A WING AND A PRAYER – The Amazing Reach of Presence

When it comes to praying, I suppose I’m no different from the next person. I thank my god—that incomprehensible power I think of as the architect of everything— for the privilege of being alive, and ask for guidance in proving worthy of that gift.

I say thanks for the good fortune that I and those I love are in reasonably good health and have come to no harm today. And I count my many other blessings: peace where I live, my country’s hard-won freedoms, a loving family, devoted friends, a beautiful home in a caring community, a safe,  comfortable bed and plenty of food to eat.

     Nearly all that good fortune has befallen me...
     by the sheer luck of the draw.

I acknowledge that nearly all that good fortune has befallen me not because of anything I might have done to deserve it. Not because I’m better, smarter, more thoughtful or more conscientious than anyone else, but by the sheer luck of the draw.

I think of all the millions of folks around the world who, no less deserving than I, experience few if any of the blessings I enjoy. I ask my god to let the next hand they’re dealt include at least a few cards of comfort and hope.

LIFTING LOST SOULS
The part of my prayer I find most compelling is one I’ve added just recently, a product, I’m sure, of having read hundreds of books about sailors and explorers fighting for survival. (Besides the obvious escapism, I guess such stories help put my own day-to-day challenges into perspective.)

I ask my god to bless those who are lost, perhaps trapped in a collapsed building or mine, mired deep in a remote jungle, adrift at sea or unjustly imprisoned. Or maybe they’re lost in plain sight, surrounded by people living carefree lives, yet unnoticed, unloved and desperately lonely.

I ask my god to let each of these casualties actually feel my prayer, coming directly from me, right then and there, in real time.

Please, I pray, hold these forlorn souls in the warm embrace of all that is good, loving and beautiful about life. Give them the hope, the strength, the faith to hold on. Let me be perhaps the one person in the world who notices them and accepts the privilege of helping…somehow.

WHERE MYSTICS DARE
And—now here’s the part that makes this prayer feel like no other—I ask my god not just to intercede, but to let each of these casualties actually feel my prayer, coming directly from me, right then and there, in real time.

Think of it. You’re afraid, you’re in pain, you’re exhausted. You wonder if anyone even knows you’re there. Chances are you’ve lost all hope. You struggle to accept the reality of dying. And, worst of all, you are utterly alone.

Then it comes, like the first human touch after years of isolation, the strong sense, the certainty, that someone, a real, live person, knows you’re there. Someone has found you and cares what happens to you. (At that moment it may be more important just to know it’s someone than for it to be one who can physically save you.)
Does anyone else find this notion incredibly moving? What does it all mean to those of us who are wander and wonder?

    Never doubt the power of what we human 
    beings...can do with our minds and our spirits.

SOMEONE IS WAITING
The idea that one might be present for a stranger halfway around the world is not just some new-age pie in the sky. It’s a belief in the incredible power of human beings’ connection with one another (and everything else, for that matter). Like our capacity for love, wonder and happiness, that connection is hard-wired into us from birth.

But the older we get, it seems, the easier it is to misplace this gift of connection. We get distracted into thinking life is more complicated than that. We get so overwhelmed with the challenges of caring about those closest to us that we forget the power we have to affect others, even total strangers. Maybe we just get lazy and self-centered.

      I don't have the slightest shred of evidence. 
      But does that really matter? 

Never doubt the power of what we human beings, with our unique abilities to reflect and create, can do with our minds and our spirits. We have the ability, rare among all living things, to care about more than our self-interest. And we have the unique capacity to converse with the great spirit.

With those two gifts alone we can be forces of love, healing and salvation—for our fellow beings, for all living organisms, for the earth. And the range of that beneficence is limited by nothing but our faith.

So can we really connect spiritually with a hopeless stranger on the other side of the earth or across town, one separated from a fearful, solitary death by no more than a wing and a prayer? I don't have the slightest shred of evidence. But does that really matter?

Isn't this one of those ideas that's just too damn good to let a little doubt get in the way? Try it. After all, it takes just two things for it to work: your faith in love, kindness and the oneness of everyone and everything; and the openness of spirit of that one desperate person who, perhaps just subconsciously, is waiting for you.

A good bet, if you ask me.

A DARK PRESENCE – Claiming My Spirit

OUT OF MY ELEMENT
I couldn’t sleep. The scratching sounds inside the wall just inches from my head were back. I’d been hoping it was just mice, but they must have been really big ones; I could hear their weight as they scurried around.

