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EDIT to my last post: I am implicitly, in my exploration, treating that "natural divine reality" as having the kind of ideal characteristics that Epicurus had in mind -- e.g. harmony and blissfulness -- that we can tap into, as it were, by recognizing it.
Sorry for the late edit.
Yes, the term “idealism” can be confusing – in that some claim, under that label, that the gods are at best mental fabrications to represent (archetypally) certain ideals.
I am exploring the possibility that there:
1) can be a natural (not supernatural) “divine” (for lack of a better word) reality; that
2) is proleptically grasped (but I should not have excluded logical inference from that); but that
3)even a proleptic apprehension requires some contact; and that
4) recognition of a natural divine reality makes more sense if it is not removed from our own natural world.
I find it difficult to relate to something that may be the result of logical inference, but is not part of my life (like, say, quantum mechanics) – even if I think it is likely true. If that is the case, then I think there is some justification in the criticism I mentioned of Epicurean piety and prayer. And, as I said, I don’t see how that “realist” position differs, practically, from the “abstract idealist” position. At that point, practices of piety and prayer have no more meaning than, say, backgammon. A game I play because I enjoy it. Or a jigsaw puzzle perhaps (which I do not enjoy, however).
With that said, meditation and contemplation might still be philosophically relevant – as is simply contemplating the beauties of nature, and feeling awe.
Anyway, I am trying to explore a third position between the options of real gods thoroughly removed from our everyday natural reality, and gods that are solely ideal mental fabrications.
Thanks for the reply! 
I was recently thinking of the debates on Epicurean gods (whether real or archetypes of some sort – e.g. Don -v- Cassius?). I thought it best to read back through some earlier threads, so I can avoid just repeating.
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I have always been in the idealist camp. But I am trying to flesh out in my own mind the possibility of a naturalist realism that does not essentially “remove” the gods to distant, inaccessible intermundia in such a way as to make “theistic” realism – in practical terms – indistinguishable from an idealist view.
A first question might be: If there is no communication (no information passed) between/among various mundi (including their interstices), how can one have a proleptic intuition of their existence? (I want to note that I agree with Elayne’s affirmation of imagination: can that also be, in terms of brain function, related in some way to prolepsis? I am reading, in my piecemeal way, a scientific treatise on imagination that seems to support the possibility.* )
Second: If the gods are beings of nature, part of nature, why should their natural characteristics not be perceivable (again, perhaps proleptically) in nature as we perceive it – i.e., also in our world. [I am not thinking of an animist view, such as “The tree – or the wind, or the sun, whatever – is a god; or inhabited by some god-being.]
Third: If one grants the possibility raised in the second question, then it seems reasonable to say that we – in some way – relate to the divine when we relate to nature around us. This need not entail the kind of transactional reciprocity that Epicurus rejected.
Fourth: If, e.g. using our imagination, we can assign archetypal personalistic features to an idealized divinity (e.g. Lucretius with Venus, under the idealistic view), why should that be beyond the pale in the context of a thoroughly naturalized theistic realism? In that sense, it would seem to be a useful way of relating – according to the nature of our own minds – to a proleptically apprehended reality. It would also support (non-transactional) Epicurean piety and prayer, without any implied pretense of putting imaginary flesh on a projected abstraction – which I seem to recall was an accusation levelled at Epicurus by Stoics and Skeptics (Cicero?).
At bottom, it would mean imaging (or borrowing from ancient imagery) a naturalized real divine nature (proleptically apprehended) according to our individual proclivities, in order to enhance our ability to relate.
Note: I realize I am using the concept of “naturized real divinity” in a very general – itself somewhat abstract sense. That is something that might be sensed, but difficult to relate to. Hence the need for personal, imaginal** renderings (e.g. Zeus, Apollo, Athena).
A (very) rough analogy might be that Hinduism – with its 33 million gods – in which followers are encouraged to choose their own Ishtadevata (preferred god), which might not be any of the major god-figures (such as Vishnu, Krishna, Parvati, Lakshmi, etc.).
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* Jim Davies, Imagination: The Science of Your Mind’s Greatest Power.
