I'm Not Just From Philadelphia, —I'm From Another Planet
by LaTaYea
I grew up in small-town America, near the Pocono Mountains (which include part of the Appalachian trail) in Pennsylvania. The town I was raised in (Roseto) was mostly Italian—mainly immigrants from Italy and their children. My grandfather arrived at Ellis Island (in New York) as a young teen who spoke no English. My maternal grandparents were of German and English decent. So my ancestors were Catholics and Protestants, and I grew up with a big Italian family on my dad's side—lots of aunts and uncles and cousins and my cousins' cousins, etc.—all one big extended family. It was wonderful. We laughed together, ate big meals together, celebrated births and weddings and graduations together, and mourned our losses together.
As I grew up, life—and its demands—caught up with me. I went away to college, then moved to “the big city” (Philadelphia) and eventually across the country, to Arizona. And all along the way, who I am kept expanding. “I'm Italian; I'm a Penn Stater (I went to Penn State University); I'm a Sigma Delta Tau (my sorority); I'm a woman; I'm white (Caucasian); I'm a Philadelphian; I'm a Pennsylvanian; I'm an East Coaster; I'm an Arizonan; I'm an American”…you get the picture.
There are so many ways to identify ourselves. And when everyone's the same as you, you don't know you're different until you go somewhere else, and people aren't like you. I didn't really “know” I was Italian until I went to college, where most of my friends were Jewish, and I became a “goyim.” I didn't really “know” I was an East Coaster until I moved out West. And I definitely didn't know there was so much prejudice and attachment to who we all “are” until I got into my 30s. Boy, was that a shock. It's amazing how naive I was and for how long.
I grew up with great family traditions like the Italian seven-fishes dinner on Christmas Eve and cheese pasties (a sweet treat) just before Lent season. My college friends introduced me to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, gefilte fish and leaving an empty seat at the dinner table for Elijah. My mom always tells the story of the first time I ever met an African-American child when I was little and asked how that boy “got such a good suntan.” The older I got, the more I felt boxed in at times when stereo-typed by others—”Oh, you're just a girl; girls aren't good at sports,” or “Oh, you're white—white people don't have any rhythm,” or “You're American, so of course you support the war.” Worse yet, I saw how terribly oppressed other people were, all over the world, because of ethnic or racial or sexual or other labels. “You're black; I'm white.” “You're a Jew; I'm a Nazi.” I began to see how abuse after abuse, atrocity after atrocity are committed, and somehow it's justified in some people's minds.
As I began to educate myself through documentary videos, the Internet, and books, I almost wanted to stick my head back in the sand—there's sooooooo much suffering and pain and outright horror, that the old saying, “Ignorance is bliss” became very appealing. But I know if I were in one of those horrific situations, suffering terribly, it would be my dearest prayer that someone out there would help me and my loved ones; I'd pray daily that someone, somewhere, would do something. So I am trying to have the courage to be one of those people who will help, who will stand up and speak out for the oppressed and abused who cannot. Hence, I am re-educating myself to what's really going on in our world—I getting the education I never got in college. What are corporations, and governments, and so-called religious leaders, and others doing to hurt people and take whatever they want for themselves? It's a scary thing to think about, because when you begin to realize the problem, and how big it is, you can become overwhelmed by the fear and sorrow of not knowing how to fix it, or worse yet, feeling like there is NO way to fix it and “save the world.” So it's easier to just numb out and stay uninformed, because then you don't have to feel the pain and uncomfortableness. It continues to challenge me, on a daily basis, to come out of complacency and make personal choices for the common good of all.
For me, those awakenings put a whole new spin on who I chose to identify myself with and as. Granted it's fairly benign to boast at a football game “I'm a Penn Stater” to our rival school, the University of Pittsburgh—(although as of late, I've heard news stories of people literally trampled to death at soccer games and rock concerts)—but it gets a lot more dangerous when it moves to the level in the Middle East of “You're a Palestinian; I'm an Israeli.”
Other changes that happened as I got older were that I chose to not always make it back East for funerals, weddings, and other “significant” events. Simultaneously I began to go beyond the Christianity I grew up with, exploring New Age concepts and ancient mystics from Eastern philosophies. Things like past lives, reincarnation, the mysteries of the pyramids and Stonehenge all piqued my curiosity. I looked for answers, and meaning, and God Himself in a whole lot of new directions and ways, not always meeting the approval of friends and family “back” home. But I couldn't let anything or anyone keep me “back.” I needed to move forward, to find my own destiny, to find the answers. And believe it or not, I actually found them. The answers begin with a personal relationship with God, and with new concepts—Aquarian concepts, concepts of a new age, the Aquarian Age, the age of peace and love, not war and hatred—and concepts of epochal revelation, found in The URANTIA Book and The Cosmic Family volumes. Did you notice the name of those last volumes, “The Cosmic FAMILY”? Eternity is all about family—God's whole kingdom is family. It's just that simple, yet not easy.
I love my family; I love being Italian; I'm proud to be affiliated with Penn State and my sorority; I love Pennsylvania, and all the East Coast, and America. Those things are all a part of who and why and how I am. They are dear in my heart and always will be. And simultaneously, I'm developing new loves—I love Arizona; I love being a starseed (my soul's origin is from another planet); I love learning about and experiencing other cultures (especially the food!); I love learning to think global. So, these days, I'm an ascending daughter of God; I'm a planetary citizen; I'm my brother's and sister's keeper; I'm a minister; I'm a cosmic family member, and I'm a Toran (because my planet of origin is Tora, what Earth scientists call Electra in the Pleiades). I'm a cosmic citizen.
In our society today, many people seem to grow up with the mindset that learning ends at some point (either right after high school, or when you get your first job, or just after college, or when you turn 50, or whatever). I believe learning goes on for eternity, else what are we going to do forever? God has a huge cosmic master universe out there, just waiting to be discovered and explored and enjoyed. But first, we need to take care of things here at home, here on our own earth called Urantia.
To create true global change, we've got to begin to move away from limiting ourselves and others by ethnic or racial or religious or national identifications—and we've got to begin as individuals. We can't let family traditions, religious traditions, or any other traditional dogmas keep us from taking care of one another, giving each other a meal, or lending a hand, or providing medical care, or just plain being a friend. From an angel's perspective, everyone on the planet is just one race: the HUMAN race.
One of my favorite bumper-stickers reads: “Think Globally, Act Locally.”
What can you do—right now, today, and tomorrow—to begin to make the world a genuinely better place for everyone? I'm not just an Italian girl from Philly; I'm from another planet, and I'm your cosmic family and you're mine. Forever.