I can barely remember any religion when I was growing up in Los Angeles. I do remember that my mom was kicked out of Saint Mel's for some reason, so my brother and I stopped going to CCD after like, one or two weeks. But I don't think she was embarrassed by it. That was back in the early 70s. I never associated religion with any of my childhood friends. I did go to a bar mitzvah, so I knew about being Jewish vs being Catholic. It felt the same to me. I took communion a few times. Then I barely thought about religion for about a decade. I did like being in nature though. Camping and such. And I liked nothing more than surfing. It felt miraculous. The perfect combination of joy, being by yourself, and the science of it all. But I was never really alone. There was a camaraderie. I had the world. My college roommate took a class called Cultural Traditions. That got me thinking. But I was really into beers and smoking weed and tripping and dancing and connecting with that inner joy. The same feeling I'd get at Malibu. The singular all comforting bliss of being. Not of the self but of the whole. Light in the head and warm in the heart. These people I would meet on the dance floor were into yoga and meditation. So I read about the Buddha and Taoism. I started my asana journey with Lilias on PBS. I began chanting in Santa Monica. And by the time I moved to NYC in 1995 I realized there were 600 languages spoken in the city and 4,000 religions in the world. And then I would go to a bar and smoke a joint and find a dance floor. I would raise my hands in the air and smile in the knowing that this right here is everything. This world beat. This community. This love. 

Church.

⌘