Spirituality Without Religion: What Grounds Me Now

If you had told younger‑me that one day I’d be writing about “spirituality without religion,” I would’ve laughed, clutched my KJV, and asked if you needed prayer. Back then, I thought religion had all the answers because that's the way I was raised. It felt like a map someone else had already drawn for me — clear, tidy, and laminated for durability.

But somewhere along the way, the map started to feel more like a brochure. Beautiful, yes. Helpful, sometimes. But not the whole story.

These days, my spiritual life looks less like a sanctuary with pews and more like a patchwork quilt stitched together from experience, grief, nature, music, and the occasional bottle of wine I swear I didn’t mean to finish.

So here’s what grounds me now.

Nature Has Become My Sanctuary

Moving to Aberdeen has been like enrolling in a spiritual masterclass taught by trees. The moss, the rain, the quiet — they all have something to say if I slow down long enough to listen. The forest doesn’t care what I believe. It doesn’t ask me to sign a statement of faith. It just stands there, ancient and patient, whispering, “Relax, sweetheart. You’re part of something bigger.” Even Lucy seems to get it. She loves exploring and sniffing the acreage here like she's checking for messages. She feels the presence of the deer and coyotes. She's making the connections.

I Still Love the Methodist Church… But I Don’t Live There Exclusively Anymore

Here’s the thing: I genuinely love the Methodist church. I love that it values conversation, honors disagreement, and doesn’t panic when someone asks a hard question. It’s one of the few places where doubt isn’t treated like a moral failure. A far cry from my evangelical roots. And I still attend regularly.

But I also feel just as “at home” in a Pagan/Wiccan ceremony or a Buddhist Puja. There’s something beautiful about traditions that invite you to experience the sacred rather than define it. Something freeing about stepping into a space where mystery is allowed to be mysterious.

I guess you could say I’m spiritually bilingual now. Maybe even trilingual on a good day. I am a member of the United Methodist Church and I'm even going through their Lay Servant Ministries program; but that doesn't mean I'm in a monogamous relationship with it.

Humor Is Part of My Spiritual Practice

I’ve tried meditation. Truly. But sometimes my brain treats silence like an invitation to think about snacks, laundry, and whether Paul Rudd is aging or just evolving.  Self‑hypnosis works better — sometimes. Other times I just fall asleep and wake up feeling spiritually refreshed but physically confused.

And yes, I once drank an entire bottle of wine during a mediocre movie and called it “a reflective evening.” Spirituality is a journey.

Grief Walks With Me, Not Behind Me

I’ve lost a lot of people — friends to AIDs in the 80s/90s, my brother, my mother and father, grandparents, Willow and Norbu. Grief has become a quiet companion, not an intruder. It doesn’t ask permission. It just sits beside me, reminding me that love leaves marks.

Grief has softened me. It’s rearranged my priorities. It’s clarified what matters and what absolutely does not. It’s taught me that presence is sacred, and that the people we love never really leave — they just change the way they show up.

Music Is Still My Prayer

If I have a religion now, it’s music. Singing and piano have always been the way I connect to something bigger — call it God, Spirit, the Universe, or the collective sigh of everyone who’s ever lived.  Music is the one place where all my worlds meet — the hymns, the Pagan chants, the Buddhist bells, the Broadway scores. It’s all sacred to me.

Small Rituals Keep Me Grounded

• Morning coffee while the rain preaches its own sermon

• Cooking plant‑forward meals that make my body feel like it’s on speaking terms with my soul

• Caring for my Lucy like she's a furry human

• Practicing self‑hypnosis to quiet the noise

• Choosing kindness over cynicism, even when cynicism is louder

These aren’t religious rituals. They’re human ones. And they’re enough.

Love Is the Center of Everything

James grounds me more than any doctrine ever could. Our life together — the laughter, the challenges, the shared dreams — is its own spiritual practice. Love, partnership, chosen family… these are the things that keep me steady.

And honestly, the fact that we can legally be married still feels like a miracle. A hard‑won one. And the truth is: the hard-right is still trying to take that away from us. The battle is not over.

I’m Learning to Trust the Mystery

I don’t need all the answers anymore. I don’t need certainty. I don’t need a map.

What I need — and what I have — is a sense of connection. To nature. To memory. To music. To the people I love. To the people I’ve lost. To the quiet voice inside that says, “Keep going. You’re doing fine.”

Spirituality without religion isn’t emptiness. It’s spaciousness. It’s freedom. It’s the permission to build a life that feels honest, grounded, and deeply human.

And that, for now, is more than enough.