We are Divine. We do not have to qualify for Heaven. As a whole, we do not understand unconditional love. Divinity is completeness … there is nothing else, anywhere else … for a moment. The usual senses are more than full. Why this has been difficult for us to manage is that this lack of separation includes the observer … there is no one seeing or doing, so there is nothing seen or done. Religious history is a litany of attempts to deify something, anything, in order to keep Divinity under control. That can’t be done.

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Dave on the Oregon beach 1 small

What do we know? It’s about spirit – something invisible. We know it’s extreme at the good end. We know it’s unsullied by human efforts. We know it’s something that’s the same in both these pictures of my grandson and me.

People who encounter divinity seem to realize it, even if they haven’t seen it before. They are immediately at a loss for words. It is another sense … beyond grammar. Babies are holy, in the old sense of the world word. The original meaning of ‘holy’ conveyed untouched, undivided, pure. Heaven arriving on Earth. From there, it is up to us.

Our world word must become fit to receive these divine creatures. So far, we have not done well. We bend and twist the being of the developing person to fit in the cracks and crevices allowed by the current culture. We don’t have time for what the baby may bring. History dictates that we stuff him or her full of our own past, instead of appreciating a new soul. In our hearts, we all want to do better.

Growing up is not a straight line. It is not a line at all. It is an opening. Every living body in Nature does the same thing – opens up to what’s available, eventually becoming its surroundings. Going straight … keeping … assigns life to the countryside, viewed through the window of a passing train. We start handling things, worrying about this and that, hurrying here and there, and we lose track of the sacred. We’re pretty sure we can get by without it.

I have a fond memory of stopping a kiva in Colorado. I was in my early 20’s, driving alone to Aspen to play in a rugby tournament. I had taken acid and was appreciating the wonders of Monument Valley. I saw a sign for an authentic Pueblo experience and it felt like just the ticket. The kiva was a round, empty building, about the size of a big house, a hundred and fifty feet across. There was no one else around.

As I stepped slowly into the center, under the huge roof, I could hear my weight press on the sand, almost grain by grain. I took a seat in the middle of round rows that climbed up the sides. I could feel the silence. It felt like glass, along which I heard an echo, a rustle, as clearly as if it were right beside me. Across the building, forty yards away, a little bird had flown in through an opening. I heard each beat of its wings and every scratch of its tiny feet. When it flew away, I felt it leave … a slight pulling in the air. This was a space of a special kind, resonating with something inside me, drawing me out, melting my identity. I had the same feeling standing in the middle of Canterbury cathedral. Sacred places are entrances into something more than life itself and reminders of an ancient, subtle sense that connects us all.

There is a vibration that is divine … in which we all find accord. It is a sense that seems to come from everywhere at once, removing the observer, taking me out of my self. For most of my life, I have been way too busy arranging the bits and pieces to pay much attention to the song playing in the background. In order to take care of business, it often works better to ignore the sound of the sacred altogether. A whisper of something more can be annoying, while I’m trying to get busy. I have often been just that kind of idiot who turns my conscience into elevator music.

Divinity loses respect in the word world because it isn’t predictable. The very act of looking changes the equation. In order for the experience to be relied upon, we have to stamp it on stuff and leave reminders all over the place. But then we project the experience on the reminders and feel helpless to do anything about it ourselves. This is how we explain things.

Thought experiment: imagine that a perception, an idea or a thought is a collapse of the wave function in the quantum field. This would imply that a mind is a connection to everything that flows beneath time and space. If what is divine is beyond time and space, then consciousness fits the bill. We should be more thoughtful.

This is the gift that the baby does not know what to do with … as if anything had to be done. Given even odds, the child will grow in harmony with its surroundings and will learn one day that he or she has something to bring. Everyone will do something eventually. Inspiration will lead to individuation. Imitation will lead to that Passenger feeling. Both can be considered happiness. Not everyone wants to be different … even though they are.

That Divinity would be ordinary sounds like a paradox, but we don’t have to worry about that. It is only ordinary for nuns, monks and saints. Personally, I have at times been so far from aligning with the Divine that I believed I would never get back. Now that I’m older and no longer taking care of business, I more often feel like a part of what’s going on behind the scenes.. Going beyond the word world no longer dis-assembles my day. I have time for reflection.

Everything that lasts … the experience of what lies behind the words … was never mine to keep. That is me shining through the eyes of my grandson. I did what I could with it and now it’s his turn. What his world will look like, fifty years from now ,,, what words they will use … is impossible to imagine because everything changes so quickly these days. Perhaps he will have a picture of his grandson and we will all still be there. Identities come and go. Souls are forever.

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