Archive | Essays

Water and Wind, Fire and Father

I love channeling people’s best selves–which is all a soul really is–and I love charting people’s baby and big steps as they sometimes awkwardly, sometimes gracefully move into their true lives. But I’m not especially good at promoting my practice. Instead, I’m an old Jewish-Soux-Scot workhorse who does what needs to be done with as much joy and humor as possible, and somehow those who need me find me.

Today, as is the case most Fridays and Sundays, I had clients, and what amazed me most amazes me on every day of readings: Listening to the wind is all it really takes to help people find their way. This is especially true because it is Candlemas, the midpoint of winter solstice and spring equinox. Today Jesus offered himself to the temple while his beautiful mother Mary renewed herself with divine feminine love. In Celtic tradition, this is also known as Imbolic, Brigid’s festival of the holy well and the sacred flame; in other mythologies, it is the beginning of the end of hibernation. So what am I saying? That showing up is half the miracle. The other is breathing and trusting as you do.

Take my father Bernard Harvey, who celebrates his 76th birthday today. Since retiring from a life of math and science—he belongs to one of this country’s first generations of computer programmers–he’s delved into the world of arts and languages. He’s taught himself Spanish. He’s studied guitar and written his own songs. He’s even formed a punk rock band whose tracks are virulently anti-Trump. Apropos for a Candlemas baby, he’s using his personal winter to emerge from hibernation. With the clever latent magic of the water-bearer, he does not believe but still somehow knows. So do you. Come find me and I’ll show you how.

The Church of Ruby Sales’ Radical Love

Today I had the great honor of witnessing legendary freedom fighter Ruby Sales talk with Middle Collegiate Church Reverend Dr. Jacqui Lewis in a Q&A entitled “Redeem the Soul of America.” On the docket: Martin Luther King Jr., the SNCC, #blacklivesmatter, the spiritual void of racist capitalism, the colonization of African-American music, and the history of patriarchal white supremacy in the GOP. Miss Ruby took us on such a profound 90-minute journey that it’s impossible to enumerate all her points—she’s against social media-sized reductions, anyway (read books! she said)— but one statement rings in my ears. “I’m not about breaking glass ceilings. I’m about building a new roof.” Listen to this clip of her revolutionary love here.

Why ‘The Exorcist’ Haunts Us Still

I first saw “The Exorcist” when I was 13 and home alone. This, of course, was a mistake. By the time Mike Oldfield’s iconic “Tubular Bells” ran over the credits, I knew I’d never sleep that night, or possibly ever again. But it was not just the circumstances in which I viewed this film that made it so terrifying. Forty-five years after its release, the adaptation of William Peter Blatty’s 1971 eponymous novel is still the most horrific of all horror movies, complete with a tween whose head spins backward.

It’s a dark miracle that it was even made. At the time of publication, the book seemed unlikely to ever achieve a mass audience, let alone be adapted into the ninth highest grossing film of all time (when adjusted for inflation). Until then, Blatty, who also authored the screenplay, was best known as the comedy screenwriter who’d given us the Inspector Clouseau mystery “A Shot in the Dark.” A devout Catholic, he’d fictionalized a Jesuit priest’s account of a 1949 exorcism, but even his fancy Hollywood credentials couldn’t save it from being sent back to the publisher in droves. Only when a mysterious set of flukes landed him on the Dick Cavett Show for a full 45 minutes did the “The Exorcist” catapult to the New York Times best-seller list. It remained there for 57 weeks. Continue Reading →

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy