND A HALF YEARS OF AGE, I discovered the existence of grace. Life was comfortable at the time. My family lived in a small house in a reasonably safe area of Detroit. My sister spoiled me as though I were her personal doll, and our grandmother lived just down the block.
Our folks were not exemplary parent material. One benefit of this circumstance was that it supported my development as a freer spirit. I had a great deal of independence to wander about.
One Sunday, I jumped out of bed early. Everyone else was sleeping, so I unlatched the back door and went to play outside. Our yard was surrounded by a medium-sized fence, which I had recently been eyeing as a possible challenge to overcome. Several times I had even tested the fence out, putting my feet in the holes and pulling myself up off the ground. This time I decided to climb all the way to the top. Carefully, I inched my way hand-by-hand, foot-by-foot, up the fence. Suddenly I was falling, and then landed with a bump on the other side.
Everything shifted. I had never been in this big field before. There was my house, but it was behind the fence. I was not quite ready to repeat the whole process and climb the fence again to get back home. What to do?
To my left I saw a familiar spot, though from a new angle. It was the church that stood two doors down from our house. I didn't know that it was a church or even what a church was, having been brought up without any religious exposure at all.
My sister and I used to play with stones in the church parking lot, which was generally empty of cars. That seemed like a comforting diversion at a confusing time like this, so I walked toward the lot, which was now filled with cars. I heard music coming from the building, and looked up. The windows were glowing with bright colors! I walked over to get a closer view.
As I got to the door, it opened like magic. The entrance to this colored light palace opened right up for me. I wasn't afraid at all. It was kind of like being back in the dream world again. After all, at age two, these two worlds of wakefulness and dream are not so easily distinguished – whatever is happening is what is happening.
As the door opened, I saw a woman's legs and knees, just above my eye-level. With a big smile, she lifted me up and carried me into the room. What a party! The room was filled with pictures, candles, and smiling people dressed in bright colors. It was even better than the birthday parties I'd often attend for the neighborhood kids.
I had been in our backyard, then over the fence, then in the parking lot, and now in this magical place. In my own nonreligious way, it felt as though the "gods" were smiling upon me.
After the party ended, several women gave me a cup of juice and asked what my name was. To their surprise, I gave my full name and address, as well as my parents' names. I told them that my family lived two houses away and that they were still asleep. Even after assuring these women that I knew how to get back home by myself, they kept an eye on me as I walked down the front sidewalk to get back hom.
From then on, I went to this Episcopalian church every Sunday. I never told my parents about it, and at this point can only guess what my motivation may have been for concealing this grand discovery. Maybe I was afraid that if I talked about it, the fun might end. Surprisingly, nobody insisted on speaking to my parents regarding my regular attendance. The church did put our family on their mailing list, but the flyers went unnoticed.
One day, I came home from church wearing a lapel pin with a cross and the words "Jesus Loves Me." That afternoon, my mother saw the pin and asked where it came from. I told her it was from church. She called my father and they took the pin away. They told me I could never go back to that place again, because I was “Jewish,” whatever that meant!
This was a devastating blow to my young psyche. Although I had been upset about not getting my way many times before, this was a more painful frustration. The energy in this church had lifted me to a magical, colorful, and love-filled place, more wonderful than anything else I knew. Now I was not allowed to go there anymore. This was as upsetting as anything else I had encountered during my two-and-a-half years of life.
Nonetheless, I am grateful to have had a chance to enter a place filled with spiritual power at such a young age, especially while growing up in an atheist (though officially Jewish) household. After this glimpse of heaven amidst my daily experience, I always believed in magic. I knew that things could change unfathomably for the better, in the blink of an eye or the opening of a door.
However, the disappointing side of this early experience rippled through my subsequent personality development as well. Whenever I'd discover something really beautiful, precious, and magical, I would often clench my muscles in fear that it would be snatched from me. Or I'd move into a space of aloofness to distance myself, in hopes of numbing the pain of separation that seems to be inevitable with any personal attachment.
A few months later, I turned three, with another surprise on the horizon. All my friends came to our house for the big party, laden with gifts for me. I was the birthday girl. This was the first time my mental structures had really assimilated the concept of “I'm special.” Until this age, I couldn't be special, because I was all there was. Everything else existed only in relation to and within me. But today I felt special – I was queen for the day. I was different and unique, an individual worthy of being celebrated. I was separate, and it felt pretty damn good. The seeds of egocentricity were planted.
While unwrapping my presents, I held up a mirrored toy and saw my own reflection. That was me. Me. I had only recently realized that the face I saw in mirrors was not an imaginary friend. I had sometimes wondered who that little girl was, walking with a lady who looked an awful lot like my mother. Not so very long ago, I had figured out that it was me. Me. I stared into the mirror, entranced by my happy face. As the world and party faded away, I began to think, "I'm three, I'm three, I'm three." Just the other day, my mother had explained to me what three was. I had been one, then two, and now I was three.
I looked at my face in the mirror, and had one of the most startling realizations of my life.
One day. . . I would be five!
What a shock! I would not always be exactly the way I was in that moment. Time slipped its noose around my neck. I realized I was a separate being, locked in a linear world. I was going to keep getting older and older. Change was inevitable. Life would never again be so simple.
CLICK HERE to view a short film of this birthday party, where the main events seem to be eating cake, gift opening, and kissing, ending with this moment of awakening.
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On to Chapter Two
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