        
 
It was my first house, on 16th Avenue South, in a poor, racially diverse neighborhood of South Minneapolis. Not the best area, but it was the only house I could afford, and, after living in a rooming house and mooching rooms from friends, I was more than ready to get on board the home-ownership, equity-building escalator.

I’d only been in the house for a little more than a week. I hadn’t even unpacked. The bed frame still lay in pieces on the floor next to my queen-size mattress.

It was nothing I could see, just this cold, dark, malevolent force.

My welcome to home ownership, so far, had not been an especially warm one. Besides the creepiness of having who knows how many and what kind of animals scratching inside my walls, I’d also had to deal with six inches of fetid raw sewage backing up into my basement, not to mention being awakened at 2am one night by a man staggering along the street, screaming, “Oh God! They stabbed me in the face!”

I was already beginning to miss the murmur of neighbors’ lives that comes with sharing your building, realizing now how comforting that proximity had been.

AN UNWELCOME VISITOR
As I lay there in the dark, all these unsettling things churning in my mind, it occurred to me just how alone, how uncentered, I felt. It hit me really hard. Above me, the pitched walls of the finished attic space seemed to fall in on me, stirring a twinge of claustrophobia.

Then I felt a sensation I’d never experienced before. In the course of 10 or 15 seconds, a presence poured into the room, coming from everywhere at once. It was an aura that clearly was not of me, but surrounded and consumed me. It was nothing I could see, just this cold, dark, malevolent force.

Whatever it was seemed to be going right for my core, trying to inhabit my sense of myself. I’d never fully appreciated, until that moment, just how much I’d always taken for granted that sense, that nucleus of warmth, light, and innocence that normally animates our thoughts and actions. I’d never before seen what it looked like to lose it.

For lack of a better characterization for something so devoid of kindness or love, the image that came to mind was one formed, I’m sure, when I was a child: “the devil.” I could hear myself thinking that, and couldn’t quite grasp that it was all real and not a scene from a book or movie. But it was as real as any spiritual essence I’d ever felt. And I was so frightened I couldn’t move.

Even the faint light that had been seeping into the room from the streetlights outside now seemed swallowed by the all-consuming pall.

Okay, I thought, maybe I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the recent changes in my life. Maybe if I just try to think about something else, the dread will go away. But whatever it was, it was not going to allow such diversions. Even the faint light that had been seeping into the room from the streetlights outside now seemed swallowed by the all-consuming pall.

THE EBB OF EVIL
I felt like a drowning man clawing for something to hold on to. I was able to say the name of my black lab, Bess, who’d been lightly snoring on her blanket just across the room. I knew that, if she’d come to me, somehow her spirit could help rescue mine.

I tried to call her again, louder this time, but the sound just seemed to stay inside my head. I was devastated that she wasn’t there for me, but then realized with a chill that she too must be feeling this presence. Her snoring had stopped. I couldn’t see her, but I sensed she was awake.

I don’t think of myself as a religious man, at least not in the conventional sense. But at that moment, prayer seemed perfectly consistent with my animist leanings. So I prayed; I prayed really hard. I asked the Creator of all that’s good, true and beautiful to save me from this alienation and restore that certainty, that inner light I’d always taken for granted before.

There was no doubt, no ambiguity, no hesitation. A new presence wrapped around me like the softest, warmest blanket. As that warmth swaddled me, it also filled me, and the chill, that profound darkness, began flowing out of the room—and out of me—as it had come in.

Bess’s tongue, like the kiss of angels, welcomed me back to where I knew I belonged.

LAP OF LUXURY
I lay there for a minute, still awestruck by what had happened, basking in the glow of that beneficent spirit. I felt a different kind of warmth; it was wet too, bathing my cheek. Bess’s tongue, like the kiss of angels, welcomed me back to where I knew I belonged.

I’ve often wished animals could talk, but never more than at that moment. Had Bess felt what I’d felt? Did she even have a sense of self? Had this kindly spirit intervened for her too?

I don’t suppose I’ll ever find answers to those questions, nor to why I was visited by that dark, hopeless spirit. I’ve not caught an inkling of it since. Now that I’m aware of my true essence and understand that it’s not to be taken for granted, I spend more time appreciating it, nurturing it, celebrating it.

I pray every day, and ask God to help me be in a sort of permanent state of prayer, humbly, gratefully aware, throughout the day, of how it feels to lose sight of his grace.

THE NATURE OF GOD – A Pantheist Persuasion

Recently, one of my new followers here on One Man's Wonder (let's call her Lucy) commented on how much she'd enjoyed my post on "screen-bound" kids and their growing alienation from Nature.

