From Nihilism to Nirvana (Part 1)

Introduction.

“The devil can cite scripture for his purpose.” ~ William Shakespeare

For the first 27 years of my life, I hated religion. I hated everything about it. How could anyone ever feel comfortable chanting in unison? So you just throw water on somebody and now they’re holy? There's a man in the sky who sent his only son here to die? How does that save me? And from what? I actually don't need “saving,” thank you very much… Witnessing people get caught up in this insanity was upsetting to me. It was unsettling to watch people peddling on city sidewalks, spouting loudly about “our lord and savior Jesus Christ.” They would run up to me as I passed with big smiles on their faces, but something was missing behind their eyes. Growing up, whenever I saw the image of Jesus hanging on the cross, complete with blood on his hands, I was disturbed, and received messages of horrendous guilt. Religion seemed to tell me that I was inherently wrong, bad, and dirty, and that I must force myself into a state of gratitude for a made up deity that seemed as real as a fairy tale - and for a man, for offering himself up to die a horrible death so that I wouldn’t burn for all eternity in some unseen inferno, even though I never really did anything wrong…? The Christians I’d known failed to explain this to me in a way that made any sense at all, which only confirmed my conclusion: brainwashing and cultism. 

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It’s July of 2001. I’m barely fifteen and my sister and I are following our parents through the rough and crowded streets of Manhattan. It’s loud, hot, humid, and smells like garbage but I am beyond excited to be visiting the musical theater capital of the world. At one point I manage to stop my mom long enough to take my picture, casually posing under the Broadway street sign. We’d taken family trips to the city before, usually to see a show, but for some reason this time my dad is set on touring the World Trade Center. 

We spend the entire day exploring the building. I’m surprised to find an upscale bar on the top floor. I watch the businessmen in their fancy suits sipping on their old fashioneds. I’m a small-town Virginia girl and this place is a different world to me. 

The view from the top is absolutely spectacular. The entire city sprawls out in front of me gleaming in the sunlight. But we don’t stop here, the mall underneath the building is equally exciting. It also seems to sprawl on forever so I am in teenage heaven. Thinking about wearing my new NYC tank top to school in the fall complete with silver studs on the spaghetti strap sleeves is exhilarating to say the least. 

As we are wrapping up our day we head back to street level and I suddenly have the urge to capture the magnificence of the building’s height. I grab my Kodak camera, press my belly up to the base of the building, and take a picture pointed at the sky. ¹ 

Less than two months later, as I’m charcoaling a still life in my high school art class, I watch the towers fall live on national television. The students around me are awkward and young. They don’t know how to react. But I hear my teacher’s “Oh my God!” and I see the look of terror on her face as she covers her mouth in shock. Then the face of our tour guide flashes into my mind's eye, then the woman who rang me up at the mall, then the bartender on the roof, then the businessmen, the thousands of employees going about their day, a whirl of flip phones, stress, and briefcases. Then I see the families, the parents, the kids, the tourists, on the roof, in the mall, my sister, my mom, my dad, my love, my being, me. 

I feel numb but somehow gutted at the same time. I continue to shade. 

The first question that so many of us had on that day was, “How?” How did we get here? How could any human being ever find it within themselves to commit an atrocity so great? I eventually found out, as we all did, that the men who flew the planes into the towers were religious men who truly believed that God would reward them in Heaven, with virgins, for their actions on that day, and not only did they do it, but they were proud to do it. 

To say that my anger at religion intensified is an understatement. 

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By 2011 I am no longer visiting New York City but living there. My fifteen-year-old self would have been overjoyed to know how cool I’d become in just 10 years time. I’m having the time of my life, a total heathen, completely free, a bohemian soaking up the city of dreams. Even though I’m living paycheck to paycheck it still feels like a life of luxury, filled with beautiful music, gourmet food, and young beautiful people from every corner of the earth. Every night is a rooftop party immersed in the ethereal glow of twinkle lights, the faint smell of marijuana, the sound of someone picking their acoustic guitar, and the romanticized hope that the love of your life, or your spot on The Tonight Show, is lingering around every shadowy corner. 

On this particular night, I’m sitting in an Irish pub in Hell’s Kitchen. I know the cute bartender and I get offered the occasional free drink here, so I’m eager to show off my special treatment to the old college friend I’m meeting up with. My friend arrives, his usual jovial self, along with his new wife. I notice that she seems to have a smile that takes up her entire face. This friend of mine is actually a guy I’d fallen pretty hard for in college. We had a strong connection but I was friend-zoned. Maybe he just wasn’t that into me. Or maybe it was because our views on religion were quite opposite, causing a painful distance to form between us. At least, it was for me.

We settle into our booth and the night starts out like any other normal get-together. But about halfway through I suddenly realize that my friend and I are incredibly drunk and the subject we are now discussing is religion. They are both by-the-book Christians and his wife is still sober. As my friend continues to order more beer for the table, I ask her if she believes every non-Christian is going to burn in Hell. I’m assuming I’d probably cornered her. But her answer is a simple, “Yes.” Then out of my intoxicated face, the tears begin to roll. I can’t stop it. I try my best to explain how harsh that belief feels to me, how judgmental, and how unfair it is towards 70% of the world’s population. This only seems to anger my wasted friend and he proceeds to get defensive. Now I am crying, he is yelling, and the entire thing is suddenly a shit-show. But through the fragments of the memory, I’ll never forget this girl’s response to my emotional reaction. She reaches out tenderly, lovingly places her hand on my shoulder, smiles, looks into my eyes and says, 

“You’re crying because you know you’re gonna burn.”

