What if there really is a God? I know. I know. I have created this character called the Big Dude and another one called the Good God (aka GG) and, more recently, have been caught up in the idea of a Higher Power. But, what if there really is a God, God. Beyond my mind. Directly infused into my spirit.
Today I was meditating as usual, my mind flinging itself back and forth between the class I have to teach shortly, the squabbling of the birds at the bird feeder outside the window, and the various dramas that have been going on in and around me. All of a sudden, my third eye was filled with a clear white space. The words, "Be still and know that I am God" filled me.
I don't know if that was really a communication from the One or a figment of my imagination, but it raised a question: What if there really is a God? Just the question overwhelmed me. I was filled with what I can only call humility and reduced to a lump of clay just by the question. It's as if the question immediately presupposed the answer. The question called forth the God.
So, does faith itself call forth the God? Is that it? Is faith a kind of communion of my admittedly pitiful outreach and the God's powerful response? I wrote once that to access the internet, you had to turn it on at your own control panel. Maybe that's how it is with God. He/She/It is always hovering, present in everything but each of us has to turn the switch to receive the waves or rays or grace of it.
I don't "know" the answer in my rational self. I sometimes experience strange goings-on that seem too individualized to be coincidental. Over and over again, people in recovery have affirmed: If you tune into a higher power, even someone else's higher power if you can't find your own, thngs start to align and fall in place.
Why am I so afraid to believe? I'm afraid. Afraid it's a trick. Afraid, as with love, that I'll give my faith only to have it rejected. Afraid in the moment of death, I'll hear "a fly buzz" and know with Emily Dickinson that it was all for naught.
I guess, faith is a "so what!" in the face of the rational mind's doubts. So what if the old fly buzzes. So what if it's all for naught. So what. So what. Isn't it the HUMAN condition to reach for the stars, to forge on in the midst of great desperation. What fuels that human optimism, resilience? Maybe it's a kind of faith that says I CHOOSE to believe otherwise. Saying with Hemingway, "Isn't it pretty to think so." Yes, it is. Roxie
Today I was meditating as usual, my mind flinging itself back and forth between the class I have to teach shortly, the squabbling of the birds at the bird feeder outside the window, and the various dramas that have been going on in and around me. All of a sudden, my third eye was filled with a clear white space. The words, "Be still and know that I am God" filled me.
I don't know if that was really a communication from the One or a figment of my imagination, but it raised a question: What if there really is a God? Just the question overwhelmed me. I was filled with what I can only call humility and reduced to a lump of clay just by the question. It's as if the question immediately presupposed the answer. The question called forth the God.
So, does faith itself call forth the God? Is that it? Is faith a kind of communion of my admittedly pitiful outreach and the God's powerful response? I wrote once that to access the internet, you had to turn it on at your own control panel. Maybe that's how it is with God. He/She/It is always hovering, present in everything but each of us has to turn the switch to receive the waves or rays or grace of it.
I don't "know" the answer in my rational self. I sometimes experience strange goings-on that seem too individualized to be coincidental. Over and over again, people in recovery have affirmed: If you tune into a higher power, even someone else's higher power if you can't find your own, thngs start to align and fall in place.
Why am I so afraid to believe? I'm afraid. Afraid it's a trick. Afraid, as with love, that I'll give my faith only to have it rejected. Afraid in the moment of death, I'll hear "a fly buzz" and know with Emily Dickinson that it was all for naught.
I guess, faith is a "so what!" in the face of the rational mind's doubts. So what if the old fly buzzes. So what if it's all for naught. So what. So what. Isn't it the HUMAN condition to reach for the stars, to forge on in the midst of great desperation. What fuels that human optimism, resilience? Maybe it's a kind of faith that says I CHOOSE to believe otherwise. Saying with Hemingway, "Isn't it pretty to think so." Yes, it is. Roxie
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