Almost as an aside, Lucy asked why I seldom refer to God in my writing. To be honest, I hadn't really thought that much about it, but as I've reflected on her question I realize I have something of an answer.

                                               —^—   —^—   —^—
WHOSE GOD IS IT?
It's true, you'll seldom see the word "God" in my posts, and when you do it's likely the kind with a small "g." A word you'll see far more often—always capitalized—is "Nature." This is very deliberate.

Don't get me wrong; I do believe in a god. When you get right down to it, I suppose I even believe in the God, whatever that means. But, ultimately, one's notion of what God is and how to portray and follow that idea is a very personal matter.

Still, as varied as our spiritual paths may be, doesn't every one of us who believes in any higher power at all come to that conviction by way of needs, hopes and instincts that originate in exactly the same place? It seems to me that place either is, or has something to do with, what we might call "the" God—a single, universal God.

 

MESSIN' WITH PERFECTION
Where most organized religions get it wrong is not in their core values. After all, everyone with a heartbeat wants basically the same things: to live in peace and harmony, to experience love, to do something of value, and to be reasonably happy.

What happens, though, is that faiths somehow always manage to lose their focus on those principles, allowing a few of their leaders or proponents and their self-serving agendas to hijack their missions. They fool people into losing touch with love; in its place, fear and negativity start seeping in.

With all those various interests and agendas, religion has gone to seed. At last count there were more than 20 major religions and over 270 subdivisions of those faiths in the world. The Christian moniker alone comprises thousands of denominations; in just the US and Canada some 1,000 of them claim to be the only legitimate Christian denomination.*

I don't know about you, but no god I could worship would have time for all that nonsense.

Religions expend way too much of their resources on defining and defending their differences, and too little on pursuing the values they share. They focus more on what they—or even worse, others—can or can't or shouldn't do instead of who they are and what they can become.

So you see, it's all become way too complicated. Instead of spiritual, it's gotten all intellectual, hierarchical, political. They've squeezed the joy out of being spiritual.

    

I don't know about you, but I'm confused and disappointed with organized religion. No god I could worship would have time for all that nonsense. This is why I find my god—what I suspect is indeed the God—in Nature.

A HOLY CONVERSATION
For most of my life I believed in, and prayed to, what I thought was "the" God. It was a concept I'd been taught as a child—someone else's concept. God was an abstract presence, a faceless, formless, lifeless power that supposedly existed at once everywhere and nowhere. And whatever communication I had with  him consisted of prayers that felt very much like shots in the dark. It was pretty much a monologue.

Since my gradual conversion, though, I converse with my god—Nature—all the time. Like a good old friend, he's approachable; he accepts me for who I am, not for who I should be; he commands my respect not for his power, but for his wisdom, integrity and constancy.

Notice I said "converse." Indeed, I chat with animals and birds; I listen to trees; I touch the wind and pour my heart out to the skies. As with any good conversation, my dialog with my Nature/god is often less about talking and more about listening and wondering.

Every day, I discover new evidence that everything—and I mean everyone and every thing—is connected, and that each creature, thing or place, large or small, is nothing less than holy.

What do I hear from Nature? I hear wisdom in its timeless patterns and rhythms; humility in its power and scale; inspiration in its sublime beauty. I find as much wisdom and guidance in that counsel as I would in any book—including one supposedly written by or through "the" God (though this is yet another bone of contention among man-made religions).

 










The more I practice this Nature-as-God faith, the better I get at seeing that the conversation extends far beyond my dialog with my immediate surroundings. Every day, I discover new evidence that everything—and I mean everyone and every thing—is connected, and that each creature, thing or place, large or small, is nothing less than holy.

ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE
Lest you wonder if my Nature-based religion has any place for the human species, let's just say that, for the most part, I see us as just another species of animal, in the end no more or less worthy of God's blessings than any other.

Does Nature care if I get through the day safe from harm? 
Probably no more than "the" God cares if Tim Tebow completes 
the game-winning pass.

Does this mean that Nature doesn't care about me and whether I get through the day healthy and safe from harm? Probably no more than "the" God cares if Tim Tebow completes the game-winning pass.

All my god cares about is that everything fits in the whole, divine Scheme of Things—that magic that explains everything from the birth of the universe, to the great interconnectedness of life, to eternity. In that context, I'm powerful only to the extent of my ability to love and create. To the universe that might not seem like much, but it does matter, and to another human being it may be everything.

