Title: The Temple
of All Knowing
Author: Lee Papa
Publisher: WaveCloud Corporation
Pages: 186
Genre: Memoir
Format: Paperback/Kindle
Author: Lee Papa
Publisher: WaveCloud Corporation
Pages: 186
Genre: Memoir
Format: Paperback/Kindle
The Temple of
All Knowing is a memoir of
one woman’s passage from personal and professional turmoil to spiritual
awakening. A compelling straight forward and sometimes humorous account of the
most personal of journeys as this 40-something woman finds herself in Sin City
with promise of a new life, new husband and elderly mother living with her. She
instead is uncovered as a central character in the deepest of possible
challenges only to break through to discover her authentic spiritual self
through a near death experience and a personal mission in Soul City – Las Vegas.
The phone rang;
it was Delphine. It was a Sunday afternoon early 2008. I took the call and
moved to the denim-covered glider that was in my 3-year old son’s room to have
the conversation.
My sister calling was not odd, but
she opened with “Can you talk? I have an urgent message from Aunt
Beatrice.”
My sister practices meditation in
which she regularly communicates with Spirit beings and our dead
relatives. In everyday conversation, Delphine would mention things like, “I
spoke to Dad or Uncle John …” (both had passed), and relate a story or an
emotional healing process she went through while receiving the communication. I
thought this was amazing and believed in the possibility, when Delphine, or De
for short, would discuss this other worldly messaging.
I
would find myself having an internal dialogue debating if she was actually
making this connection or was she delusional. When she would speak of something
that she “received” from the Spirit world, and I would come to realize she
could not have otherwise known, a fleeting twinge of jealousy peaked in the
window of my subconscious. Could she really be speaking with Dad and Aunt Bea?
And if she is, how come SHE is the one with this ability? I was not proud of
it, but I was most definitely questioning the decision of the Universe to have
Delphine be the messenger of heaven.
My sister was not the one of the
three of us girls whom you would consider to be the “good” one or the most
religious growing up, but actually to the contrary. She would have been
described as the Bull in the China Shop by my mother, as the one most apt to
finger point or cause trouble. Sophia, the eldest, had the first born light
shining upon her by my mother and father, even though, she was what some would
consider a problem child for she pushed the envelope of life in so many ways.
Her antics included jumping out of the 2nd story building of our private high
school to skipping class and developing the first female tackle football team
in her teenage years, to much more complicated and explorative behaviors that
provided my parents with reasons to call on prayer and saintly assistance.
Delphine was the quiet one as the
middle child of our youth, until she found her voice later in her teens. She
was often over-shadowed by the exuberance and manipulation of Sophia when she
was being used as a co-conspirator for our eldest sister’s secretive escapades
of the 1970s. When I came around, my
role of the “baby of the family” was not always appreciated by my older
sisters, and as I matured, the less they liked this pedestal I was propped up
on as “the good one.”
How is she doing it? I thought. How is De getting these messages
from Aunt Bea?
My elderly Aunt Bea had died more
than 10 years earlier while in the presence of my mother, my sister, Delphine,
one of my older female cousins, and me in the living room of our family home. I
had lived in that house from the time I was born until I got married to my
first husband, Anthony, at age 20.
Our house was a 3 bedroom, middle
class row home in Baltimore
City, Maryland. The 12 by 12 foot front room,
where I grew up and where we watched TV programs on the console television that
offered just three major stations for your viewing enjoyment. Although the room
was small, when we were little and the family piled in to watch Sonny &
Cher, it felt huge. As the entry room to our family home, I experienced
most of my fond memories there. This is where we opened our Christmas gifts
under our decorated 5-foot Frasier fir tree that stood seemingly tall, as if it
could reach the stars on a wooden platform, to set the stage for this holiday
focal point. In reality, the Christmas tree was no taller than the height I
currently stand.
Christmas was a very special time in
our Catholic family. Not overly religious, mind you, but the whole Santa Clause
phenomenon was beautifully orchestrated with all the mystery and wonder that a
child could hope to receive. The Christmas tree was secretly stored in the
basement well of the stairs until we kids were all asleep and then my parents
would work through the night to make a spectacular show of lights and
hand-wrapped presents from old paper bags and twine adorned with our names
scribbled on by “elves.” This was a tradition handed down from my mother’s
family who grew up during the depression and fancy wrapping paper was a luxury.
Christmas was magical!
After my parents would signal that
Santa had indeed arrived, my sister Sophia and I would rush down the stairs to
witness the light show of the tree, and we would tear through our presents
leaving no time for individual gift lingering. Delphine, on the other hand, was
not so quick; instead, she would slowly and methodically use her scissors to
gently unwrap each gift with all the appreciation of an unwrapped Tiffany blue
box that none of us had ever experienced. Later as we became adults, Delphine
would prop herself preciously on the couch, and while filing her nails, would
direct me to the spots on the tree that were missing lights and Christmas
balls.
This is the same living room where
my nature-loving father would let our hamster out of the cage while directing
us three children to lie on the floor and make a circular barrier with our
arms. That little chubby, furry rodent was a family pet, and we loved him. My
dad loved animals, so we had a bunch of them from Dutch rabbits, to hamsters,
cats, and frogs - but never a dog. My mother was afraid of dogs. The hamster
outing was strategically orchestrated during the time of my mother’s weekly
visit to the Farmers Market in downtown Baltimore across from the corner row house where
she grew up, and where several of her sisters still lived. Mom would not have
tolerated such nonsense and activity on her prized oriental rug. This was the
room where my Aunt Bea allowed me to lie down on the sofa when I was a child,
and she would stroke my head and rub my back until I would fall asleep. She had
such a loving and confident manner. I always felt safe with her.
My mother’s side of the family was
the most involved and influential in our lives, especially Aunt Bea. She was
the family matriarch, our lifeline and leader. She was loving,
intelligent, strong, certainly had her opinions, some may say controlling ones,
but if it weren’t for her emotional and financial support, we and her sisters’
and brother’s families would not have had as many essentials provided for and
certainly not any niceties.
She was a savvy businesswoman, so
deferring to her made sense. For her era, Aunt Bea was super cool and open
minded, rising to heights in her profession at C&P Telephone Company when
women were just starting to be acknowledged in the workforce. She was a
petite woman with an incredible sense of style and pep in her step that oozed
confidence and excitement for the possibilities of life. It also made it
difficult to walk with her as she was down the block before you had taken your
first step. Aunt Bea never married, but made her siblings’ families her own.
Sometimes the involvement would have been considered today as “too much.” There
is usually a price to pay when you are being rescued. But I loved her and I
thought she was amazing, just as my mother did.
Aunt Bea was my mother’s best friend.
Aunt Bea believed in reincarnation
before it was an accepted concept to consider openly, as this was the 1950s and
60s when my sisters and I were born. We were raised in a devout Catholic
family, and such things were not dinner topics, nor was it on our radar at that
time.
As easily as it was for me to pull
up these cherished memories, it was the hope and promise that communication
could continue from beyond death.
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