My spiritual and creative search has led me to the teachings of Avatar Meher Baba, who is also called The Awakener.

There are many books and online sites about Meher Baba, for those who are interested in Him.

The spiritual connection to Meher Baba gives me a beautiful sense of oneness with all of the world’s major faith traditions.

The birthday of Avatar Meher Baba (1894-1969), is February 25.

In meetings and gatherings, including for His birthday, we discuss His life and teachings. These Meher Baba meetings may include films about Him, writings, special speakers, music and devotional poems.

In this story I share my experience with a transsexual friend and how I feel she was helped in knowing of Meher Baba.

“Yvonne: Your lines, your lines, your coloring book lines. What happens if I scribble, if I scribble, if I scribble, if the girl’s face is green and her eyes purple?”  (From Sculpture Lessons, my experimental play, 1974).

    
     In 1973, at the Venice, California Women’s Center, I saw a notice inviting people to a meeting of the Los Angeles Feminist Theatre.  I arranged to get a ride from my Santa Monica apartment to the home of Sarah and Michael Sappington-Kuhn.

      Sara had written a play, with the hope that she could present a performance at the November, 1973 opening of the Los Angeles Women’s Building, the innovative downtown cultural center for the arts.  The meeting was to gather a group of people to participate in the play.

     I had recently moved back to Santa Monica, California from Staten Island, New York, where I had attended Richmond College; my 1974 Bachelor of Arts degree a focus on women’s studies.

     Now, in my small Santa Monica apartment, I was writing my first experimental play, Sculpture Lessons.

     At the Los Angeles Feminist Theatre meeting that evening, I was drawn to a very unusual-looking person who was sitting on the living room floor.

     He introduced himself to the group as being Albert Michael Weber, and then explained his appearance.  He spoke in his own words, quoted from books, and also gave us printed flyers; a collage of glitter, hand-painted footnotes, drawings and typed messages.

     He shared with us that he was, in anthropological terms, “the third sex, the shaman.”   He said he preferred to be called Ms. Lily Sabina Fairweather, the name of the maid in Thornton Wilder’s play, The Skin of our Teeth.

    That evening, “Sabina” was dressed in costume – including a beautiful black lace top, velvet blue slacks, women’s shoes and stockings.  “She” wore make-up, colorful nail polish, and a large-brimmed straw Mexican hat.

     “Her” appearance was intriguing to me, since I was also, for very different psychological reasons, “different.”  Even in this culturally open theatre atmosphere, Sabina’s appearance was noticed.

     As I became friends with Sabina, I learned more about her background.  Sabina had grown up in Detroit, Michigan.  Her mother was a dancer and dance teacher.  From an early age, Sabina, born a physical boy, had yearned to dress as a girl.  He wanted to be a she.

     She had attended Wayne State University where she had studied anthropology.  In her studies, she had found evidence of third sex gender roles and shamans.  Somewhere along the way, Sabina had traveled to Eugene, Oregon to meet and study with biologist Dr. Raymond Peat.

     Sabina’s journey was to express herself, her essence, carrying placards along the Venice, California boardwalk, making collage art and flyers, attending transsexual support groups, shopping in thrift stores and finding friends. 
  
      On her bicycle, Sabina often road into West Los Angeles, exploring the university area.

     She often quoted Dr. Ray Peat, William Blake, Mircea Eliade, Carl Jung, Wilhelm Reich, Elizabeth Gould Davis, Alexandro Jodorowsky, Robert Graves and others.

       In 1976, Filis Frederick from the Los Angeles Meher Baba Center  showed an introductory film of Meher Baba, and answered questions in Santa Monica, at The Church in Ocean Park.  The church was an open-minded place where diverse community groups could give presentations on Sunday evenings.

       I recall being attracted to the picturesque scenery of India.  Sabina was fascinated with counter culture films, holograms, and the vision of each person’s uniqueness.

