God is You

“The unfolding of the unexpected becomes the energy that drives you. You discover how thirsty you are for exploration without analysis. You feel strangely at home in a place you can’t define. You are truly creating.”

– Michell Lassou and Stewart Cubbley

“As we create the life of our dreams, we often reach a crossroads where the choices seem to involve the risk of facing the unknown versus the safety and comfort of all that we have come to trust. We may feel like a tightrope walker, carefully teetering along the narrow path to our goals, sometimes feeling that we are doing so without a net. Knowing we have some backup may help us work up the courage to take those first steps, until we are secure in knowing that we have the skills to work without one. But when we live our lives from a place of balance and trust in the universe, we may not see our source of support, but we can know that it is there.

“If we refuse to act only if we can see the safety net, we may be allowing the net to become a trap as it creates a barrier between us and the freedom to pursue our goals. Change is inherent in life, so even what we have learned to trust can surprise us at any moment. Remove fear from the equation and then, without even wondering what is going on below, we can devote our full attention to the dream that awaits us.

“We attract support into our lives when we are willing to make those first tentative steps, trusting that the universe will provide exactly what we need. In that process we can decide that whatever comes from our actions is only for our highest and best experience of growth. It may come in the form of a soft landing, an unexpected rescue or an eye-opening experience gleaned only from the process of falling. So rather than allowing our lives to be dictated by fear of the unknown, or trying to avoid falling, we can appreciate that sometimes we experience life fully when we are willing to trust and fall. And in doing so, we may just find that we have the wings to fly.

“When we believe that there is a reason for everything, we are stepping out with the safety net of the universe, and we know we will make the best from whatever comes our way.”  (via DailyOm)

I can thoroughly attest to this being true. In fact, I have been working late on a fraternal book to The Beginning of an Inexplicable Journey which explores this very topic, or what I like to call The Art of Invocation: “a conversation of intuitions.” Having witnessed my personal dreams come true after retiring as general manager of the universe, letting go, feeling my way forwards and after trying, trying and trying again, I am confident that there is an incredible force in the universe that thrives on the energy of our visions and propels them forward with personally inspired action.

Perhaps it is simple neuroscience, perhaps it is neutrinos (“the most ridiculous particle you could imagine”) perhaps it is a God, perhaps it is me, and perhaps, as I suspect, it is all of these things, which are in the end, only words for different processes of shifting life. Still, there are mysteries that even scientists cannot describe with words. I will do my best to share what I have learnt in this lifetime, for my life is priceless to me, as I know yours is to you. Love is one of the most healing and incredible forces, and my experience of invoking it is something I feel powerfully called to share. But now to another perhaps similar mystery…

“A neutrino is the most ridiculous particle you can imagine. A billion neutrinos went through my nose as we were talking. A trillion went through my nose just now. And they did nothing to me. They pass through all of the matter around us continuously in a huge, huge blast that does nothing at all.

“They almost exist in a separate universe. But we know as physicists that we can measure them, we can make precision predictions, but we can’t get our hands on them, because they seem to just exist in another place. Yet, without neutrinos, the beginning of the universe wouldn’t have worked. We wouldn’t have the matter that we have today because you couldn’t create the elements without the neutrinos. In the very very earliest few seconds of the Big Bang, the neutrinos were the dominant particle. And they actually determined much of the kinetics of the production of the elements we know. So, the universe can’t exist the way it is without the neutrinos, but they seem to be in their own separate universe. And we’re trying to actually make contact with that otherworldly universe of neutrinos.

“And, as a physicist, even though I understand it mathematically, and I understand it intellectually, it still hits me in the gut. That there’s something here surrounding me, almost like some kind of spirit or God, that I can’t touch and… but I can measure it. I can make a measurement. It’s like measuring the spirit world or something like that. You can go out and touch these things,” – Doctor Gorham of the University of Hawaii, Physicist and leader of the Neutrino Experiment in Werner Herzog’s documentary “Encounters At The End of the World.”

