For what do I seek beyond God itself? A place to see the darkness in me. A place to be the unholy and sacred. A place to be less than strong, where I can want and be wanted. For I want to consume and be consumed, as much as I crave solitude. I want to be admired in awe as much as I want to be invisible. I want to push upon a force equivalent to me, as much as I want to disappear. For these are the various mirrors of me that I choose to reflect upon. Could it be that ‘God’ alone is not enough for the spectrum I crave? For it seems that what I crave for, above and beyond ‘God’, is to be human, and to be loved as such. What realization this is for the seeker to know that what one desires the most, is to be enlightened to ones’ self: to have true form in presence, illuminated; to at last see ourselves as what we are, and thus to realize a God beyond any we have ever known.
“If you prefer smoke over fire
then get up now and leave.
For I do not intend to perfume
your mind’s clothing
with more sooty knowledge.
No, I have something else in mind.
Today I hold a flame in my left hand
and a sword in my right.
There will be no damage control today.
For God is in a mood
to plunder your riches and
fling you nakedly
into such breathtaking poverty
that all that will be left of you
will be a tendency to shine.
So don’t just sit around this flame
choking on your mind.
For this is no campfire song
to mindlessly mantra yourself to sleep with.
Jump now into the space
and exit this dream
before I burn the damn place down.”
God; universal energy; the supreme consciousness in which we are all encapsulated, through which we move, of which we are made and the substance of our manifest existence: This ‘God’, whatever you may refer to ‘him’ as, does not define your worth by the life that you live. This is not a God that decides your worthiness through the decisions you make, nor the words you speak, nor the actions you take. This is not a God that holds a rule book to you, measuring your successes and failures and the thoughts and motives behind them, sizing you up for an A+ or an F based on your ability to obey. This is not a God that bears down upon you when you have sinned; this is not a God that sees sin or salvation. This is not a God that cares whether or not you believe, nor how you do so.
This God, which so many seek through so many paths, exists throughout and within all that is. An invisible seam that begins in your breath and weaves through the fabric of all existence. The ‘good’ and the ‘bad’. These are not terms defined by God; these are terms defined by us. There are no conceptions of life seen as ill-fated by God. There is no punishment nor reward. All such notions are created by and lived by us alone.
We bear such pain and such love in the name of God, forgetting that the very manifestation of such a being is the result of our experience of an essential Self; a moment spent within the infinite undefinable inner being that resides within; the Atman. Experiences of the Divine – the overwhelming senses and moments we bear witness to that alter our known perceptions of existence – whisper to us the truths of the illusion in which we live. Whether they be illusions of matter or mind, body or sense, the experiences I refer to as those of the Divine show us that we do not exist as a singularity enslaved to it’s environment. Rather, in the connection of these moments we surrender to the realization that we are one with all that is around us; consciously interacting with an expression of our own selves that – where we allow it – we feel intimately. When the wind blows upon your face, do you not feel the sensation of its breath alongside the force of its gust; do you not know what it is to be kissed by the wind as much as you do to be the wind itself?
Dwarfed by the magnitude of such interventions, it is only natural that one seeks to cast themselves as inferior: as a humble by-stander momentarily swept up within the magnificence of a passing constellation. It requires such love for oneself to instead perceive that we are the shooting stars that paint the heavens with their magnificence. That we, of our very essence, are the pinnacle of manifest creation; a beauteous force of ever-expanding evolution materialized in tactile experience.
Perhaps our folly then, is in the moments in which we forge separation as a means to validate ourselves; actions or thoughts in which we decide that our worth, our ‘goodness’, is dependent upon something other than our existence. We strive in fear and hurt, in egoic intellect or in the imagined grandeur of saintliness, hoping that our actions upon our paths result in a future gold star upon the paper of our lives. A star that says “Yes, you are right. You are a good human. The best in fact. And you will be rewarded for you have proved your worth”. Could it be that this is the star we seek to heal us from the years of self-judgment we have inflicted upon ourselves? We accumulate a subconscious list of ‘to-do’s’ hoping that when the list is finished, we have achieved our duties as a human and therefore qualify to the realms of the heavens. After such a long journey of hardship, what does one do when they realize no such star exists?
For you are the field and the observer of the field. You are human, and the ‘God’ which perceives itself as such. You write your story, not with the force of will, but with the power of observation. For what is a story if not a tale written and read by your mind? What is life, if not a unique experience of yourself, within yourself? What is ‘God’, if not an energy you harness in guiding your own existence?
Where we find ourselves lost, as I do upon this evening, it brings ease to ailing hearts to remember that we are not alone. For as I experience existence, the sensations and feelings that meet me come from the canvas I share with you. Where my thoughts fill with clutter or my heart with ache, I remember to see through them to the essential breath we share. Where my eyes glow with wonder, and my skin tingles in sensation, I know you know such feelings too. Because we share this; we share this experience, whether in the singularity of this moment or upon the eternity of time. We meet each other, again and again, in the silent being within. And here, regardless of our journeys along the polarities of existence, here we share in God. In each other. In the One that we all are.
Lest we learn at each day’s end, we have another chance to mend. Not to become what we should be, but learn there is no fault in me. For in this place and in this time, I rest unsure a weary mind. At day’s break I hope to know less; to rise unscathed from God’s own mess.
Something is trying so desperately to fall apart,
Tearing at the edges of eye lids, pulling inwards and seeping through a vacuum in my heart.
Something is trying so desperately to burst these seams and leave itself strewn upon the ground.
Some days should be Sundays, just in case it’s a day to cry.
If only we didn’t know when the week started or began, we could write a new calendar each morning, and let ourselves rest.
Rather than stifle this unknown guest, who has stopped amidst shifting air to stay a while upon our shoulders.
As storm clouds gather, grains of soil tumble upon the Earth, yet it seems sunny outside.
Nevertheless, all prepares to shake and shudder until it loses form,
Delirious destruction, crazed for new creation, a gaggling mess of past and futures born.
All brewing beneath the pretense of collected hands, calm above typeface.
Who knows where this wind blows, whether a passing gust or a clarion sounding a changing time.
The collision of selves, mingled and mad, fatigued amidst the chaos of order.