Betsy said it and we laughed.
I can’t remember what we
were talking about. I just
remember how we laughed
and remarked that that was
a good one when she said,
“God isn’t who He used to be.”
I kind of want to tell you more,
you know, the context of our
conversation or to expound on
the implications, the irony which
instantly brought laughter.
But whatever more I could tell
you is already there for you to see.
It is in the remark itself:
“God isn’t who He used to be.”
It’s about us.
We are the arrogant animals, the out-of-step ones—the ego-driven, tantrum-throwing destructive ones. We are the prideful animals and the delusional animals all at once.
While a deer is busy being its noninvasive self, we are busy invading other humans or defending ourselves from human invaders. At this moment, as I write, somewhere a lion is killing another animal in order to feed itself and its family while we compose beautiful music and kill other humans in order to … I’m sorry, why do we kill other humans?
Of course the Book says that the first son of man murdered the second son of man. So what did we expect?
Some among us believe we are the guardians of this planet. They tell us they know what is best for us all—that they know what fish should live where, and what grass should grow where, and which humans should live where, and I suspect that soon when they "evolve" a little more, they will denounce God for allowing volcanoes to erupt and they will attempt to prevent Him from doing any more of His great and diverse mischief.
We have had hundreds of thousands of years to improve—to modify our violent natures—and we have failed miserably to do so. Yet because we are the delusional animals, we don’t really think about things like that too often.
Instead, we imagine ourselves to be a species apart—a non-animal species of an infinitely superior nature. As proof we direct each other to consider the wonders of our truly magnificent deeds and accomplishments. We enshrine our DaVincis and Einsteins in order to reassure ourselves that we are the intelligent species, the evolved species, far removed from the animals.
Of course, as needs be, we fail to earnestly consider the all-too-human contradictions inherent in our DaVincis and Einsteins. While we loudly and repeatedly laud the remarkable accomplishments of these icons of human superiority, we quietly and easily demote their other contributions—DaVinci’s advanced weaponry designs and the first most urgent consequence of Einstein’s e = mc2 — apocalyptic death and destruction, which proved beyond any doubt that we are far more efficient killers than all other creatures on this planet.
Yet, in our fleeting moments of unadorned self-appraisal we wise and superior guardians of the planet are obliged to accept the unspoiled truth that we can't even make a leaf.
there's a place
beyond which
i cannot go
where mind stretches taut
to Know
to pierce the God walls
that entomb the Truth
the Answer …
or something
more important
… and final
celestial mental minders
cling to my thoughts
like jealous cats
guarding secret mouse lairs
locking, blocking, stopping
Thought Processes,
forbidding entry to the
Fruit of Final Knowledge
on penalty of …
something more is intuited
without the thinnest edge
of reason to justify pursuit
nothing cannot exist
sayeth the little mind of man
to its Self
in its dream
or His,
or Hers,
or theirs,
or …
there is no sense to this
only nagging, fleeting innuendo
teasing my highest faculties,
taunting me to follow, to wonder,
to ponder, to surrender to
… nothing
where nothing lives or dies,
or laughs
… or cries
wrecked on deadly shoals
off sealess shores
I scratch futilely
on the immutable wall-face
of Forbidden Knowledge
to gain entry,
which
never
comes
where are the Gods
they speak of
when our fears
reassemble our eternal atoms
into adversarial
random
patterns
of chaos?
the illusion of well being
evaporates for one terrifying
moment of truth and
we see …
if there's a hell, said daddy,
this is it
and at least that's
… something
if it is
hell or not
not allowed are we
to know anything
… important
What to make of this thing we call Life?
Some offer answers from the Book they
say is “God’s” while others assert and insist
it’s all a matter of random odds. Perhaps
we’re in a dream not ours—but of the
One Complete. Yet if this be so, I wonder
more at His troubled sleep.
The oddest thing of all is that I find it odd
at all, absent a memory of what …
another life? If this is all I’ve known,
what other world could I divine? What mad
notion compels me to entertain something
more sublime?
Then too, perhaps the dream is mine alone
to write and play as I may choose, with
schemes and scenes and lesser dreams for
others to consider thus. If that, then have I
the Gods designed? Is my self-deception
so complete? Is such genius stuff in me so
devised to lay great Mysteries at my own feet?
The Silence moves through a boundless sea of manifest energy, its inexorable principle proceeds unfettered always and forever beyond comprehension to be seen by those who see without eyes, hear without ears, touch without hands. It is here, there, outside, inside, nowhere, everywhere. We are in it and of it.
The Silence is without measure. Its reach is beyond all, its grasp complete. Its emptiness is full, its silent voice compelling as it whispers through creation like an omnipresent cantor informing the eternities wherein Gods share Forever stories and shape new worlds from ageless cosmic Stuff!
Listen to it! Be quiet and listen! Be still and You shall hear Your voice among the voices of the Gods. You shall hear the startling, glorious music of the Universe—the eternal One Song. With the Gods, You shall joyously dance the Dance of Eternal Life … Danse de la vie éternelle.
You shall witness the ineffable Force as you voyage through the infinite dimensions of the Process! Be still and know. Be fastened in Your moment of Truth and know the glory of Your completeness, Your oneness, Your was, is, and shall-be-ness.
Oh, listen, my Dear One, please listen. Without ears to hear nor eyes to see, nor any senses five of Yours, You shall attend the School of Knowledge, of All There Is, Was and Shall Be. Listen to the Silence wherein All shall be proclaimed to You.
Discover Your Self among the rest with which you are One. Listen without listening and all things shall come to You as You wish, in the order of Your wishes. You shall dream the dreams of Gods, witness Their schemes and know the Truth which shall set you free! You shall Create as They created You.
Just be perfectly still … My Dearest One.
Live lightly with the wind and sun
and the seasons of the earth.
Move softly with the thoughts of life,
the sense of life, the landscapes of life.
Make love to life when love needs a place
to be and see what you have done there.
Steady and straight toward the truth of life
is the way, dear friend. There is no other
path is so honored. When Survival begs
your Soul to hear its Song of Death, trust
that which speaks from within your Heart.
Abide within the house of Love and travel
on the road of Wonder else you miss the
landmarks of your journey—the promise of
your life.
Do not be blind and dumb to the wondrous
light outside your inner night. Listen closely
to your primal memories, to the lessons of
the ages, the wisdom of the sages.
Make love to life when love needs a place
to be and see what you have done there.
Laugh heartily at the humor of the Gods who built the stage and wrote the scripts and cast the plays of Life in which we play our self-important parts.
Smile broadly at the Irony they made for us to see.
Grin oddly at the mystery hidden from our view, and wonder at their motives—of which we have no clue.
Scream loudly at the horror of the wars we’re made to fight, at the dimness of our sight and the fullness of our fright.
Then quietly, softly, deeply …
weep for us all.