Cosmology, Reality, Religion, Spirituality

God Is

Prefer listening? Morning thoughts on dirt and the divine, if you don’t mind a little thunder and rain and traffic noise… http://www.soundcloud.com/frontporchrambles/god-is

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I don’t think God is anything like we think It is. He is. She is. I don’t think God is as perfect as we’re afraid It is – as we’re afraid we can never be. I don’t think God is as hard to please as we’ve often imagined, as we’ve tried to make Him and Her out to be, like the parents we tried so hard to satisfy, until at least some of us finally gave up and decided to just be, exactly as we were.

I don’t think God is only in the chapels and cathedrals where we try to capture Her. In the robes and relics we use, trying to show how very special this idea is to us. Don’t get me wrong. God is there – for God is everywhere. But as long as we only see Her in the beautiful places, the mountains, the meadows, the morning stars, we’ll only get half the picture.

God is in the darkness, too. God is in the pain. God is in the dirt, the drivel, the dreck, all those aspects we try to drive out and ignore in our search for something we can put on a pedestal. God is in a rusted-out lawnmower in a weed-filled sandlot just as much as She is in a stained glass window or a satin cassock. God is in the grief as well as the glory, the loss as well as the gain. What is it in us that makes us want to cheat ourselves of the full picture?

Why do we rush to open the door for Spirit, only to close it when He’s halfway through? We reject God’s darkness like we reject our own shadow: Not mine. Not mine. Not mine.

How must that ache inside Her heart, I wonder? When all He wants, all She wants, all It wants – is for us to love. To turn around to our Father-Mother-God-Creator and for once in our small-minded existence to see all, to accept all, to love all, and to finally, just once, to say Thank You. And really mean it this time. For everything. Not just bits and pieces.

I think God sometimes comes to our doors like the little ragamuffin child down the street, tears making tracks through dirt-stained cheeks, flowers hastily picked from our own front yard clasped tightly in one grubby little hand: An offering of hope, a cry for mercy for the baseball in our hand and broken window in our mind. Do we see God then? Or do we let our anger, our pain, our shadows, our vasanas, take over and block this glimpse of glory from our view?

What say you, friend? Where will you see God today? I am grateful for those moments of clarity when I can remember that God is in all, God is in everything, God is in you, and God is in the mirror.

Namaste, sweet soul. May we all remember.

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