I grew up in the Episcopal Church. I believe my parents chose that for us because members of my father’s family were Anglican. As it turned out, they all stopped going after a year or so, but I continued by myself.

Every Sunday when I came home, my father and I sat at the dining room table to discuss what the lesson was in Sunday school.  He would ask me what they taught me that it meant.  Then he would suggest that perhaps it could have a different meaning and then share his.  Finally, he would ask me what I thought it meant.  After sharing my thoughts, he always told me that what I thought was the most important thing.

The Episcopal Church is like that.  Each of us might have a different slant on meanings and most of the time we do not really share them with each other.  We find comfort in our own interpretation.

At some point in time, my child’s mind created a holy family of Father, Son and the last, Holy Spirit, the Mother. I knew even as a child that every living creature has a mother. I am aware that the Church as a whole does not think of the Holy Spirit as being female, but historically the Holy Spirit, the grammatical gender of the word for “spirit” is feminine in Hebrew (רוּחַ, rūaḥ).  All words in Hebrew ending in “ah” were considered feminine words. I do confess, that in my heart of hearts, I know that the Holy Spirit is the Mother of God.

I grew up outside. My early childhood was spent exploring the foothills of the San Bernadino Mountains and my summers were spent on the beach and in the Pacific Ocean.  Water was my element. I learned to body surf at the age of four and found incredible freedom in the water, floating, swimming and riding the waves.

It was only natural that my spiritual path became focused on the natural world. The love of nature, combined with the gift of magical thinking, handed down to me from my parents, created who I am today.

It seemed so right that my spiritual path diverted, and all emphasis was now focused on the divine feminine.  At the age of forty-five I knew that I would spend the rest of my life, helping women find their own power and to learn to be one with all things on this Earth where we live.

I live in an apartment complex for seniors, built by an Episcopal Church forty years ago.  Because members of that church are involved in activities here, I got to know them and their priest. Because I really like them and love how their Church is involved in amazing outreach into the community, I decided to go visit.  My visits have now turned into being fully involved there. That involvement has lifted the spirit of love in my heart. I have found a spiritual community where I belong.  Not a bad thing at the age of 82.

I am still Her Priestess – still working with women, still loving all the many goddesses that assist us in being all that we can be. Still a mystic. Still a believer in magic. That will not ever change.