surrender, god, and letting go

I am back from my workshop weekend and faced again with theology, or rather theological writing, here in this space. I can get a handle on step two as I discussed Friday - I came to believe that a power greater than myself can restore me to sanity. I believe that. I believe that nature can balance me, that nature, or the universe, or whatever it is out there that makes gravity work and the tides do their thing is certainly more powerful than me and can restore me to balance (sanity). I'm good with that.

Step three is a bigger, scarier step. "Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of god as we understood god."

That's not exactly how it reads in conference-approved literature, but I think it'll be ok. Conference-approved literature capitalizes "God" and uses the male pronoun "Him" at the end of the sentence. My gut is the conference folks who oversee this stuff won't mind if I change the language to reflect my theology and gender issues.

The biggest issue here is made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of god as we understood god, not idiosyncratic language. Can I do that? Can I turn my will and my life over to the care of god as I understand god? It's a big, scary step. And actually, it does not require me to do the turning over, but merely make a mindful decision to do so. 'Made a decision to turn..." does NOT say "turned our wills and lives..."

So now the question is: can I make a decision to turn my will and my life over to the care of my higher power, however I envision that higher power to be? In the course of this workshop weekend, I found myself a couple of times in a position to choose a partner or join/form a group for one exercise or another. Sometimes I was purposeful and pro-active in the selecting process, and sometimes I was more passive, allowing myself to be open (while still at choice to refuse) to what opportunities might present themselves. When I was open to what might present itself to me, I found that the experience provided me with surprising richness of experience, and when I chose, with some agenda in mind, or some idea of what I might or could or should learn from a particular grouping, it never went quite as well. Now this might all be coincidence, and it may be Monday morning hindsight/quarterbacking, but it seems to be true now as I look back at my experience and assess how it all went.

I am faced now with a decision. Can I make the decision to turn my will and my life over to the care of my higher power? Can I turn my will and my life over to something so nebulous? Can I trust that great force of energy and love that has no name, no face, no form? Can I even address it with a request for help? This is where Unitarian Universalists are said to run onto problems when we pray. "To whom it may concern: There are some things in my life here that would benefit from your attention..." How do I do that? And can I do it every day?

The idea, I think, is to try to stop running things, to let go of the ego and step into the mystery and trust that the world will keep spinning without my supervision. I don't know how successful I am at such a letting go, or even at making a decision to do so. I guess maybe I can decide to give it my best shot. I can decide to do my best to turn my will and my life over to the care of god as I understand god. I can decide to trust the universe. I'm ok with that. Not sure about the whole letting go thing right now -- that's still pretty scary -- but I think I can lean back into the mystery of things and trust that the universe won't drop me.

Today I make the decision to turn my will and my life over to the care of god as I understand god. The details of what that letting go will look like will become apparent as I move through the next steps. This is a decision step. The following steps are how that decision becomes action and reality. Today I can make that decision. I can decide to turn my will and my life over. I can do that. Today, I decide. Yes. Tomorrow, I may have to decide again, but that's ok. I'll get there as I get there. Today I set the intention. Yes.

November and more on the divine

It is November 1, beginning of that NaBloPoMo thing I've done in the past. I have not signed up to do it this year, but I have signed up to do this thing every morning, examining what I know of god and the divine and my relationship with it all and it's relationship with me. They tell me that's theology. I don't know what I call it yet.

What I mentioned only as a post script yesterday was that I spent more than 8 hours of quality time Saturday in the emergency room with some kind of gastric upset thing. I was in some pretty harsh pain on Friday afternoon/evening and it wasn't all that better by noon Saturday, so a friend took me and sat shiva while I was poked, prodded, x-rayed, scanned, drained from various places and otherwise examined. Turns out I had some kind of thing they're not sure about. It may well have been the world's most expensive nap.

This goes in with some of the discussion we've been having in my Systematic Theology course on the purpose of suffering and evil. Why does it exist? Who thought it would be a good idea for us and what kind of twisted logic came up with that notion? There are some who say that evil is not god's doing at all, but that of a bad element - Satan or the devil, and god doesn't have much to do with it. Others say it comes from human's abuse of the freedoms that the divine has given us, and others still say it serves some kind of useful purpose, either as an educational tool, or as I heard when I was growing up "it builds character."

I'm not so sure I need any more character, and I am disinclined to think there is a bad guy with horns and a pointy tail running around causing havoc in the world, nor am I inclined to think that Saturday's exploration in pain was offered to me as an educational opportunity -- a spiritual field trip, if you will. Nor am I inclined to think that it is a result of my failure to pray appropriately or recycle my tin cans. It might have something to do with my gall bladder and diet, which can be seen as an outgrowth of an abuse of freedom, I suppose, but still. All of these things speak to a god that is punitive and cruel. I can't buy that. I can accept that bad stuff happens as a part of nature and that life is unfair, but I don't see suffering as a cosmic morality tale visited upon my GI tract to impart some kind of lesson about my place in the universe and relationship to the divine.

The trip to the hospital did offer me some time to observe how people come into such a place and how they behave while there. I got to sit in my own little curtained room and hear the comings and goings of nurses and technicians and patients and loved ones. I got to hear some kind of suturing being done on a not terribly pleased person across the way, and then a cast was put on. I got to hear a guy get treated for what was probably the clap, a young woman was treated for a sprained ankle after she fell down some stairs the night before ("I was sober, really!") and a woman came in with her husband and was seeking drugs and attention. It was a microcosm cross-section of society at its most vulnerable. All walks of life come through Beth Israel's ER, and I got to listen to them all. I also got a clear idea that I am not ready for chaplaincy yet. I think I'll try for that next fall as opposed to over the summer. I am not even ready to try for this summer yet, and the application process is already underway.

So, why suffering, then? I'm not sure. When I am hale and healthy, I tend to offer a smart remark like "pain is what lets you know you're alive," but that's more bullshit than anything else. What purpose pain? What can possibly be gained by the suffering of an infant born diseased and dying in a place wracked by famine and AIDS? What purpose does that serve? To offer some kind of morality lesson to the mother? To the infant? What kind of sick fuck would set up that with a purpose? That can't be god. It can't be. But what, then? And where is god in that? Where is the divine in that situation? I am inclined to think that the doings of this earth are the doings of this earth and that suffering and what we call "evil" are the normal diseases and infections that any organism has and fights in the course of its lifespan.