     After that initial encounter, Sabina found her way to the Meher Baba Center, which was then located in West Los Angeles.  There, she was given her copy of the Discourses, written by Meher Baba. 
 
     In the Discourses and other writings from Meher Baba, she underlined and starred certain passages she liked that gave her courage, support and validation.  She would read some of those passages aloud to me and other friends.

      I recall that Sabina seemed to connect the mystical writings of William Blake with the teachings of Meher Baba.

    The noteworthy sentence by William Blake,  “Man in the Resurrection changes his Sexual Garments at will,”  also gave my friend Sabina much needed courage and comfort.
   
     However, her unconventional dress, outsider personality, and lack of a solid support system soon thereafter led to her leaving the Los Angeles area.

     Eventually, I learned that Sabina had died of a brain tumor at her home in the southeast United States, surrounded by her paper collage and assemblages, wine bottles, glitter, and the lovely large size thrift store costumes and dresses.
    
     Today, we have well-known transsexuals, such as Chaz Bono (formerly Chastity Bono), and more openness to gender diversity in many ways.  In 1976, there was only Ms. Lily Sabina Fairweather, fledgling support groups and a distant rainbow flag.

 
     I  am grateful that when she lived, Ms. Lily Sabina Fairweather was able to know of Meher Baba, that His words gave her comfort and inspiration, and that Meher Baba was able to convey His message to her. 

(Written on February 2, 2014)

Helma’s Madonna, photo by Sue Cook

thank you Lord Meher Baba
for the gift of your presence

     I find Lectio Divina is a contemplative refuge for me, yet also a way for reaching back into the world.  A way to find answers.
     The practice originated with the Benedictine Order of the Roman Catholic Church.  I had briefly read a pamphlet about Lectio several years ago.  The practice was initially formed as a solo form of contemplative prayer.
      Then last year, I began to attend Lectio Divina in a small Lenten group setting at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Port Townsend, Washington. 
      I did some research and discovered that Lectio (Divine Reading) is now also sometime practiced for spiritual discernment in combination with creative dance, poems, photographs and making art; even with films.
     The ongoing development of Lectio with the potential of encompassing all faiths and many forms of spiritual expression, is a special way to “practice the presence” either solo or in a group setting.

  
   May 1, 2013, a few additional notes

     Lectio Divina is a reading of a sacred text for meditation, prayer and discernment.  This process can be done alone or within a group context.  This evening, for the very first time, one of my poems was chosen to be the focus of the Lectio Divina experience.

     An aspect of my commentary during our discussion was the phrase by Meher Baba, “God alone is real.”   Another comment I included was, “I am casting all of my burdens on the Christ within and I am free.” (a saying by Unity Minister Catherine Ponder). 

    I am honored that my poem was accepted for the gathering this evening, at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Port Townsend, Washington.

     I am gratitude that my writings exist in places where they may be shared to inspire people, so that people are better able to understand life and the society in which we live. 

    I am grateful that I am able, as a poet and an artist, to give to others on their spiritual journey.
    This is the poem that was included in the Lectio Divina.

In The Night Of My Heart
by Sharon Lia Robinson

“I am never alone
I speak with you always
You speak with me always…”
(from Vrindaban by Octavio Paz)

In the night of my heart
I hold a place of healing

A sacred place of sojourn
A peaceful setting for pilgrimage

In the midnight moon of my heart
I sense a deeper truth
Yearning growing fruitful
Beyond misunderstanding

I hold this special place
Hallowed receptive knowing.

    Waking up this morning at 5 A.M. to meet my friend Margaret.  Several months ago we signed up together to volunteer to cook breakfast today at our local homeless winter shelter.

     The day before, I was hesitant, wondering if I could do the work.  I had suddenly realized I would probably be on my feet for at least two hours, sometimes that is a challenge for me.  Last night I woke up at 2 A. M. and I could not get back to sleep for several hours.  I was hoping I could stay awake. 

