Become a Follower of the Big Dude!

Meet the divine Dude in this blog. This Dude has had and seen his share of sacred shit. He's not afraid of it or of its language. I can't relate to a god that's been crucified, but I can relate to one whom my government has imprisoned and humiliated. I can relate to one who's been raped by his own holy men. I can relate to one who grew up playing baseball or soccer and who dated the Prom Queen. I can relate to the god who knows the working of corporate conglomerates, pimps, and teen-age girls who are pregnant. I can relate to the god who loves alcoholics and drug addicts just a tad more than wall street hotshots. This Dude thinks all of us are mortal particles in an ocean of sacred shit. This Dude recycles.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

God by Any Other Name

I started this blog as a spiritual quest.  I wanted to explore or figure out or invent or find a god that I could relate to.  Over time, I've drifted far afield, as I suspect we questing souls tend to do.  I read something yesterday that said:  "Reflect on the fact that we may not understand God."  Duh.  You'd think I would have known that, right?  I didn't.  I have assumed all along that my intellect could apprehend or know god.

We may not understand God.  This is stated as a FACT.  It became obvious immediately: I don't understand God; I cannot understand God.  It's way beyond my comprehension.  You'd think that might be depressing; actually, it's a relief.  I can quit trying to figure god out and just let go and assume that it's beyond me (intellectually).  Going one step further, the ego rejects the very notion that there is something out there that it can't control or manage.  So, inside of us, both the intellect and the ego are struggling to hang on to the idea that they are in charge.  They're not. Huh!

At the same time, I do believe that (if there is a God, says my egolect) that we CAN know God although not in those ways of knowing.  How then?  In time-honored fashion, we must still the ego, quiet the intellect, and seek God in silence, in rhythm, in art, in nature, in our bodies when we are aware of them.  God lives in everything (if there is a God, says my egolect).  Why do we work SO HARD to not believe it?

Come to think of it, why bother deciding at all.  Belief and unbelief are a continuum and we're on it somewhere whether we want to be or not.  Let it go.  Be silent.  Turn off the TV, silence the smart phone and put it away, turn off the computer.  Walk in rhythm with the heart beat and the movement of waves on the shore.  Breathe in the same rhythms.  God is beyond intellectual knowing.  Fact.  God is love and rhythmic motion in the universe.  Join when you can.  Roxie

Sunday, October 6, 2013

Into the Woods

I've been away for awhile.  I went "into the woods" of soul work.  It was dark there, moldy, and full of strange sounding creatures.  When I'm stumbling through the woods, too often I'm looking at my feet--watching for roots and brambles, rocks and bogs.  I'm worried where to put my feet.

If I stop to look up, what I see is a "green cathedral."  The enormous trees arch upward to form a ceiling; the densely packed forest shuts out less necessary parts of the world.  I am uplifted by the power of silence and the lift of the enormous branches.  I hear squirrels jabbering away, birds coming to roost, the wind so far above as to be almost beyond reach.

I grew up on the edge of such a woods.  I spent as much time as possible there.  As a pre-schooler, I got up in the morning, snuck out the back door, and whistled for my neighbor friend.  Her return whistle was a sign that we should meet up in our special place.  I'd head to the woods and she'd be there.  We'd spend hours riding our imaginary horses, slaying imaginary foes, sweeping our imaginary capes in front of imaginary hordes.  Later, as a teen, I snuck out with a book and climbed a favorite tree to read for hours.

Today, I live at the edge of a different forest.  The ancient trees still speak to me in the wind high above.  Out my window, some trees are a brilliant orange while others remain green or have chosen to be a bright yellow this year.  It's a feast.

Alas, in the last month or so, I've not been partaking of the feast.  I've been afraid of falling, consumed with watching my feet and where they're stepping.  This is the sacred shit of soul work.  Putting one careful foot in front of the other not noticing the call of the Universe in the perfect architecture of the trees, the astonishing palette of colors, the orchestration of sound and silence.  Not noticing my body, at home in this divine arena.  Obsessed with safety and self-protection.

Where is the little girl who jumped out of bed to meet her soul-mate and roam the woods fearless and unfettered?  She's here.  She lives in this sixtysomething body with arthritis limitations, balance issues, and worries.  She's the reason we went into the woods.  She's the one who will find a way out of it if she must.  She's also the one who makes us look up at the Spirit moving in the high branches.  She's the one who loves the woods wanting to stay and play until goblins or glory snatch us away. Roxie