It's a lame explanation, but it's what I have this morning. Perhaps more on it tomorrow.

the veil is thinnest today

This is all Hallows Eve, All Souls Day, the Day of the Dead and Samhain, the Celtic festival of the dead. It is the time of the year when the veil between the realm of the living and the realm of the dead is the thinnest it ever gets. Pagan traditions tell us that today is when we can call the names of our beloveds and they can hear us, that if we gaze at the mist in just the right way we might be able to see those who are gone from us. It is a time to say goodbye, to remember and to let go.

At church yesterday, we did a bunch of stuff about remembrance and loss and mourning and saying goodbye. We lit a lot of candles and we spoke many names into the darkness of the sanctuary. (The power and heat were out at the church because of the snowstorm that hit overnight, so the candles were necessary and welcome for a variety of reasons.)

Rituals such as this are for the living, I understand that. They are so we can have something to do that allows us to let got of loss and pain that we've been carrying around. I was in a weird place, though. My father died in June. The pain is still accessible should I think about it all too much, but Sunday is not the place for me to do that. At least that's not my understanding. It is the time for clergy to lead worship, not necessarily speak the name of our own departed and lost. Although my supervising minister spoke some names. I heard him do it. I don't know what to do with that. I will ask him this week. The service on Sunday is about me serving the divine and the congregation, not about me getting my own spiritual needs for healing met. I wonder if maybe I was more healed from this loss if I would have been better able to speak my father's name and let it go than I am now. Now I think I would have cried still. There's a lot of healing I have left to do.

The day of the dead thing does not exactly fit with my theology. I don't believe that we can see from the realm of the living into the realm of the dead, nor that anyone there can hear if we call out their name to say goodbye. I understand that it is a ritual through which we get healing, but I don't see it as literally true. I think the imagery is good and helpful as a meditative guide to the emotional release, but theologically, I am still a tad confused. Where is god in this? Where is the divine? I think god is in the healing, in the release, in the lifting of the burden of mourning and sadness. I think god is in the ritual where we stand together and hold space for each other's pain and support each other as we let it go. Is god a thing that we can pray to in this moment to relieve suffering? I suppose. But I am not inclined to believe that the divine works like that. I tend to think that the divine exists in the love and compassion we share with each other. Still thinking. More tomorrow.

Post Script:

I ended up in the Emergency Room at Beth Israel in Boston Saturday afternoon. I spent 8+ quality hours there getting poked and prodded and scanned and x-rayed only to be told that nobody's exactly sure what happened, but I seemed better so go home and get some rest. Even with my new insurance from school, I may have just spent a full day accomplishing what amounts to a $30,000 nap. We'll see what's covered and what's not and I'll let you know. Making an appointment with a regular doc today to follow up.

suffering and god

Thursday in my systematic theology class we talked about evil in the world and what it means (or meant) to folks developing an understanding of the divine. Some say that evil is the work of another (Satan) and not god's fault or business, some say it comes from an abuse of the freedoms that god has granted us humans, some say it has educational value (I suggested that nuns might fit this model and got a nice round of laughs) and there were a couple other ways to explain the existence of evil and suffering in a world supposedly created and ruled (to some extent) by god.

There's a thing called theodocy that is the name for the dilemma created when three "truths" are offered:

1. God is omnipotent.

2. God is benevolent.

3. Evil (suffering) exists.

This is where people get tangled.

If the divine is omnipotent, then it seems to reason that god could eradicate evil. The fact that evil exists seems to indicate that god allows it to happen and therefore is not benevolent.

If the divine is benevolent, that would mean that god does not want us to suffer. The fact that we do suffer would indicate that maybe god cannot stop suffering and therefore is not omnipotent.

This is all very nice if one has a god that is a person, or has a personality, or is a being of some sort that can be prayed to and communicated with like we communicate with one another. That's not really how I understand god, so I can look at it all from a safely detached and curious stance.

Until last night.

About an hour into my afternoon class, I began to feel uncomfortable. Like maybe I'd eaten something that did not agree with me. I'd had a cheeseburger and a salad for lunch, so that didn't seem right, but by the time class was over, I was alternately sweating and shivering and my stomach felt like it was going to explode. I came back to my place, got into some sweat pants and curled up on the couch for a while. For the next eight hours I alternately felt like I would throw up, pass out or explode from the lower regions of my intestines. I was miserable. And I am not sure but it might have been worse that I did none of those things, because I have a hunch that any of them might have offered relief once I got to the other side.

So, when one is lying on the bathroom floor -- deliciously cool! -- one has some time to make some observations about life. First, there are a lot of cobwebs under the radiator. Second, where is god in this? What purpose does this level of pain serve in my world? On a scale of 1 to 10, I would have put my pain level at probably a 6. It was really pretty bad. Not so bad that I was convulsing or violently throwing up, but bad enough that I could barely walk around my little apartment and when the pain came in waves, I took lots of little shallow breaths to get myself through them. I've never had a broken bone or had a baby, so I don't have those to compare it with. This was an ache that got acute and sharp in waves. It was miserable, though.

Perhaps the most difficult thing I faced yesterday was the desire to pray to a god who could and would relieve my suffering but realizing that I did not believe in that kind of entity/personality-god. Well, hell. That's gonna screw up my step work. Hmmm. I may have to re-think this.

I finally climbed into bed at around 11 p.m., when I had confidence that laying horizontal would not make me need/want to vomit, and slept until 10 this morning. My stomach still feels like hell, but not as bad as it did last night. I'm not hungry, so I'm sipping my orange juice and taking my vitamins and wondering what has happened to me and what this means for how I understand the divine.

