GOD | By Pam Stewart

Sonogram of the tear in my retina

Obviously, saying “God” is tricky because everyone is bringing different definitions of the term to the table (and usually not something great).  To some, it brings to mind control, fear, and patriarchy.  Most of the issue lies in the fact that we’re all using the same word for different things.  We applied a definition to the term “God” that was given to us by outside sources -- texts, family, traditions, priests, history -- after the term was taken in vain by those looking for power.  Too many evils have been done in the name of “God” to not be conflicted about the word but in some ways: of course.  Of course the word with that much power could be abused.  In the same way that the biggest hurts occur when love is present, the same is true of power.  It can always be used for good or not, and the term “God” has an abundance of power.

But G*d must be discovered and determined for oneself and any time we have to do something for ourselves that we’ve never done before, there is great risk and vulnerability involved.  We would rather allow someone with swagger and a booming voice to direct us and give us the answers.  We love when someone seems to know the truth and thus relieves us of the responsibility of having to uncover it for ourselves.  And alternatively, we love having someone to blame if (and when) it all turns out to be bullshit.

G*d cannot be owned, taught or handed down, I don’t know if it can be found without deep moments of Not Knowing.  In those moments without knowing, we risk feeling (or even worse, looking) stupid.  As with anything new, we fear the average person’s Ashtun Kutcher jumping out at us with a camera and exposing us for punks.  Punks for trying, for nearly believing, for, heaven forbid, hoping… And, what could be more embarrassing than that?  As a result abuses happen.  This is where the power in cults, military, and religions lie.  It is in people’s fear of looking stupid for trying or for getting it wrong that makes them so susceptible to he with the steadiest hand.  Because in truth, it’s just so much easier to listen and follow then question, wait, and be seen stepping unsteadily.  When the rules are written down and can be pointed to, the mental energy required is so much less, and let’s face it, we’re all exhausted.  Hence: Netflix.  So individual power is handed over, critical thinking and intuition are forgotten or, at the very least, doubted and ignored.

Where we went wrong around the whole “God” thing was we followed the trails blazed by others and then, when all those trails blazed proved false and all of those curtains were pulled back and the corresponding atrocities revealed, we abandoned the path altogether.  Hence: Netflix.  We let what was most sacred in the world be taken from us, sullied by those who claimed to know something we ourselves could not.  We abandoned ship when we saw it was a hoax, and rightfully so, for that ship was never leading us to the Promised Land.  So instead, we listened when voices on the other side told us to go shopping; and shop we did.

Never did we stop to sit still.  For in stillness, the most uncomfortable place there is, lie the answers.  And unfortunately, what the answers are are generally less bold than we would like.  Definitely less concrete than the voices we’d always thought to listen to or ignore.  We have an idea of what certainty should look and feel like so we’re chasing that idea instead of what’s right in front of us: reality -- which, if you’ve lived in it long enough then likely know, it’s often grey.  I heard someone in law enforcement say that the average person has been so affected by crime shows that juries are no longer able to accept evidence of a lesser degree than they are used to seeing on TV.  I think the same has happened to us around “God” -- it was easier to choose Trump than to fiddle around with Rumi.

I had to let go of all that I was taught, all that I knew of it, I had to fully accept my own disbelief.  I had to be certain there was no such thing, that everything I’d been taught was a lie, and that allowed me to start from ground zero.  Without letting go of the faiths of my parents and their parents, I never could have found the honesty in stillness, the peace of absence that allowed my own knowledge to percolate.  Once I started to find my own way, it was then that it became ok to also allow the subtlest of teachers.  Those with no stake in the game, no ego in my learning or development, those merely willing to point out the path they took, allowing me to stumble along it if I so chose to, picking up what was most useful for me at the time.  That’s the key, timing.  Because lessons are invisible to those not ready to receive them.  I’ve read the same books at different times of life and gotten completely different messages, heard the same words spoken and gotten completely different themes.

When someone or something determines what’s right and wrong, one must comply or rebel.  How much can I get away with and still be a good person according to this list of virtues?  But when there is no outside source, when right and wrong is only determined by the settling that happens within the stillness we find, there is only right action or wrong action.  There is no manipulation or pushing of boundaries, there is no asking for forgiveness because there’s no one to hand it down.  Our choices are our own, aligned with our right and whole selves or not, there are no outside sources to blame or look to for salvation.

God is something one must experience for herself.  I have no reason to think faith without demonstration is required.  It is not difficult to experience personally instead of assuming it’s all theoretical.  It is easy to be certain when you’ve experienced.  There is no need to make a decision based on the stories told by others.  Get still and get quiet.  It is easiest to access when we feel safe, when we believe our loved ones to be safe; and this realization made me ask, is my faith just another example of white privilege?  Would I see these truths as equally important if my skin was black in a white supremacist world?

And my answer is: I don’t know.

Any time I think I know something for certain, I have the rug pulled out from under me.  My process, constantly, is in accepting uncertainty, my lack of control in all matters except letting go.  And this is the G*d I am referring to -- not a being but a place, not a place but a current, not a current but a sensation of honesty.  When you let go of the sides and just float, it’s the release that comes in the moment after you panic when you realize you have absolutely no control.  There’s no belief required, it’s just knowing or not knowing.  But the second you try to pin it down, define it, explain it in essay form, it is always a little less true.   But like with Rumi, it’s the space beneath the words.