I Still Pray

I talk to God still. Here and there, you know.

When I do, I never call them God. I call them the universe.

Not because I don’t believe their name is God, but because I don’t think they ever told us their name.

And if they did, we would find a way to minimize it. Humanize it. Give it rules and restrictions. Make it exclusive.

So when I say, “Hey universe, help me,” or “show me,” or “listen to this,” it feels all-inclusive. Like anyone can access it, deny it, question it, wrestle with it, without judgment.

Like Job did.Maybe even Moses.

The universe and I have a tumultuous relationship.

Stuff happens, and I often want to know why. Sometimes angrily. Sometimes joyfully.

And I wonder if the universe looks back at us, at our inner being, and wonders why we won’t step into the divine power it already placed inside us.

Because when you really stop and think about this collective experience we’re having at this time, it’s mind-boggling.

Planets.

Stars.

Black holes.

People.

Presidents.

Kings.

And maybe even aliens.

How could there not be aliens?

Unless the universe was so disgusted by its first creations that it dared to end the experiment altogether.

And if that were true, maybe it was never perfect to begin with.

Anyway, I decided years ago to step out of the norm and into my own system.

It gives me peace.

And peace, I think, was always the point.

Not just of Christianity.Not just of any one belief system.But all of them.

I’ve seen the faces of many cultures, and it seems to me that peace is all there is.

Later,

DD