Today I hope to get some work done on an exam that was handed out yesterday. It's due next Friday. I don't see myself moving far or fast today, so a day of books and writing sounds just about right. Be well.

this god thing

So not unlike that time I signed up to do NaBloPoMo, I have recently signed up to blog on a regular basis for the last half of my semester. This is for a class called "Spiritual Practices for Healing and Wholeness"and the thing is kicking my butt. I am learning a lot academically, but damn, it is beating up my heart quite a bit as well. I get triggered now and then in class, and when we meet each week we start with an hour of yoga. Now, the body stores all kinds of things in muscles and joints, including trauma and abuse, so after an hour of bending and stretching and loosening up all kinds of memories buried who knows where, it gets rough when we start talking in class about some stuff. The prof is really cool in that she has made adjustments for me so that I can still participate without getting triggered so much, but still. It's hard work.

So here I am, up earlier than I want to be, writing about god. Again. I know that anyone who started reading here all those years ago never expected this to be a theological blog, but hey, here i am. I write what I am doing, and right now, that's theology. Maybe I'll get back to writing about sex or politics or cooking or building things in a while. for now, I need to work out whatever it is that's jamming me up. I appreciate your patience.

I've been thinking about what it means to have faith in a god that is not described in terms of a person or personality. Most of what I have read in school this far describes god as wanting this, loving that, hating this other thing, feeling joy and sadness, rooting for the Red Sox and otherwise being a ... guy.

And that's where I get stuck. That just smacks of us hanging human identifiers on the divine, and that does not make sense to me. We are limited in our expression by our language and our inability to think or imagine beyond our own experiences. Thus, we think of the most fantastic outer limit version of what we know and decide that this thing we call god is maybe an inch or two beyond that. I can't believe that. It does not ring true for me, and it's beyond what I can take on faith. For me to believe in something that I cannot see or experience physically, it needs to make sense to my intellect. I can't believe a creator god gave me a smart brain and then wants me not to use it. So, some stuff has got to pass my internal "well that makes sense, I guess" test or it won't fly.

Is this bad? I don't know. Is it wrong to need to understand something that is inherently incomprehensible? Or am I splitting hairs with this, demanding to know what I think I can and should know and conveniently accepting the things that do not challenge me as much that might be impossible for me to know and thus knock down my house of cards? Hard telling. The good thing here is that I am in a process of discovery and discernment. There is value in the process of learning and clarifying and distilling what it is that I know about god, and it is not a process that can -- or should -- be rushed. Here I am, learning, questioning, exploring, seeking. I trust that an honest effort at seeking will reveal things to me that I seek, and probably some I did not seek. But that's OK. It's the seeking that's important, not whatever answer I find at the end.

More tomorrow.

trust, love and the divine.

This god stuff has kept me pretty busy of late. I'm in seminary, after all. It feels like I should have something more than a passing idea of what I understand the divine to be. It also seems like it might be a good idea to develop an understanding of the divine that I can trust, so I can build a relationship with that entity that feels trusting and not likely to betray me.

You know that trust issues are big for me. I know that too, and I know that sometimes I trust too completely and when I get disappointed, I feel that the trust has been broken, betrayed, and the disappointment is crushing and complete. Most folks can look at an incident like this and say "damn. this person let me down. that sucks." whereas for me, it is often emotionally devastating. I know that I can train myself to not throw my heart so completely into situations that are destined to disappoint eventually, but that takes some time. I can also train myself to be compassionate with myself and the person or institution that disappoints me. I cannot entrust anyone or anything with responsibility for my happiness and fulfillment and safety.

It's easy to say that on paper. Or keyboard. Or whatever. It's another thing entirely to do it.

And then there is the opposite side of that coin, which is the idea that I should be able to rely on the divine in that kind of complete and total way. I mean that's the whole idea of having a god, right? So that you can rely on that god completely? Only this is where I get jammed up.

Life is life and the universe is bound to disappoint and hurt us. To rely upon a god seems only to set myself up for inevitable pain when life intercedes and my heart gets broken. But it occurred to me this week that what I have been expecting or hoping to get from god is like what Marlin promises Nemo in that fabulous Pixar movie: "I promised that nothing bad would ever happen." That image of a champion, a superpower infused protector parent is what I wanted in a god.

But it's not really what I understand the divine to be. In conversation this week, I found language for the evolving concept that I understand god to be. I understand the divine as love. God is love. It sounds oversimplified in those three words, but that's about where I am in my understanding. I know that it is often unnatural to consider the needs and well-being of someone else. It is counter intuitive to care about someone else before one's own needs are met. Yet we do it. Humans are kind to one another. We care for one another, and we do it even after we've been hurt. And that makes no sense, but it is truth. Granted there are some unhealthy levels of caring that reach into the realm of codependency, but those unhealthy "Giving Tree" moments aside, I think it is the divine at work when we give to others, when we care for others, when we go out of our way to see to the needs of another. That is god. That verb, that action, that is what god is to me.

So back up a paragraph or two, I think I have been looking for an identity for god that is a person as opposed to a concept or an entity that is a force. I wanted a person. What I got was love.

Now, I can rely on love. I can rely on the idea that even after people are hurt, they will still give. Even after we feel loss, we will reach out again to offer comfort. That is love. And that is god. So what is my relationship now with god as I understand god? Can I rely that love will happen, even in the worst of times? yes. Can I rely that compassion will happen even when it makes no sense? yes. Can I believe that people will reach out to offer each other comfort even when they are hurting? Yes. Must I believe that everyone will always behave this way? Of course not. I can believe that some will, though, and that love -- and thus my understanding of god -- will prevail. I can rely on that. I can trust that. It's a start.

thinking of god

I've been thinking about god again.

In school, it makes sense. That's why I'm here. Sort of.

Not all Unitarian Universalists believe in god, but I think I do.

I mean, I believe in a power greater than myself to which I can turn and that helps me.

Only I don't have a clear understanding of what god looks like. I mean for me. Other people I know can describe god with sure voices and clear terms and what I end up talking about is some "power of the universe that runs things and is a force for good." It sounds like the description of a cartoon character.