The Neutrino Project is very exciting, and I adore Doctor Gorham’s entheos for the discoveries he aims to make and is making. While I watched this last night under the eaves of my home beneath a starry sky in the Northern Hemisphere, I became amazed by our ability as human beings – just another life form on this whirling planet – to use an evocative language with which to describe the most complex and fascinating processes observed upon this Earth. How is it that Gorham, using a few words like ‘kinetic’ ‘production’ ‘elements’ and ‘neutrinos’ – can describe a complex and very distant process, the genesis of life itself, which I understand through another complex process of sound waves hitting my ear drums, connecting to my synapses and forming a mental map?  This is the beauty of storytelling, of language, of technology, of the human brain.

“There is a beautiful saying by an American philosopher Alan Watts, and he used to say that through our eyes, the universe is perceiving itself, and through our ears the Universe is listening to it’s cosmic harmonies. And we are the witness through which the universe becomes conscious of its glory, of its magnificence.” – ibid.

Come to the edge, he said
No, we’re afraid, they said
Come to the edge, he said
No, we’re afraid
Come to the edge, he said
So they came
And he pushed them
And they flew.
 – Guillaume Apollinaire
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I look out the window and the breath is jacked out of me. What greater grandeur is this, up above clouds so pristine and delicate, spread in patterns so far below this airplane, that only the breezes and gusts who form these patterns can see? We bear witness now, and you are with me. I see you eating with your brother, I see you smiling and leaning back and I see you see me, hundreds and thousands of feet over undulating mountain ranges.

I see a strip of cloud snake above jagged river. I see circular fields and the veins of old rivulets. I see the pencil mark roads we have drawn, I see the beauty of our future. I see the love; I am the love. I eat olives and almonds, and I look out the window at pure majesty, natural. I see Monument Valley, and the brunting strength of elemental land which rises each day from amongst the ebbing sands which surround it.

I sense you one day looking with me out the same window, and we will be silent, and we will be happy. We skim the earth now, hug the atmosphere in this jet, over the steppes and brown grains. I see the parched wrinkles and greener elbows. In the distance, we jibe with a pale pink ribbon of horizon, and sunlight streams through. I am with you, and I am alone. I am alone, and yet my thoughts drift through yours.

Do you feel me? We have no boundary. You, my lover, are my souls sweetest loving. You, my lover, are a rich dark range now flooded with light. We sleep in astral planes under the shredded quilt cotton. The cloud drapes so delicately over colder edges, over the shade of our mountains. Now we approach the sun, as it storms a gray castle and throws shadows, epic, on the bonnet of thick blanket. In the distance, another castle rises with blue ceilings, gilded pink-blonde with magic.

The sun welcomes travelers through a great castle, and horses race out of it. Misted cotton looms about him. He is glorious, joyous. The castle, cool stone. We are smiled. A great celebration feels near, as we sail over fathomless depths of gun metal gray and tin blue. There is air above, and still swells below. Nothing moves. Only we. I am all eyes and hands. A vein of cloud like a tree rises from the mist.

We are circling the east wing, and as we pass, the light beings do not turn their heads. They are with the horses, and within the cool depths of that rich shadow. More mountains, valleys, streams and gold paved pathways surround us. I find you in me. I am not far. We are not separate. I have always missed your presence on this journey, and it becomes more explicable as I explain and entertain the inexpressible.

I am moved by voiceless music, I am moved by visions unearthly, I am moved by the symphonies in my ear, and I am moved by the mass potential of our youths. I am healed, and I am healing waters. I am mother love, love for all beings-being, and I am Creator, creator of reflections, reflections of you: God. Reflections of me: God. Reflections of us: God. Reflections of life: God.

I am not formally religious, and yet I see in the way the sun falls on the crests of the mountain ranges below, the dots of trees, the ridges that fold like clay on the ground, the knuckles of the land, that there is a unity to all things. That the coffee I drink from the styrofoam, and the window which protects me from the majesty of natures violence are all intricately un-embeddedable. We are embedded. We are unable to dismember ourselves from this world.

