Everything makes no sense at all. In travel, I find myself far from myself, but closer to the truth. I expect the truth to be clear, defined, but it isn’t at all. At least not in the ways that I would like it to be.
How can a place be in my bloodstream alongside my blood?
The wisest people don’t shy away from uncomfortable paradox. The wise ones among us open the door to what is contradictory, because nothing exists without an opposite.
I’ve been missing God for so long. I’ve felt heavy the absence of the Spirit in me, that tingling sensation of energetic liveliness which glorifies even the most regular day. Yet walking, soaking up sunlight, eating healthy food, sleeping, are holy activities.
I slid down to a stream during my afternoon walk, getting my Skechers muddy in the process. The smelly earth gave way beneath my feet, I almost sank into the mud at the water’s edge. The water made tinkling noises as it swept over the smooth, round stones. I’m not there anymore, but I bet the noise continues now against the evening darkness. Just like the trees laden with guindas bear their fruit regardless of whether it is harvested or not from season to season.
Beside the clear stream it occurred to me to pray; lately–for the first time in a long time–it has been a beneficial practice. I inclined my mind and heart toward the beyond (i.e. somewhere else), then realized the absurdity. The water was there speaking to me, its’ radiance motivated me to pray, and I consciously diverted my attention away from its’ voice. Like someone reading and sending text messages while claiming to be listening to the conversation at hand. Utterly ridiculous to seek God in clouds that I can’t touch when inspiration itself is within reach of my fingertips.
I realized that God was there as water, just as God was there as sun. The sun and the water, the stones and the mud were already telling me a transformative story. I didn’t need to travel away in my prayers, I needed to move in connection toward the revelations surrounding me.
The Spirit was there within me, and always will be, though my mind travel great distances. I don’t know much about classical music, I won’t deny that my shit stinks. I go to a Unitarian church once or twice a month. I don’t go anywhere on Holidays. Yet there is holiness woven into the tapestry of my life; it is there in my bloodstream alongside the air of every place I have visited.
How is it that the mind feels God as remote, while the body is here moving through the motions of Incarnation daily?
There is suppleness in my joints and pain populates my days. The God I knew as a child has died in me a thousand times, and I love the structure of ideas set foward by Jesus more everyday (they too are in my bloodstream). The country that I am from is wealthier than any other and nothing within its’ borders is valuable. Humanity has progressed profoundly, and we are a far cry from a loving community.
The wise respect the paradox at the heart of existence. We are living and we are also dead. God is here and God is also there, if there is indeed a there.
The water that glided through my fingers, the millions of drops that kart-wheeled past me according to their natural cadence in a stream here in Temuco, Chile, were full of God. I, too, am full of God. Divinity breaths love in and around me, whether I seperate myself, or draw near in humble awareness. The stream flows and the trees grow, whether they are tended and observed, whether their water is tasted or their fruits harvested.
Paradox is interwoven with the blood pumping through my veins. Life has purpose, and there is no purpose to be found in life.
The only thing that makes sense is to keep traveling, to move forward, however little sense it makes.