My god? I'm not sure what my god looks like. I think the instant we try to put human, finite words on the divine we start to try to put clouds in a box. It's interesting to contemplate and sort of fanciful to try, but really? My understanding of the divine is that god is beyond our own words to describe god. By virtue of the fact that we are limited in our language and thoughts to those of the human species, I think by definition that renders us incapable of defining god. It's like the colors on the spectrum beyond infrared and ultraviolet. I know they're there, but I lack the eyes to let me see them, therefore I cannot begin to describe them. Besides, when was the last time you tried to describe the color blue? Every try to do that? Yeah, it's a fun exercise to illustrate how limited language can be.

So I'm trying to get my brain around my understanding of god. I described god earlier as outside myself and an entity I could turn to for help. But that doesn't really fit either. I think the divine lives in each of us, that there is some spark of pure joy, pure love, pure selflessness and generosity that exists in all of us. Some are in touch with it and can access it and some cannot. Buddhists bow to one another in a ritual that roughly translated means "The divine that lives in me acknowledges the divine that lives in you." I like that idea a lot. I like the idea that we all have something of god inside us.

This does not make us god, or gods, or all powerful in any way, but I think it allows us to do good things in a way that maybe we might not consider on our own. Then again, this might be my liberal, white, privileged understanding of things. I can't tell.

So the tricky thing I'm facing these days is getting in touch with my own woundedness and still managing to believe that I am healthy enough and will be healed enough to do ministry.

One of the first assignments in one of my classes was to consider and reflect upon where I am wounded, where I am broken, and in what way that prevents me from being intimate with god.

Yeah, that was a lot of fun. Last week in that same class, the prof talked about how infants in the first year of life learn trust and how that trust is an absolute base requirement for building relationships, with people and with god. She's right, of course. Only I didn't get that lesson in the first year of life. I learned distrust. So now, 45 years later, can I learn it? Not in the way an infant does, with their still pliable and forming brain, developing synaptic patterns and all. No, it's going to take I don't know what for me to learn trust so that I can function in relationships. And I may walk with a psychic limp for the rest of my life as a result of that break in my infancy. I can't tell. I know that I will have empathy for people in ways that others cannot, but it comes at a high price.

More thoughts tomorrow, I hope.

meditation, submission, and trust falls

I am very tired this morning. I would have liked to have slept another couple hours, but the alarm went off and here I am. I also know that deeper stuff tends to come out when I am tired and my defenses are down.

I am trying to get back to that place I was in January when I was doing such marvelous stuff with my spiritual growth. It was hard work, but I remember that it felt really good. I want to get back there, to be again at that place where I was figuring out what I know of god and of worship and of the world.

My desk is in a prime morning worship kind of place. It faces a window, and the window faces south (mostly). My view is of my yard, a nice lawn edge by tall firs and a rail fence at the road. Across the road, majestic pines tower 60 or more feet in the air and they move with the slightest breeze. There is no wind outside this morning and the trees are very very still.

The idea of meditation appeals to me, but rituals make me feel just a little bit silly. I understand that they are important and that they can trigger all kinds of things, but I just feel silly doing them. Perhaps if I understood the purpose of the rituals in different kinds of meditation, I might feel less twitchy about it. I don't know.

I know that physical movement, or physical enforced stillness can be powerful triggers for the human brain. I know that our brains respond chemically to things that the body does physically. Why, then, is it so hard for me to let go and do the things necessary to meditate? This stuff is science. It makes sense. Why do I fight it so?

I know there are ways to slow down brain waves. I think that's part of what meditation does - it slows down the body's rhythms until a person reaches a trance-like state. That's cool. I know how to do that to my body and my mind in other circumstances. Why can't I do that in meditation or prayer?

The thing that just sprang to mind but was nearly quashed was trust. When I am in that trance-like state, it is generally during some pretty intimate and physically demanding sex play. I have to be with someone I trust explicitly in order to feel safe enough to let go and float in the world of subspace.

So is this where I realize that I do not trust god enough to let go and float in that in-between world of consciousness and enchantment? Is that it? That I am afraid to let go and float? I can let go and drop into that marvelous trance easily with the right play partner, and less easily, but still dependably and surely with a partner I know less well. But to let go and submit to god? That seems beyond what I can do.

And I have to say that sounds utterly silly. Sillier than any ritual designed to help the faithful worship in a meaningful way, sillier than any ancient phrases chanted in Latin that people have long forgotten the meaning of, sillier than incense and oil and holy water. I do not have enough faith to submit my will to god the way I can submit my will to a sex partner.

See what happens when I am over-tired and write without the benefit of coffee? Yikes.

I guess the next question is "what must I know of god in order to trust him/it enough to submit my will?"

The first three steps in my 12-step program talk about (1) acknowledging powerlessness; (2) coming to believe in a higher power than can restore balance; and (3) turning will and life over to that higher power.

So now here I am, with a quarter-century of recovery under my belt, and I find myself in a place where I am revisiting step two. Do I really believe that there is a power greater than myself that can restore me to sanity? Of course I do. I believe in a god, for lack of some other less cumbersome word, who can restore me to sanity. I have seen it happen in recovery. I have watched people come in all jittery and rough, at the very bottom of what could be called human existence, and I have seen them transformed into clean, healthy, rational, sane, productive members of society because they asked for help from outside themselves.

I know that there is a power greater than myself that can restore me to sanity because it has happened. I asked for help, even when I did not believe in a god, or that any god would believe in my, and I was helped. Shit came around. It worked out. And it was not my doing. I believe that there is a higher power. I know this in my bones. It is real. I have seen evidence in my life and with my eyes of what faith can do.

Is it faith, then, that makes all this possible, and maybe not god? Is it the act of faith that makes the powerful and miraculous happen, or the deity itself? Is that where I am? I have always said that a placebo is a powerful thing. If you believe it is a cure, it can cure you. Sometimes.

So, is there some part of my brain, then, that doubts the existence of a god? Is there some part that believes in the ritual but not the object of that worship? Is that what is preventing me from submitting myself to god and letting go enough to get to that marvelous trance state? That I don't trust whatever construct it is that I have of god enough to be vulnerable in that way? Or am I afraid that if I let go that completely that I will be changed in some, huge, permanent way? Do I fear losing myself in this? Do I fear losing the parts of me that I know are unhealthy but which I still enjoy? In terms of step parlance, am I willing to have god remove my defects of character? Am I really, truly, willing? To let go of them all? Hmm. Perhaps there are some that I still cling to.