Look what we are privy to! Here and now!

The sky is five different colours. The clouds are twenty different shapes and textures, wisps, breathes, thin birds of cloud, meet emptied duvet clouds; meet beefy meringue high-rises, among golden underbellies of whipped cream. They all live stationary as we proceed, a kind of 360º painting which is in fact our reality, our intricacy, our embeddedness. We witness that underbelly. We hold this styrofoam. We press our foreheads to the thickened window and send our eyes out toward rising castles.

And still, all I want (I see purple cloud, like manta ray, and a beach of beat egg white, something laying nearby like the fog of long distance) is to walk the streets of New York with you buying buttery oat cookies and smiling at rats. Are you my God, incarnate? All I want is to be near you again, and yet again, I know you are here. I missed you for too long, never knowing your presence, never knowing if I could have the faith to see your embodiment, to believe in your embodiment. To believe that I deserved to be in relationship to the essence of my God: that unflinching love, our quivering humanity, two sky open eyes, an ocean of soul to make surf upon.

Slowly, I prepared myself to believe that you may arrive, and that I would follow the clues down the brick laid labyrinth-lanes towards you. I wasn’t sure when I might meet you, only that I would. I knew that I would bump into your shoulder, or that like an athletic fish in a river, you would dash past my slippery body, climbing up stream, and that you would knock me from the calcification of my clinging. You did that. I felt your smooth soul body, and I was unlatched from the rocks upon which I was barnacled.

The downstream dream is uncanny. You God, you take me where I need to go, and each moment is more bountiful than the last. It is my perception which opens, my wonder and my soul which reverberates with the gratitude of a survivor. I nearly threw myself off the ragged ravine, and I knew it would take months, years, to climb back to this pure place where the paths are lined with small yellow flowers and the air is high and light.

The green and blue and yellow of our riches are electrifying to me. I see pinks, and red, oh, the red, and I see the open white of pure possibility too. You are my healing supported, you are contribution, you are dancing, you are smiling, you are singing, you are tasting, you are walking, you are freedom, and laying, and looking, and seeing, and speaking, and you are being. Your being regenerates the majesty of mine. In you, I see my own potential, in you I see my light carving space in my soul in which I may expand in time. In you, my space expands. In you, my time warps and life turns to waking, life turns to dying, life turns to flowing, river river, running under, keep our souls a furnace of wonder. I am free and so is he, now what will we do as “we”?

The furnaces kiss. Two realms collide. Infinite magic brings alchemy alive, time and space continue to die. Two seers slide on carpet glides, while ancient Gods stow wine aside. We unite in heaven, plan parties, laugh, cry. I let myself wonder how I got inside. “Hear me, hear me, hear me,” I sighed, “Send me an angel, I’m done with this ride.” The fish and the ledge and the purple and pride, I give myself as one sacred bride.

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“Everything seeks its source.”

Before I can do any work, there is an expanding, elastic growth in my psyche that is filling with words, and weight. I don’t quite know what is there yet; I’m skimming over the surface. In essence, there is a very low helicopter circling the apartment, there are very loud thrummings in my heart, and quieter ticks in my head, slow steams cracking through fissures in Earth.

I have many things I both want and need to do, and may I say that the response to my book has been wonderful, daunting, humbling, and touching. Be careful what you wish for, indeed (!) I used to idolize the Postman, as many of you know, and see him now coming down our suburban street in the sun, grinning at children, cats, birds, bees and whomever else stood in their garden, watering, or digging, or living. Earlier today I paid a visit to the US Post Office on East 11th street and Fourth Avenue, where I meditatively filled out customs forms for the books I’m posting – in planes, across waters, in trucks, on bicycles, motorbikes, and by foot – to you who have given me certain quantities of paper imbued with monetary value, energetic exchanges. I watched as a calm Postal Worker stamped each page of each customs form, tore out a page, kept part of it, peeled the label off the last green page, and stuck it onto the Cushion Mailer I’d encased each book within. He then printed a small label detailing the postage paid, and stamped each envelope with ‘Air Mail’, before gently tossing them into the cloth cart behind.

