Call it as you’d like—Spirit, God, Goddess, or Universe. We’re here to learn from one another whether we like it or not. For me, uncovering the connection between all faiths is more of a personal goal, which is why this column will be dedicated to exploring different topics related to some spiritual path. I’ve been lucky enough to have met so many wonderful individuals in this lifetime. It would be a disservice to the world not to help them spread their message of peace and love across the globe.
I’d like to begin by telling you about myself.
I was born a Queen of the Jungle—a Leo with Leo rising. Born on August 10th which means I’m ruled by the sun in more than one way. I peered into this world on the hottest day of summer, the feastday of San Lorenzo (St. Lawrence). I only mention this because in Spain they call the sun, “Lorenzo.” It has something to do with the Christian martyr being burned alive by pagans. Yes, you heard it right. Pagans!
Of course, I grew up very conscious of the fact that I could have (and should have) been named Lorena, if not for the fact that my mother—a great believer in signs from up above—was entering a taxi on her way to the hospital to deliver me when she was intersected by a lady who worked at the bakery down the street. This baker, who wasn’t more than an acquaintance of my mother, handed her a piece of paper where she had written a strange Czech name that she’d come across that same day. “I was making a cake with this name. Isn’t it pretty?” she said. My mother looked at the name on the napkin and thought it had to be a sign. It wasn’t until two or three years later that the name gained some popularity in Cuba.
I began attending Spiritualist séances with my mother around the same time I started playing the piano. I must have been six years old, and if Mozart was the Wunderkind of music, I was the Wonderchild of Espiritísmo. Every week my mother would take me to visit Ota, the santera and espiritísta who lived next door. We would take our place in the circle with all the old ladies who wore white turbans, white flounced blouses, white skirts, flip flops or no shoes, and who’d smoke tobacco until we lost sight of each other. For a long moment the smoky haze would get us thinking we’d crossed over to the realm of the dead. After reciting the long repertoire of prayers and chants with the ladies, all I had to do was stare at a candle. At first it would be a candle on the altar, but later the mediums would place a low table in the center of the circle for me to scry on as if it were a crystal ball. I’d talk about things I could see in the flame. Images. Scenes from the past. Every once in awhile I’d drop a name that sounded familiar to one of the ladies. The minute they received a message that seemed accurate, they’d turn to my mother, mouth agape. My mother would stare at them from the corner of her eye, a smug smile on her face. Her youngest one was a natural intuitive.
Throughout my childhood my mother insisted that my sister and I attend church. The two of us became involved in the parish, did our communion and sang in the choir. My sister played the guitar and even acted as Mother Mary when they did their nativity scene. I’m not sure what character I played. A shepherd maybe. I know I didn’t get the angel part I wanted. It didn’t matter. I was going to church for the fine Spanish nougat that the priest would share with us after mass. I would eat mine and my sister’s when she wasn’t looking, then she’d scold me all the way home. Mother never paid any attention to our silly arguments. She’d welcome us with the table set for our regular Sunday lessons—the major arcana of the tarot.
I only heard about Christo-pagans recently. I think it’s a new label for something that might have been practiced since Christianity was first established. It was exactly how I was raised and I’m so thankful for the open-mindedness of the upbringing I had. My mother, in spite of having had a painful past with Catholicism, made sure that her daughters were exposed to different religious environments so that we could discover our own personal truth in adulthood. One of my sisters began to look into eastern religions and shared her knowledge and books with the rest of us. Little by little, Mom and the three of us daughters would learn about reincarnation, karma, dharma, and the possibility of regressing to our previous lives.
My mother was a religious woman. She was a Santera, a priestess in the Afro-Cuban religion which merges Catholicism and the Yoruba religion. She was also a Spiritualist, an herbalist, and a great tarot reader. Out of respect, I continued to practice her religion until she joined Spirit in the afterlife. Breaking away from Santeria has been the hardest decision I’ve ever made. It took years before I dropped the guilt and realized it was her path, not mine.
I’m afraid that my Wonderchild days are over. I’ve tried on many hats and realized I didn’t need any. I believe in a Creator of neutral gender who lives amongst all things and makes all things possible. I rely heavily on my intuition and often have vivid dreams of my mother and father who continue to guide me from the other side of the veil. I listen more carefully now. I question everything. I don’t give any weight to my own thoughts because I know we’re being trained to follow the masses. When in doubt I tune in and listen to my universal compass—my heart. It tells me what I need to bring into my life and how to reach it. And without fail I follow its advice.
I might not be religious, but I believe in Spirit. It’s there, in the dimension that begins where we stop conceiving, where we’re able to find all the answers we seek.
Paths to Spirit - Growing Up Clairvoyant
Klara Gomez comes from a long tradition of musicians. She began taking piano lessons at age four, composed her first piano piece at age eight, and received her B.M. in Classical Piano Performance from the University of Miami in her mid-twenties. Shortly after, she worked as Managing Editor for a local music publishing company. The process of going from pure inspiration to a palpable, finalized product seemed so mesmerizing that she began experimenting with songwriting. Her first attempt got her published and gave her the idea to expand her creative outlet to include fiction writing. Her first short stories and vignettes were inspired by classical compositions.
Klara Gomez lives in Miami Beach, where she teaches, concertizes, and directs a large children's choir. Her first novel, The Ladder of Suspiros, is finished and ready to find a home. Meanwhile she is busy working on her second novel. To learn more, please visit her blog: http://www.klaragomez.com/#!blank-6/czwt