** I am using the word “imaginal” here roughly in the sense of Henry Corbin (who coined the term): an aspect of reality that can only be grasped by the imagination – which, again, as I see it, could relate to prolepsis.
So to repeat the main point of this post, I find the term "spiritual experiences" without further definition to be an obstacle to further clarity here.
I recall that the outspoken atheist and neuroscientist Sam Harris, in his book Waking Up: A Guide to Spirituality Without Religion, insisted that we do not have a better term that "spirituality" at hand -- and he went to some lengths to provide a coherent definition. Unfortunately, I don't recall it offhand. 
“The real secret to longevity is that there are no secrets. But we live daily and die once, so we must make the most of the time we have.” (My bold and italics)
Howard Tucker, M.D. – 100 years old.
I just stumbled on this thread, and noticed no one else responded –
I retired from wage/salary work at age 50. In order to afford that, my wife and I did a big life-simplification project, purchasing a small circa-1940s brick cottage on 21 acres in the ridge country of Middle Tennessee. You had to cross a wooden bridge over a small tree-lined creek on a chert lane to get to our place. There were a few acres of pasture that we had a local farmer hay: we got enough hay to feed our two alpine goats over winter, and the farmer kept the rest. A wooded ridge rose up right behind our cottage. There was plenty of wildlife: deer, turkeys, a couple of coyotes – and at least one bobcat.
We put in a kitchen garden that yielded enough tomatoes, bell peppers, onions and garlic, and various herbs, to last the winter (we strung garlands of garlic in the open stairwell to the half-story upstairs). We planted some apple trees, expanded a small tart-cherry orchard, and planted blackberries (in addition to the wild ones).
We had a large propane heater stove in the den (a fairly central place) and a fireplace for heat. I cut some wood myself, and had three or four cords of seasoned hardwood delivered each year by the local tree-cutter. Pretty much all of it had to be split to fit the fireplace – which I happily did each fall with an axe, and wedges pounded by a sledge. (I say happily, because I really enjoyed it – but it took a toll on my back, which never healed properly from an old injury when I worked in the factory as a young man.) We had a couple of window air conditioners that barely kept up with the summer heat.
Viv made some lovely homemade dry wines from the cherries, blackberries and elderberries. She also went back to teaching part-time (because she needed more company than I do – and, as she put it, to be around other women as well); I was more the recluse, content with homey chores, and most days did not drive across that bridge.
We lived there for 15 years. We did not have television till the last few years. We did not have cell-phone service till really the last year. Internet was very sluggish and uncertain AOL dial-up. We read a lot in the evenings – books from the local library (I might have read more books through those years than any period before or since). We often took turns reading chapters from the same book, so we could talk about it.
After 15 years, the hard work just became harder (the chainsaws and pickaxes 15-years heavier, etc.). We sold the place and moved to a Midwest university town near where our children live. Now we still live simply in a small two-bedroom apartment; the garden is a few pots on the deck.
Our place on Terrapin Branch was far wilder than Epicurus’ Athenian Garden. But, sometime during those years, I recall reading my first introductory book on Epicurus (I do not recall the author; might’ve been DeWitt).
And that’s that story from my varied life … 😊
This seems to be getting confirmation in current neuroscience,
I recall that Haris Dimitriadis, in his book Epicurus and the Pleasant Life: A Philosophy of Nature, while himself not having a scientific background, did pretty extensive personal research into such neuro/biological underpinnings, and spends a good deal of space presenting them.
Incredible work! Just excellent, well-written: well-presented.
Welcome, PaulO!
Thank you for distilling so well my meandering thoughts! (Not the first -- nor surely the last -- time!). 
And especially:
how the many types of pleasures and pains are not interchangeable
A critical insight, it seems to me.
PD10. If the things that produce the pleasures of profligates could dispel the fears of the mind about the phenomena of the sky, and death, and its pains, and also teach the limits of desires (and of pains), we should never have cause to blame them: for they would be filling themselves full, with pleasures from every source, and never have pain of body or mind, which is the evil of life.