I would like to have the kind of faith that would allow me to do a meditative kind of trust fall into the metaphysical arms of god, knowing I am safe and that I will be held. I can do it with a lover. I can do it with a less intimate sex partner. But I cannot do it with god? How does that make sense?

This is tough stuff for a tired head so early in the morning.

More to think about today and tomorrow. Stay tuned.

journey, not destination

Searching for god, or in my case, searching for my own understanding of god, seems to be a thing that is hard-wired into my brain.

I've been reading this Deepak Chopra book, How to Know God, and he says some very interesting things. Like our understanding of god is limited to the things we can think and feel with our brains. And our brains are capable of only so much. We are human. We have a certain set of parameters within which our physical bodies can operate. Like our tongues can only taste certain flavors, and our eyes are limited to seeing colors within a certain spectrum, that does no mean that there are not other flavors to be tasted or colors to be seen, merely that we are not equipped to taste or see them all. We can know and think and feel and experience quite a lot, to be sure, but even then, our brains are in our bodies and we operate in the material world, not the realms of quantum or spiritual existences. I don't know that I can explain it terribly well, but I think I understand the quantum stuff, but the realm of the spirit, as described by Chopra, is thus far beyond my comprehension.

As is typical of modern self-help book authors, Chopra breaks down the human experience into seven discernible sensations or responses. There is fear, as exhibited by the fight or flight response, there is power and order, a kind of "restful awareness" that peeks into the quantum world, creativity and spiritual bliss, a kind of euphoria that has been reported and experienced by seers and prophets and saints down through the ages. There are others, too. They are on a continuum with the spiritual euphoria as the pinnacle, a kind of metaphysical, spiritual at-one-ness with the divine. A rapture of sorts, but without having to go anywhere. That last stage is the goal for spiritual seekers, he says.

I am automatically skeptical when anyone breaks down my existence, in all its history and possibilities into seven easy-to-handle concepts, but I have to say that his words seem to make sense. He also says that most humans are wired to do this thing that I am doing: to search for god, or for some understanding of the universe in which we live.

He describes the seven stages of spiritual development and the kind of god that each stage reveals. Someone who is fearful and wants protection (stage one) will have a god who is a loving father figure, a protector and savior. A person whose world revolves around justice and injustice generally has a god that enforces rules and forgives transgressions. Someone who seeks peace and centered-ness will have god who does just that. Intuitive people have a god that seems to put miracles in his or her path, a creative person has a god who grants wishes and fulfillment through artistic genius and divine inspiration, a person who operates in a visionary world can feel the divine nearby, guiding, participating, healing, and a person living in a sacred response place will have a god that he or she is at one with. Typically these folks are considered prophets, Buddha, Jesus, Lao-Tse.

So already my head says "well hell, if the odds of me achieving the gold star are that long, screw it, why bother?" I guess the point here is that I learn. I have no idea if I will ever achieve the prophetic bliss that Chopra speaks of, but that is no reason for me to give up on my search and journey now. I think the whole point is that I take the journey, that I walk whatever path it is that I seem to be on, to not question the why of it, but to enjoy the now of it. I think I will begin mixing in some reading from my 12-step literature to help me with this quest. That will be for tomorrow. For now, the sun is up and bright and I must eat and prepare for the day.

Stay tuned.

Saturday morning musings

At first glance, today seems odd. It is Saturday, but my alarm went off at 7 a.m. anyway. When it did, I could not imagine why that had happened and slapped at it angrily. Dumbass thing. It's Saturday. Shaddup. But then I remembered that I have a lot to do today and that I set the alarm to go off at 7. Oh. Hmph. Better get up and get moving, then.

Today is a day of doing things. I have much to do, and it is not just an assortment of things chosen arbitrarily. I have shoveling and clearing work to do before Sunday night's predicted rain storm soaks into all existing snow and freezes it in place until April. I have windows to put plastic over so that once the rain comes, I can hole up inside the garage at this house where I have a little work and remove the windows and get to work stripping and replacing all of the glazing compound. That's good work to do indoors, and I have a couple of heaters to make it comfy in there.

Oh, and I have to do laundry. Because I need socks.

And I kind of want to rearrange the bedroom. Maybe move things around so that I can take better advantage of the natural light from the windows. The sunrise could come streaming in one window if the bed's headboard were not smack up against it. Hmm. Might not be a bad idea to vacuum under the bed and behind some stuff while I'm at it.

So I am not inclined right now to write beautiful things about god and nature and the world and my cat. I am hunkered down over my coffee cup wishing my right forearm and hand were not all pins-and-needles tingly because it would be a lot easier to type if they weren't. That's leftover from yesterday's shoveling effort. What I thought would be a one- or two-hour job turned into a six- or eight-hour job. Ouch.

The Deepak Chopra book is more interesting than I had anticipated. He starts out appealing to my intellect and acknowledging that not everybody believes in god. That's good. So many books about god seem to start from the premise that the reader already has a god, knows him well and now wants to be his best friend. This is not like that, and I am glad.

The sun is coming up just like it did yesterday, cold and bright as it inches up over the horizon. There is no cat here this morning to teach me how to worship properly. He is still cocooned in blankets in some other quiet part of the house. Sausage links are beginning to sizzle on the stove. They went into the pan as frozen little ice-tubes and honestly, I had forgotten that they were even there until I began to smell them cooking. They're on low, so I only have to get up occasionally and shake the pan. They'll be done in a while.

The cat is no under the table, staring intently at the bookshelf, apparently contemplating the single hardcover publishing success of Paula Poundstone. Odd behavior for a religious teacher if you ask me.

I can hear the furnace doing its thing this morning, and the sausages sizzling and smelling wonderful. I wonder if that is where my exploration is meant to take me today: to senses other than my sight. Although the snow is sparkly like it was yesterday, but we've been there, and done that, so perhaps not. I don't know that I have new words to describe the same scene outside my window.

Chopra talks about the search for god being universal, that all cultures and all peoples do it. He also says that the search goes in phases, with people searching god first in the heavens, then in nature, and then in all things, and then they begin to search inside themselves for god. I think that might be where I am.

