Sophianic Religion: Starting from Zero

Setting aside that I'm a Gnostic: would I believe what I believe if I didn't already believe it?

There were, for me, always dragons at the bottom of the garden. I acknowledged, intuitively, that there were kinds of non-ordinary experiences accessible via imagination and play, and that the line between "real" and "imaginary" events was not always a precise distinction. Just as "real" things could have "imaginary" (mythic/psychological) consequences, so too could imaginary experiences impact and manifest in the "real". This is generally frowned upon as "magical thinking"; a derogatory term which collapses two ways:

• "The Secret"-style "wishing makes it so" vapid (and invariably greedy) projection-ism, or
  
• discounted altogether resulting in reductionist nihilism

So the balancing act is to reject both kinds of materialism: magic as a means to an end, and magic as a random chemical event in the brain with no meaning or value. I was always drawn to and liberated by myth. But this path of magical thinking means walking in the verdant strip between two deserts, between flake-ism and radical materialism. It's holding the Mystery. This is not an easy thing to do.

Even just accepting that there IS a Mystery, an "event cloud of non-local phenomena", or x-factor or God, is rather terribly unpopular at the moment. This is more of an issue for those who believe there is a Mystery than those who have experienced that Mystery, but still, it puts one on the spot.

Now if you're born into that Mystery, it's suspect - just as being born into any set of beliefs or perception is suspect. If you convert to Mormonism, it probably means you've asked some deep questions and have found something that resonates with you. If you're born Mormon and still are one, it's unlikely you've done any real thinking for yourself. The exception is walking away from say the Catholic Church, embracing atheism or Satanism or Scientology for a while, and returning to the local Parish upon realizing you may have chucked out the baby with the bathwater.

So what made me "convert" to Gnosticism, and what would I be if there was no "Gnosticism" for me to convert to?

This isn't an easy question, as Gnosticism can't be considered the same as any storefront church. Nobody (well, almost nobody) gets to walk past the local Gnostic bookstore or Gnostic Chapel and say "gee, I wonder what goes on in there?" and get handed a pamphlet. The Gnostic Road is profoundly dissimilar from that of a person who attends an Eastern Orthodox service out of curiosity and really likes all the singing. You have to be hungry to go poking about for Sophia.

And that's just it, isn't it? Her, rather. Even without ever hearing the word Gnosticism, I knew in my bones that the Mystery could be understood as both feminine, and as Wisdom. We live in a world defined by data, and is taking baby steps toward information, but the great flower of all this is and must ultimately be Wisdom. That's what I want.

Her.

So far, no churches, no websites, no mailing lists. Just me, the Mystery, and the icon of Sophia. But where to find Her? Glimpses of Her everywhere, but She is the most apparent in Quiet. In forest. All the tent-revivals and Hallefuckingluiahs in the world just make Her step out until you've calmed down a bit. The observant will note She has a Romantic streak: Pre-Raphaelites and Grail romances and groves and small stone chapels. Shhh. Yes, She can be seen among the jeans and tee shirts, but our Girl does tend to go for the velvets. She's the Otherness, and likes to take a step sideways from the mundane. You have to court Her, follow where She goes. That's part of the paradox (and She's rather fond of those as well); She's everywhere, but She tends to bestow Her gifts in some places and not others.

And if my studies and understanding and gnosis stopped there, that would be enough. To see that shimmer out of the corner of your eye, that glimpse into Faerie that is Her throne – to be a Knight of the Lost Queen. That's enough for me.

And yet there's a further blessing, to not be alone in this. To cross the deep water, you step into a boat – and that's what the church is. That's the "nod", the knowing camaraderie, the in-joke of circus freaks chanting "one of us!". And when I see these siblings-in-arms, I want to celebrate them. Champion them. Take care of them, if I can. This Gnostic stuff is difficult – there's not a "faith" option, a "pray 'n obey" option. It's challenging and trying and alienating and bloody miserable some of the time, truth be told. And my vocation, my calling, is to see if I can't make it a little bit easier for these people. And I fail at this all the time, but I keep going.

There is another thread to this: Not just a community of now but of then; a lineage and succession (you then you then you then you then you...) of others who've known, and serving and honouring that is also fodder for ridicule, for charges of elitism and exclusivity and power-over. Just for recognizing and loving something. Even though my Apostolic Succession does not flow from the "apostles" but from John the Baptist, an archetypal figure who is also Oannes and Dagon and "the mind in the waters". All these old stories, half-remembered poems, kept and broken promises. If I hadn't known this, if I didn't wear a collar and have crosses oiled in palms as per the ancient tradition, I would still be a part of this.

If it all falls away – and it may still – into a sci-fi-con of space reptiles and magic mushrooms and New Agers and Merovingian bloodline-ism, I will still be here. Knowing what know. Loving what I love.

Her. And the Mystery.