TM

In 1976, having saved $250, I waffled between going to England and learning Transcendental Meditation. I chose the latter. Good thing, since even back then, $200 wouldn't have gotten me back from England after I'd found out that the Royal Shakespeare Company didn't need my Desdemona. And back then, TM cost a marigold, an orange, a clean white handkerchief, and $250. Cool.
I arrived on the appointed morning to join 10 other very crunchy granola folks at the ground floor of a rundown triple-decker house in the college housing part of town. We gave the large smiling photo of Guru Maharishi Mahesh Yogi our oranges and marigolds, I can't remember what happened to the handkerchiefs. Our group had two teachers, one of whom I honestly never saw fully awake during the 3 days of training. This made me a little worried that TM might at as a permanent soporific.
The training was exceptionally easy, even boring. We were each given mantras by the more alert trainer. We were told that our mantras were assigned for our very specific needs, though it was a mystery as to how those needs were determined, since I literally walked into a separate room, sat down, had a mantra whispered into my ear, and left. I've since learned that mantras are assigned by the age of the trainer and the gender of the recipient (huh?). We were also told never to divulge our mantra, that it would not "work" if we shared it around. I kept mine secret for many years, then told my then husband, and my 2 children. It still works fine.
You're supposed to meditate twice a day. I tried that and really felt a sort of door mat passivity come over me. I became mellow to a dangerous degree. I've since met other twice-a-day practitioners who seem like they need a good dope slap, or maybe judicious application of a bull horn beside the ear. Wake-up! No, once a day suits me fine.
I never bought the mystical side of TM. I view my meditation as a daily mechanical brain floss. Cleans me out, settles me down, tunes me up. It can make up for one night of poor sleep, but could not make any real headway against the sleep-deprived insanity of new motherhood. It is really great for passing exactly 20 minutes of time waiting for a root canal or other minor, slightly frightening medical procedure. Yes, 20 minutes. And after all these years, I don't need a timer, I just open my eyes when I feel "done" and am usually within 1 or 2 minutes of the allotted time.
A year or two ago, I thought it would be nice to give each of my two high achieving children TM lessons to help them manage stress. Turns out the lessons are about 10 times more expensive than when I bought mine. Oh well. I heard that the yogi died a billionaire. That's okay with me; if all the folks who've learned TM have benefitted as I have, then I'm fine with the guy who "invented" or just marketed the technique getting rich. Still, it would be nice if students and those less financially able could also enjoy a reliable relaxation technique that doesn't involve drugs, machines, or putting up with mornings after.

"Mystery" loves company?

The mystery plays of the middle ages were yet another way to spread the good news. And the church powers that be, or were, were happier to think of the peasants watching tableaux of Bible stories rather than stories about the lusty maiden and the cowherd. Then and now, the church and it's adherents just can't seem to leave a nature-loving, going-about-their-business person alone. "Must Push Christ, Must Push Christ!"
I have good Christian friends, who know I'm an atheist, who even like me, I think, but who insist on using every happy coincidence, every serendipitous sign, as a wink and a nudge from the man upstairs. Why? I do not speak of atheism unless I am in a discussion where the subject is apt. It is not part of my daily discourse. Yet, when I'm with certain good friends, they "lovingly" remind me of "his" guiding hand. Even some of my wiccan and pagan friends like to point out that the universe is bestowing natural blessings on our every plan. Why?
I was a believer, now I am not. I understand the urge for support and solace, for validation, I just don't need it. If you need to, go for it. Rationalize your every whim. Imagine that the big guy, or Gaia, or the force, or the universe is gazing benignly on little you and your brief wink of a life. I would rather not.
But while you are pointing out to me how God planned for me to call you, just as you were thinking of me, please ask yourself why you need me to believe. Surely, if he/she/ it exists, it can take care of my non-belief itself. And if you are an appointed agent of this uber-life, trust me, you are going about my conversion in entirely the wrong way. Let me admire your silent confidence in your god. Let me be moved to ask you about the amazing coincidences which support your life. Believe me, should anything strike me as miraculous, or even out of the ordinary, I won't be afraid to ask. And, anytime you want to know about the lovely, happy-to-be-in-this-moment, integrated life of atheism, feel free to ask.