I don't think I am going to find god outside. I don't see that I will ever have his mailing address or that I will have to go to a certain geographic place to be with the divine. My goal, I think, is to get in touch with god and to be able to be in touch with him (using male pronouns for efficiency, not gender specificity, so just relax, OK?) every day. I would like to have my conversations with god to not be so awkward, so strained. I want to know that I carry some measure of the divine within me and that it is easily accessible to me and to others.

That's a tall order, I know. And I don't think the search is going to be a linear one, as in I learn lesson A, then proceed to lesson B, then C, all in order. I think this is more along the lines of I learn A, but then explore G for a while, look at Z, but decide that maybe 17 is more the line of learning I want to follow at the moment. This is not going to be an orderly thing.

I don't think knowing god can be a straight-line journey. I just don't see that. Everyone I know who has gone through seminary seems to indicate that there are as many ways to know god as there are people who seek that knowledge, and each has his or her own path to get there.

Normally I tend to be a learner who likes linear stuff. I want to learn the easy, basic stuff and then the more difficult stuff in order. But this does not seem to be the kind of thing that lends itself well to that kind of style. There is a lot to learn, and many teachers and resources available to me every day. I guess my prayer for today is that I be open to learn what each thing and each person has to teach me. I want my mind to be open to all input so that I might learn as much as I can.

The sun is full up now and its light in my eyes is making me sneeze. The cat is nowhere to be found, and the sausages smell good enough that a small dog will arise soon and demand some of the pan scrapings in her breakfast. Saturday is upon me. I shall go now and step into the day.

searching, perhaps for certainty

In what concerns divine things, belief is not appropriate.

Only certainty will do.

Anything less than certainty is unworthy of God.

--Simone Weil

I found this quote when I opened this book I nicked (and subsequently asked permission to take) from my aunt's house. The book is How to know God, (subtitled: The soul's journey into the mystery of mysteries) by Deepak Chopra.

Now I have heard a ton of good stuff about Deepak Chopra, and a friend even recently sent me a link to his blog page. Now I have this book, and it seems like something I should take a look at, and I get hit with this quote.

That's the thing I am struggling with. I do not have certainty. I'm pretty sure I have faith some days, but I am not at all certain that I can define, or even describe in the vaguest of terms, my understanding of my higher power.

I am sitting here at my table this morning and the sun has just peeked up over the horizon and is shining on my face. It is not strong enough yet to warm me physically, but it warms me internally. Perhaps that is my understanding of my higher power.

On the other hand, I also have a cup of coffee with me at the table, and it warms my physically. I love the warmth on my hands as I wrap them around the ceramic orb, I love the aroma of fresh brewed coffee, and the taste is wonderful. I can feel the hot liquid warm me from the inside out as I drink it down.

Is not that what I am seeking in a god? Something that I can grasp, that I can feel its form and warmth, and that I can put to my mouth and drink in to nurture my body and soul?

Somehow, I had always imagined god to be something more than my first cup of coffee of the day.

But honestly, that seems to be what I am seeking.

I know that the recent upheaval in my life is probably what is prompting me to crave something solid, something reliable, something that I can hold onto and define and understand, and ideally, physically grasp so that I can feel secure. The rational part of my brain knows that this simply is not going to happen. I am not going to find a walking, talking physical representation of god here on earth.

Now there are some (Quakers, perhaps?) who would argue that the divine exists in all of us, and therefore we are all manifestations of god here on earth. But I don't think it would be cool to just begin praying to the guy across the coffee shop from me. It might make people nervous.

The sun is up beyond the filter of the bare January trees at the edge of the back field now. It is stronger, glinting off my glasses and my eyelashes, affecting my ability to see the screen of my laptop. I am beginning to feel its warmth on my face, even as it obscures my vision.

Is that what god is? A warming force that is overwhelming in its power and scope, making its presence known through both comfort and discomfort? Warming and nurturing, yet so large that it demands attention and drowns out all that would compete with it?

That seems to fall short of my understanding as well. Although I am inclined to put my chin in my hand, close my eyes and feel the sun on my face for a few minutes. The cat is doing his own version of this exercise too, perched blinking on the windowsill.

I have fetched a second cup of coffee. The cat is now lieing down on the sill, soaking in sunlight like a solar panel, his long yellow fur glinting in the light.

He lives an uncomplicated life, this cat of mine. He eats, he uses his litter box, he plays with his catnip mouse, occasionally battles the small bouncy dog, and he lies in the sun. Aside from the intermittent soggy chewings administered by Quinn, it seems like a pretty ideal life. He seems content. We both sit here in the sun this morning, him enjoying the sensation and me trying to understand god.

Silly humans, to think we consider ourselves superior to animals. I'm the only one in the room who is struggling with anything. He's enjoying the sunshine.

The snow in the yard is sparkling like so many diamonds. I have seen that phrase, that cliche, used over and over, but honestly, that's what the snow looks like this morning. It is blue and gray and white and sparkles and textures that look like a fine, fine paintbrush brushed the surface, partly to smooth, and partly to give texture. The empty footprints of a feral cat cut across the yard from the corner of this house to the thicket in the southern corner by the brook.

The snow makes rolling hills and dales, gentle dunes of sparkling white, striped and speckled with the bluish shadows of the naked maple across the yard and the alders o on the other side of the brook. Spikes of tall summer grasses long dead stick up through the drifts, their seed pods now brittle shells that rattle in the wind. Mice burrow at their base, searching for a winter's meal beneath the blanket of snow.

The sun is blinding now, and very warm on my forehead. I write with my eyes nearly closed, feeling the warmth and brightness in its full force. The cat has moved a few inches forward on the sill to improve his view of the yard. He blinks in the sunlight, yellow eyes soaking in the rays, their centers the thinnest of dark vertical slits. He blinks lazily. I envy him his ease. He is content. He does not struggle with the great mysteries and elusive truths of the universe. If he does, he does not mention it to me. His whiskers glow like fiber-optic cable, backlit by the sun. The make a glowing halo as they sprout from his eyebrows and the sides of his muzzle. He gives an enormous yawn, showing all who would look each of his sharp and jagged teeth as if to say "I am the king lion of this window sill! Trespass at your peril!" I heed his warning and stay at my computer.