~ ~ ~
I think a lot hinges on that “If”. But I don’t think it is that simple – dipping my imaginative toe into water where I really don’t want to: if my dear wife died, I cannot imagine taking such a drug to assuage my grief – if it also caused me to forget our years together.
~ ~ ~
Let me share a personal (real) story – since that is, in the end, all I really have to offer:
I was on a business trip, as a passenger in a small plane that was trying to land in strong cross-wind gusts. The pilots had left the curtain between the cabin and cockpit open, so I could see clearly (as well as feel) how the plane was violently tossed about on each failed attempt at approach.
I was truly convinced that I was going to die (not the first time). I remember thinking: “What do I want in my mind at the end?” And I conjured up the image of my dear wife’s face, and just held it there – ignoring everything else. I was not aware when the plane did, eventually, land and taxi to the terminal. I had lost myself, as it were, in that reverie – and had to be shaken out of it to disembark.
~ ~ ~
I wonder if that experience is not akin to Epicurus in his final, painful, days. Assuaging the physical pain (as I did my fear) by remembering in his imagination pleasures with dear friends?
So, yeah – I fell into your thought experiment anyway. 😉 After all, the (at least implied) premise is “what we choose?” – not “what would we have chosen?” if we knew some other unspecified stuff. And how our Epicureanism might inform that. Not? In my case, it would lead me to make the same choice … (I hope.)
Great stuff!
My many-years-ago therapist (who also later became a friend) thought that happiness was definitely a choice that one could practice. (I doubt that he ever read Epicurus.)
His formula was that what he called joy was when his mind, body and environment were in harmony. If your relationship to your environment is out of whack, you can use your mind and body to correct (e.g., change your environment). If your body is the issue (e.g. an injury or illness), you can seek relief via your environment (e.g. restful quiet or seeking healthcare) – and/or via the mind (e.g., meditation or contemplation of something enjoyable). If both the body and environment are at issue, you still have the power of your mind – and techniques to practice. Etc., etc.
For example, when I was once compelled to put my body in a very stressful environment, he said: “Remember, the only thing you need to place there is your body. Beyond that no one can compel you to participate. You can go anywhere you want in your mind – maybe imagine and visualize an island vacation.” Something like that.
But practice is required – preferably before those situations arise – just like any other activity (like a sport): he gave me the belief, taught me some techniques, and encouraged me to practice. And practice that was enjoyable in itself (no Stoic teeth-gritting). I have many times allowed myself to get out of practice – and then I have to remind myself.
Thanks for this thread, Kalosyni. It is such a reminder. 😊
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EDIT: I also thought of your reference to the possibility of a "therapy of pleasure." 
I just want to add that nagging anxiety over “choosing correctly” is itself a detraction from hedone and ataraxia (and I tend to react negatively that way – with a kind of emotional clutch – every time I hear the phrase “hedonic (or Epicurean) calculus” or the like; that’s just me personally, from my own personal history – and I never enjoyed math 😉). But the answer to that cannot be some cookie-cutter rote set of rules – as it becomes for some religionists, for example. (And I think Cassius emphasizes that point). I am also reminded here of Kalosyni’s felicitous phrase: “tools, not rules.”
I am also reminded of a slogan popular in 12-Step rooms: “Easy does it.” Depending on how you inflect that, it can be taken to mean “take it easy” – or “easy [really] does do it,” as opposed to stress-based “sturm und drang.” And some people really seem committed (even addicted) to that kind of stress, and constantly worrying over whether they (or someone else) will “get it wrong.”
Pleasure and pain are experiential: therapy (philosophy) can help guide us out of our ruts – but we make the choices however we make them. And we live with the experiential results (some of which may not have been well-anticipated). And, hopefully, we keep learning as we go. And, for me, ataraxia involves adopting an underlying serenity about all that – even in the face of uncertainty.
And so, when I feel that reactive emotional clutch, I tell myself: “Easy does it.” 😊 And, for me, that is part of (the attraction of) the Epicurean way – as opposed to say, the Stoics.
Welcome to a safe and enlightening place!