CONNECTING AT THE SOURCE
Again, it's all a very personal matter, but for me Nature is a way—possibly the only way—of interpreting God that I know is both immediate and timeless; that both surrounds me and fills me; that teaches me both how small I am in the whole scheme of things and how powerful love can make me. And, as far as I can tell, Nature is the only god I can trust to remain always true, honest and positive.

So, since God is everywhere and every thing, shouldn't we be able to find him wherever we choose? I suppose I could look for him in buildings, on Sunday mornings. I could honor him in doctrine and ceremony created by human beings. I could study him in books—again, a medium of our making, not his.

      

Or I can experience God at the source, at places that show his true countenance, places where there are no walls around my awe; where the ceremony is life itself, where all the wisdom is written in his own hand;  places where I can not only speak to him, but literally become one with him.

That place, that sacred state of mind, is Nature. That's where my God and I find each other.
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POSTSCRIPT – My new friend, Lucy—that woman who commented on my blog—suggested, when I tried to summarize my religious beliefs, that I might be a pantheist. I looked it up; it's someone who identifies God with the universe and who acknowledges the validity of all gods. I try to avoid labels—they tend to manipulate and/or limit thought—but if I have to wear one, perhaps pantheist is as good as any.

Where do you find the face of God? Is it floating around you in the air, or is it in something or someone? Is it a kindly countenance or a  stern one? Does your god care about you?

And what's the name of your faith? Just in case you march to your own drummer like I do, here's a site that might help you decide what to call yourself: http://www.selectsmart.com/RELIGION/ 

* Source: http://www.religioustolerance.org/worldrel.htm

INSTRUMENT OF GRACE – The Power of Touch

When you touch something, it touches you.

Touch is underrated. Sure, it gets credit as a way of discovering and exploring—that is to say, as a receiver of sensation. What we seldom appreciate, though, is that, of all our senses, only touch is always a two-way street. You can usually see, hear or smell something pretty much anonymously—without its being involved in any way. But when you touch something, it touches you.

FEELING FAITH
Many years ago I was walking out of my office building for lunch when I heard a disquieting sound from across the street. It was the sound of impact, not like the metal-on-metal crash of a car accident, but something more dull, a heavy thud I suspected right away could not be a good thing. When I got to the top of the steps, I could see what had happened. A workman who’d been perched on the roof of a three-story rooming house had fallen nearly all the way to the driveway below. He’d caught the corner of a dumpster, where he lay, draped like a rag doll, his body bent grotesquely backward.

By the time I and a few other passers-by had run to the scene, someone had already called 911. The guy was conscious, but I think he was going into shock. We didn’t want to move him because of the near certainty of spinal injury. So we threw several jackets over him and prayed the ambulance would be there soon.

    When I opened my eyes after a minute or so, 
    he was looking right into them, and the look 
    of pain and terror was gone.

The man was terrified. I think he’d already realized he was in pretty bad shape. Maybe he’d noticed that he couldn’t feel his legs or his body; I didn’t ask. I took one of his hands in mine, closed my eyes and tried to pour my good wishes, my spiritual energy, everything I was feeling for him into the clammy flesh. I prayed that God would use me as a conduit for His grace.

There were probably ten other people around by this time, and I think some of them were trying to ask me and the victim questions. I'm sure others were trying to encourage him. But I’d completely tuned them out. I think he had too, because, when I opened my eyes after a minute or so, he was looking right into them, and the look of pain and terror was gone.

I’ve asked myself many times what this apparent connection was all about. I don’t know if my touch really played a role in helping to calm this poor guy or not. But I think, if for no better reason than my believing so strongly in the power of this connection, that it was indeed so.

The ambulance came, the EMTs immobilized the victim and away they sped. I looked for some reference to the accident in the papers, but I guess that, like the scores of other non-lethal injuries that happen to people every day, this one hadn't warranted a mention. I could only hope and pray that he’d recover enough to lead a good life.

WHO DO I THINK I AM?
I know I’m walking on thin ice to presume there’s power in my touch. After all, who do I think I am, God?

Well…yes, I am God. So are you and so is everyone and every thing. As a matter of faith, this is where the rubber meets the road. Whatever higher power we believe in, if we don't believe it can and will channel its grace through us, aren't we denying it the chance to use us as its instruments of love? Who are we to make such a denial? Author and lecturer Marianne Williamson puts it so well:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world.

Do you believe in the power of touch? How have you sensed it flowing to, from or through you? We'd love to hear about it here on OMW! -- Click on Comments below.

    "You are not here to save the world, but you are 
     here to touch the hands that are within your reach."
         MOTTO OF MISSION OF LOVE (KATHLEEN PRICE)