He is sitting up now, and purring his sun-soaked pleasure so strongly that it rocks his body gently. I can see his sides move as he breathes. We have been together so long, he and I, that I can tell by watching his sides what kind of breathing he is doing: the nearly stop-action in, rest, out, rest when he sleeps; the short in length, but deep in volume breaths that he uses to boost his oxygen and energy levels when playing rough with the dog, the silly little hiccup breaths he gets after supper sometimes, and the distinct breaths that happen only when he purrs.

He is happy, sitting on his windowsill, surveying the outdoors he never visits. I fancy him content in his warm, dry, pampered isolation, but I wonder. He has never been an outdoor cat. He does not know the freedom and dangers of the greater world. He sees members of the feral cat colony that lives in the barn next door, and he watches them keenly, occasionally growling if one gets too close to the house for his comfort, but otherwise he has little comment on their comings and goings. He has already lived longer than the three generations of cats we have seen come and go in the yard, and he will likely outlive many more.

Aha. contemplation is over. Batteries charged, the cat has jumped down from his perch and gone in search of kibble.

I cease and go in search of my own breakfast. I do not know if I am any closer to knowing god than I was an hour ago, but I think both the cat and I got what we needed from the sunrise. This morning's worship is concluded.

The purpose of god

So I met with my sponsor yesterday and had lunch. We talked about all manner of things, including some spiritual stuff. After the usual niceties, she looked at me and asked, "What do you need?"

What do I need from my spiritual life? What is it that I expect, or want, from the ethereal side of my existence?

What I came up with for this moment in my life is a need for my god to be a little better defined than the foggy, nebulous sort of force of nature/force for kindness and good in the universe. I want something a little more tangible, something I can hold on to.

Hmmm.

What is it that makes me yearn for a tangible god at this moment? Probably the life transitions that I am going through right now: end of a relationship, considering some kind of change in careers, assorted people muttering things in my ear about what they think I might be suited to do, and me trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.

It makes sense, then, that I'd like some part of my life to be a little more tangible than all of the uncertainty that swirls around me at present. My little dog is pretty solid, as is the cat, and my tools, but it seems like so much else in my life is just, well, not really firm. I'd like to set my feet down on something that feels solid.

So, I want a god I can rely on. A god I can understand. A god I can cling to, perhaps. A source of comfort and security when my world is uncomfortable and insecure.

Do I want a god, or a security blanket? A god or some kind of physical, emotional and spiritual bodyguard?

Is god supposed to be those things? I don't remember seeing anything about that in any of the books I have read on god and spirituality over the years. I have read plenty that said that god will sustain us in times of trouble or need, that it was god's job to keep us safe, or to give us the strength to endure what we must, but I am not sure exactly what that means.

I heard growing up that god was kind and loving, not vengeful and mean. I heard that if I wanted or needed something, I was to pray for what it was I felt I lacked, and god would provide.

As I aged, that message was modified some. God was still kind and loving, for certain, but he was no longer some kind of cosmic Santa Claus, granting wishes from petitioners. Pray for what you want or need, I was told, but know that there are a variety of answers available to you: Yes. No. Wait.

Oh. That sounded more and more like a public relations statement from an organization or entity that does not want to be pinned down for promising anything. Sometimes you get a yes, sometimes you get a no, and sometimes, well, sometimes you can't tell what you've got, and that's what we call a Wait answer.

Sorry, whatever theologians came up with that, it does not pass my sniff test. That's using language to explain what happens naturally in a way that shores up what you would have me believe. There is no way to prove or disprove it, so you're left standing there saying, "see? Its just like I said!" Nope. No dice.

In my 12-step recovery program, we talk often about god. People have all colors of beliefs about the divine, but most believe in something. Most use the masculine pronoun "he" to refer to god, and I tend to as well, but not because I believe (or want to believe) that god has testicles and a penis. I use "he" because it is convenient.Truth be told, I do not think that god has any use for a sex or gender, never mind reproductive organs, but then again, I'm not sure what all I believe, so there's that.

So I come back now to discussion of what is it that I believe. I wish I had a better grasp on this. I believe in something, I'm not sure what, exactly, but I believe in it. I do believe that there is some force that runs things and keeps the planets spinning where they are supposed to go and makes sure gravity works and that the tides go in and out so we can have great seafood. I also believe that that entity has a subtle sense of humor, and that he/she/it will sometimes intercede in the affairs of we meager earth creatures and put shit in our paths for us to learn from. Sometimes it is a difficult thing that we otherwise would never have faced that teaches us humility, and strength and faith, and sometimes it is just the help and kindness we needed when we had no idea we needed it.

We all have stories like that. The guy who stopped to help change a flat who turns out to be the cousin of you're mother's uncle's brother-in-law from your home town back east, just when you're feeling homesick. The impossible situation that hits you at work after you've aced everything else you've tried and suddenly you're in over your head and you have to ask for help.

Some people write such things off to coincidence or fate, but I don't know. Like the "yes, no, or wait" people I mentioned earlier, there is no way to prove that an omnipotent, interceding god did not arrange that shit for the parties so involved to get what they needed. But there is no way to prove that it was not the handiwork of such a being. Somehow, thinking that a god of some kind arranged such things makes my head hurt less than the thought that all of life and its experiences are simply the results of the random acts of atoms colliding with each other in a huge chemistry experiment.

I'm not sure that Hollywood is an ideal place to search for theological or spiritual development, but I keep remembering a scene from a Whoopi Goldberg movie, Corinna, Corinna. For those who have not seen the movie, it involves a widowed man, Manny (Ray Liotta) his daughter Molly (Tina Majorino) and the housekeeper/nanny Corinna (Whoopi Goldberg). Manny must find someone to keep house and care for his daughter after his wife's death, which has so devastated the little girl that she is non-communicative and nearly catatonic. Corinna and Molly bond and the little girl begins to flourish again under her care, but there are some distinct cultural and racial tensions among the adults that make the film worth what people paid to see it.