     Margaret drove me to the church, where we both go.  Several years ago I was drawn there, when they had an evening liturgical service.  A notice in our local paper invited people of all faiths to attend.  The group was small and gradually, I began to attend the planning meetings to choose liturgical readings and music. 

      Encouraged by the group, I began to occasionally share my prayer poems and creative dance as part of the evening service.

     Then about a year ago, I decided to join the church, St. Paul’s Episcopal Church.  That is how I was invited to sign up to volunteer to cook breakfast at the winter shelter, during the week that St. Paul’s church volunteers there.

     As I chopped onions, celery, and green peppers for the egg omelets, and while slicing the English muffins or washing the cutting boards, I remembered the kitchen job I had, as a college student. 

     Skills I had learned from other short term jobs as a cook and kitchen assistant were also remembered as I helped in the St. Paul’s kitchen. 

      In the summer of 1969, I followed a hunch and I walked down a rural dirt road, near my college.  The sign said, St. Mary’s in the Field and I was interested to know what the place was.  Someone at my college may have told me that it was a home for “wayward”  teenage girls and that they might need someone to work in the kitchen.

     Halfway down the road I saw the Episcopal priest, who was repairing a doorway on a building and I asked if they needed anyone to work there.  He said that he was only there for a brief stay.

      He told me to go to the office and talk to Sister Bonaventura.   Sure enough, they were in need of a part-time cook.  I could have my own room there and walk to my summer college classes down the road. 

      Being in that environment was good for me.  I learned something about what nuns do…they do arts and crafts and garden, supervise, nurture, pray, play guitar and sing.    At a young age, I was able to see spiritual women out in the world.  I longed for a retreat, somewhere I could pray and have peace.  I feel that I was spiritually led to St. Mary’s in the Field, at that time. 

      I still have a few clay fired beads from an arts and crafts class that I took with a local volunteer who came by to work with the teenage girls.  Most of the girls were there because of problems in their families or because they had run away from home. 

    Although I was only nineteen, and just a few years older than the resident girls, I was in charge of making breakfast during the week and dinner on weekends.

    I recall once, Sister Bonaventura came in to the kitchen and asked me to wear a skirt instead of trousers.  Another time, she came in to the kitchen with fresh picked corn from their farm, for me to cook.

    I eventually left St. Mary’s in the Field to attend college full-time in the fall.

    Later I returned and the atmosphere was changed. 

    Although I didn’t realize at the time, I was slowly developing an interest in God, spirituality and devotion.  I was finding my own path, went to their chapel for services occasionally, and mostly, just learning that wearing a nun’s habit involved more than sitting in church.

I was an abstract sort of an artist, even as a young child.  I noticed that the children in my first grade class who got the best marks in art were those who drew representational work.  For instance, I would make designs which I knew the teacher enjoyed. 

However, at some point, I realized that the boy who painted a truck that actually looked like a truck would get a better mark.  I copied this idea of representational painting even though it was not in my heart.  I was drawn to become accepted. 

Years later I became a professional abstract artist.

I believe that Meher Baba gives me the courage to do my self-taught art & poetry.  I was an artist’s model for eight years, working for one year in New Haven, Connecticut and then in all of the major colleges and universities in the Boston, Massachusetts area, when I lived in Somerville, Mass.

During those years, I attempted to learn representational drawing.  From time to time I occasionally  took an art class at one of the  schools where I modeled.  I think the reason I couldn’t learn to draw that way is because there was something else deep and central inside me. 

The need to process my life by putting together the fragments, the broken pieces.  As a collage artist.

When I visited Meher Spiritual Center in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, I went to tea at Lynn Ott’s studio.  I began to weep.  Lisa Greenstein an artist who was then also visiting the retreat, said, “It’s Baba.”

Several years later, healing the old wounds of formal education and family response or indifference, I am still writing free form poems and creating abstract art.  

Meher Baba gives me courage to feel and to hear my own voice.  The depth of His compassion is boundless.