When I was young—between the ages of 6 & 17—I was adopted by and raised by a fundamentalist Baptist family. By the time I was 17, though, not only was I rebelling against my parents, I was literally choking on religion.
My father, Kenneth Walters, never seemed to take his faith seriously, and only went along—I believe—to keep my mother, Marcella, happy. My mother, however, was, it seemed, baptized in fire.
At 17, I had already decided that I knew what was best for myself, and the church—especially the Baptist version—didn’t fit my plans for my future self. In order to bring a degree of “secular sanity” to my world, I decided I had had enough, and left home.
Skip ahead forty or so years, and my perception of my spirituality had begun to change, to morph into something entirely unexpected. My inner voice—whispering all along, but unattended by my conscious mind—began whispering urgently, if not louder.
Skip ahead another 20 years or so, and I was now as deep into spiritualism as anyone could be. Meditation, prayer, spiritual studies—you name it—all became important practices in my daily routine.
Now, at 75, turning 76 this month, I have come full circle—and not because I’m drawing close to my own death. I’ve developed a close relationship with my best friend—even though we live an hour away from each other—and with my cats, Billie & Banjo, who I love dearly.
Not to “beat a dead horse,” as they say, but my spiritual sensibilities are more profound now than they have ever been. I find I have been seeking a greater awareness of God/Mother Earth, and all her creations.
I’m discovering great beauty in life, with all its wrinkles and folds. And, if that’s not religion, I don’t know squat.
Frank Walters Clark