The scene I remember is when Molly and her father have the following exchange:

Manny: Molly, I told you. God is just a story people tell to make themselves feel better.

Molly: What's wrong with that?

Indeed.

What's wrong with people creating an all-powerful entity, even an imaginary such entity, to make themselves feel better? What is wrong with people providing themselves with a method by which to seek and find relief from what can be a grueling existence? When we have a head ache, we rub our temples. When our back hurts, we stretch and find a heating pad. Why then, when our hearts and souls hurt, is it wrong for us to seek something that will ease our suffering?

Of course I understand all of the problems that come when one group has a god that they think is better than everyone else's god. Conflict ensues. Much like a kid on a playground who says that his big brother can beat up your big brother, the argument is silly. What makes us think that an entity such as god could be squashed into a box of definitions made by man? But true believers are not to be swayed. Like so many other things, no amount of logic, reason or compassionate pleading will allow them to budge from their dogma, be it theological or political.

I don't understand the notion of a god who could be so insecure that he/she/it would get bent out of shape if people are worshiping according to a different plan. Jews don't think what Catholics do is exactly right, and Muslims think both of them have it all wrong. Mormons have one way of being, Pentecostals another, Episcopalians something different, pagans dance and sing in harmony with and in celebration of nature, Hindus, scads of Eastern religions I can neither name nor pronounce each has their own way of worshiping, and the Quakers sit quietly until the spirit moves them to speak or act.

Which is right? I happen to think they all are, to some extent. If each practice brings some kind of comfort to its members, then it has done some of what it is meant to do. I do NOT believe that any practice, or group of practitioners has the right -- or even the obligation -- to force their method on others. I know this causes problems, because some religions make it a tenet of their faith that it is required that followers proselytize.

I tend to think that sort of thing is a bad idea, sort of like interfering with some one's cultural identity. Your god is good, but mine is better, let me show you how and change you from you into me, but maybe with a different shade of skin. Bad news.

I also have problems with religions that say it is acceptable to oppress people. Like women. Or non-believers. Or anyone. That's not cool.

Perhaps it is my New England roots that make me think this way, or maybe it is my AA background, but I tend to think that any faith organization ought to attract new members rather than go out and drag them in. In AA we talk about a public relations policy "based on attraction rather than promotion," meaning that we live the kinds of lives that others see and would like to have. They ask how we do it, we show how. As a rule (and there are very few hard and fast rules in AA) we don't go out and beat people over the head with our Big Books. Occasionally, I have given a book to someone who I think might be interested in it, but as for going into a bar, finding the two or three worst sots in the place and dragging them off to a church basement to drink bad coffee? Well, it's just not our style. Which is not to say it hasn't been tried. It has. It does not work terribly well and only offends people who might otherwise be open to the idea of recovery, for themselves or others.

People have to want to get sober in AA, and I would hazard a guess that people must likewise be seeking a spiritual path in order to enter into a faith tradition or get some powerful meaning from the one they're in. Recruiting works to some extent, but I do not respect or trust the methods and thus, am skeptical of the results. To me it seems much like a fad diet. Sure it works, but for how long?

So where does this leave me in my search for a tangible god? I have no idea.

I think it helps to get the words down on the page (or screen, as it may be) to look at them. Please know that this is not a thesis. This is what I wrote before and during my first cup of coffee this morning. This is where my brain flowed and what came out of it. Comments might be nice, but I think I wrote this more for the exercise than for the feedback. Perhaps I'll write more tomorrow.

Stay tuned.

interesting things

have been happening to me lately.

I got a new AA sponsor on Sunday after church, and she's a real kick. Told her about some of the stranger aspects of what it means to be Dawn and she didn't blink. Then I remembered that she's a retired therapist, who dealt with all kinds of addictions and behaviors. I'm probably pretty tame, all things considered.

I want to do more spiritual growth - hence the new sponsor - and I want to work more toward developing a conscious contact with my higher power.

Only lately, I'm not sure at all what that higher power is.

I don't believe in the holy trinity that was the foundation of my childhood Catholic faith: that God is the Father in Heaven, Jesus his son and the Holy Ghost (later demoted to Holy Spirit, with Vatican II's effort to become more user-friendly). I don't believe that Jesus was born of a virgin or that he rose from the dead. I can handle that he existed, and that he was killed by the powers that be at the time - after all, it is not unusual for revolutionaries to be killed by the institutions they challenge.

I'm pretty sure that disqualifies me from my Catholic origins, and probably from Christianity as a whole, even the more liberal bits of it, like the UCC people. I think they still do Jesus pretty seriously.

So what do I believe? I believe in the power of the earth, as it spins through space in its orbit around our sun. I believe in its power to heal itself of just about everything, including us. I believe in the power of the sun and the moon, of gravity and the tides that cycle in and out of our harbors and beaches. I believe in the power of plants that know when to sprout and which direction to go when they do, and of trees that can suck water from deep in the earth and give back oxygen to the rest of us. I believe in the power of wetlands to filter the fluids of the earth like a set of kidneys, straining out impurities and keeping things in balance.

I pray, which some might find odd. But I do. Only lately it has been weird. With the recent evolutions in my theology, I have moved away from a person of god to a thing of god, a power, an existence, an entity of sorts, that keeps things running, but in a style that is less direct, say, than "Spock's Brain." The power of nature is huge. It is amazing. Overwhelming. All-encompassing. And more than just a little bit difficult to pray to.

Do I create my own hierarchy of saints, like the First Nations people did, and pray to the sun and the moon and the eagle and the bear? That doesn't seem to fit what feels right inside. These are not the gods I worship, but that god's creations, like me. Are they god's messengers? Perhaps. But then, so am I.

I don't say that with arrogance, please know that. I say it with heartfelt humility. I am but one of the many messengers of the divine. We all have the capacity to do god's work, nothing makes us better or less than our fellows.

This strikes me as a thing that needs to be explored in the morning hours as opposed to the nighttime ones, so I will shut down now and sleep and try again tomorrow. Sorry to stop short, but I want my brain to be rested for this exploration so that I might present an honest effort that honors the dignity of the topic.

Stay tuned.