This process made me very happy.

A lot of my life is changing. I’m not sure how rapidly or unrecognizably it will change, but it is shifting. Like the dunes, this is what a life becomes in the end. The fundamental stuff is no different: human beings being, and not being, connecting, being grateful, time passing, food eaten, sleep needed, waking, walking, thinking, dreaming. Yet, imperceptibly, circumstances change. I am still me, you are still you, and yet this moment now is different. And this one. How do we map these changes? Memory? Nostalgia? I just returned from four days in Fire Island, where a landslide of change occurred within and around me. Who can contemplate the significance of these changes? Am I the only one who sees them? No, we all felt the same feelings. We all understand the same air. We all hear the same music. Some are more asleep than others. Some are waking up. Some want (and need) to keep dreaming.

Still, there are many who would rather sleep than be as awake as they are. Who can handle the guts of living on this Earth? Who can handle the gulf stream of emotion, the outpouring of pain, and hurt, the effervescence of joy when throwing and catching a frisbee, and diving through waves, sometimes simultaneously. Who can hold a space of love for everyone? Can you? Can’t God? (But God is Life, so God is You.)

I feel as if I’m on a ship, and life is the ocean. In it, are creatures unfathomable, depths never reached. The shore is populated. People wade in to their knees easily. Some avid explorers – some brave, curious, bold, or perhaps batty – go deeper. Some reach darknesses and depths others have never experienced. The cold can shock. The creatures drifting out into the light appear strange and discomforting. They can’t get comfortable, some of these previously willing explorers. Some dive and ascend quickly. Some feel their toes touch that seemingly cold, new place, and retract rapidly. Some keep going.

I’m interested in keeping on going. Yes, it can feel like we’re practicing for something bigger to come (perhaps we are), and it can feel unusual doing what you want to do, or are curious to do – like the unnerving imbalance one feels when learning to ride a bicycle, or to take their feet off the ocean floor. But, what if once you tried something, you realized that you were still safe, and still safe, and still safe? And that to stay where you are, paralyzed in fear of what might happen, is potentially more dangerous, in every way?

A friend asked me recently whether I believed in the power of writing to shift the way we think about things. Of course you know my response. How could it not? Neuroscientists monitor the brains of olympic athletes with electrodes and discover that when they run a race or swim a mile with their mind, the same muscles fire in their body as would do when they actually perform physically. Your brain runs the show, and the race, for you, every time. Your brain and body are not disconnected. It is my belief that reading and absorbing (certain) words paves paths in the same way.

It is my belief that we only grow as much as we are willing. It is my belief that sometimes we have to let go in order to go deeper. You can’t hold on to the bow of the boat if you’re interested in being alive as a human. You can follow the anchor; you can go back to the boat; you can leave the boat behind and find another one. You can really do whatever you want. But if you’re alive, really alive, you dive into the waves and feel the cold and feel the salt in your nose and the sand in your eyebrows and underwear, and you don’t wash yourself clean of the salt. You choose not to harm yourself, much less to harm others. They are also inseparable, at the end of the road: You cannot truly love others, truly give to others, truly be of service to others, if you are not of service, in love, and wholly grateful for the vessel that is yourself.

Please, be kind to yourself. Please love yourself. Please work through your fears (dive deep), your insecurities (speak loudly), your anger (scream into the ground, the ocean, your pillow – not into the mirror, nor at your parents, nor at your friends, your lover, your neighbours, your dog. They don’t deserve it.) The ocean and the Earth can handle your anger. They are as volatile. Powerful. Inherently energetic. So are you. Don’t numb yourself. Don’t kill yourself. We need you. We need your love, your generosity, your joy, your bright, bright, light.

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