After repeatedly telling me how much they love me and that they are going to pray for me, they leave me. Now it’s the middle of the night, I’m alone, and the bar is mostly empty. The cute bartender comes by to grab our glasses and sadly he has witnessed my entire evening. As he’s about to leave he looks at me, and in his thick Irish brogue he says, 

“Ya know, they’re probably wait’n ‘til marriage, and virgin Hell is a hell of a lot worse than regular Hell, I’ll tell you that much.”

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If you’re anything like me, these fragments of my life will make your blood boil. In fact there will probably never be a time when fanatical cultism and mind control do not shake me down to my bones. But because of this, I became quite content to let my “spiritual growth” revolve around anger and arrogance. Anything that wasn’t completely and totally explained by science was idiotic. Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion was on my reading list. I hated religion and I was angry. 

As my early twenties gave way to my late twenties my life began to look like any average, agnostic, middle-class, American: Pay the bills, stop at Target, grab coffee to-go, another new iPhone, meal prep, the sun comes up, found a gray hair, work work work, book that trip, get an oil change, new show on Netflix, pencil in Sunday brunch, pet the dog, drinks with friends, the sun goes down, rest, and repeat until the end of days, burying that tiny voice coming from somewhere deep within my subconscious whispering, “But… what is missing?"

For some people, the life I was leading is totally fine. They might be truly happy dancing around on the surface and that is okay. Perhaps they are here to just enjoy the world while they’re living with no need to know more. But as for the rest of us, we start to wonder what it’s all for. We start wondering why. 

Why are we here? What are human beings actually doing though? Are we just some sort of weird mutation of DNA that’s gotten out of hand? Why is DNA even on the earth to begin with? Are we just a meaningless ongoing lifeform all alone on a spinning rock in the middle of empty space? If that’s true, then why does it feel so disappointing? But surely any other explanation is merely a vice for weak people who need to soothe the disappointment that comes with facing the truth. That's just reality. Get over it and grow up kid.

My quest to find better answers to these questions came quite by accident. It started just as a means to improve my emotional health. My cynicism was a badge of honor and no one warned me about the journey on which I was about to embark. Everything changed in a matter of minutes and while I’m tremendously grateful for the adventure my life has become, I often found myself desperately pawing around in the dark. In our modern mainstream world there is no visibility or awareness of the essential inner transformation of the human soul, and because of this I would walk my path with no compass or guide. I was sometimes overcome with intense feelings of isolation and despair when I found myself living in the exiled lands of the taboo. 

So I’m writing this for that angry young girl who didn’t know what was about to find her. I’m offering my words to her and to all the souls like her, who are searching but aren’t sure what for. So many of my lifelines over the past 11 years have been writers who were brave enough to tell their stories, and each book was usually coupled with spiritual healing techniques and knowledge to guide me through. So here is mine, intertwined with every single healing exercise I could think of that’s ever helped since that one seemingly normal afternoon. My highest hope is that it will be of service, when adventure beckons, that first flicker of flame in the moonlight, and despite hesitation, you answer the call.

So if you know, deep down, that your soul’s story is not simply to work, seek pleasures, and avoid pain, with an underlying fear of death haunting you until your ultimate demise, then I’m here to validate this feeling. Deep down is where the truth usually lives. This feeling is here to push you towards the depth and meaning that you seek, which is right here, waiting for you. But as you read, do not simply accept what I say, take a step into the new and live. 

Know for yourself. 

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• I am passionate about helping people find that inner light, their true self, and unlimited potential. I want people to really know their worth, because it’s endless. Together, we use various tools, including but not limited to astrology, human design, and the enneagram, to find patterns across spiritual systems that reflect back to you the piece of your soul that society tends to extinguish. The part that you’re searching for that is magical, divine, wild, and free. Click here to contact me about my mystical self-discovery program, Solas. What is your light?

  

• I offer personalized sculptures based on your astrological birth chart. It’s one of my favorite offers, in line with helping people see themselves. I read the client’s birth chart, and then create a goddess (or god!) in their image, based on the energies I see in the chart. I also design and create goddesses from all faiths, and personalized astrological poetry. Click here to see examples.

  

• I have a podcast called Tales from the Truth Seekers where I interview people who have died and come back with a story from beyond the veil, people who have had real spiritual awakening experiences, as well as academics who have PhDs in consciousness studies. I share my story as well, and together we draw on a large array of diverse perspectives all collectively pointing to one truth. In this lifetime, I feel an immense calling to lift the stigmas and taboo around the most important part of our human experience. Join us. Available here, as well as Apple, and Spotify.

Website: SidheART.com

1. The image included of the tower is an AI replication of my original photo which I am unfortunately still in the process of locating. It’s a pretty good replica though.