Seems like I’ve made no real progress in my 35 years. I’ve toyed around with a few spiritual paths — looking for a way to deepen myself, center myself and I never apply myself to them — so I remain shallow — reacting superficially to all the events of my life.
The voice that I seek within myself is the voice of love, the voice of God. Najagneg, an Eskimo shaman, told the Danish explorer Rasmussen that Sila, “the soul of the universe … has a voice so fine and gentle that even children cannot become afraid. What he says is: ‘Be not afraid of the universe.'” I want to find my way to this voice, to live in the center of its comforting reverberations.
But how to find the path to God through all the inner and outer distractions? A Native American Elder told Harvey Arden, “Everyone got to find the right path. You can’t see it so it’s hard to find. No one can show you. Each person’s got to find the path by himself.” If Native Americans, who I believe have a much closer relationship to soul, speak of how hard it is to find this path, how much harder for a white European American with no tradition, no real sense of roots or community or the sacred?
I am thinking that whites — those who colonized lands inhabited by indigenous peoples — suffered long ago a loss of soul. How else to explain the horrors and decimation they have wreaked throughout the indigenous peoples of the world.
How can God’s heart contain all the pain in this world, all the pain wrought in blood in His names, and still be joyful? It seems to my limited heart and mind that His heart would be broken. Perhaps He (She, Us, whatever, let’s get Over the names, shall we?) is ever hopeful for His children and this hope gives birth to the joy that could make His (our) creation a Heaven on Earth.
I have prayed more lately, asking God to illumine my path and to help me understand how his heart is not broken. Within my prayers of longing and supplication I sometimes experience a knowing presence which makes me smile at my limited self.
In these moments I feel connected to something greater than myself and I am Thankful. These moments help me to believe I am deeper than my everyday superficiality — but how do I translate, transform my everyday reactivity? (Just breathe, and remember … you’re not even doing that).
I’ve wondered recently if I truly care about anyone, or if I am narcissistic. I’ve performed some caring actions — usually only when it’s convenient or obvious. I don’t go out of my narrow way to care for others. I’m spoiled, lazy and weak and yet think I am more refined, deeper, better than others. (Don’t be so humble, you’re not that great.) Maybe this parenthetical statement could be translated: Don’t be so hard on yourself, God knows you’re not perfect.
An iridescent bright green fly landed on my finger as I finished that sentence, lithe and brilliant with translucent opalescent wings. He stood perfectly still on six evenly spaced legs — lifting the front two in a brief applause, then lifted off after a long moment, as soon as I began to write of him. Perhaps he was a Divine visitor, making me smile and wonder at the beauty and diversity of God’s creation. Maybe he’s a Totem bringing me the powers of smallness, beauty, flight.
– journal entry
26 May 2017
It all took so much longer than I thought it would, but that unnamed Elder was exactly right: we all have to find our own way, and we can’t see it, so it’s hard to find.
But it can be found. We can come to rest in the gentle reverberations of the Song of the Universe, we can relax into Love.