Posted on Dec 6th, 2009
by 
rudyan
You know, when I was a child Jesus was this framed picture on the wall or a glossy colour reproduction in our Bible story books; in the pictures he looked more Caucasian than anything although the stories said he was born in Bethlehem. And we were told he was the son of God, his representative, the main intermediary between humans and God. He always looked kind, Jesus, he looked accepting and visionary and like the sort of adult person you might be able talk to. And of course, we could pray to him to make us be good and to take our souls if we died in our sleep.
God, on the other hand, was the enforcer, the punisher. You read that even in the old testament where he was always punishing the enemies of his people, punishing individuals, and in our house there was always God that you could get threatened with, if physical mother and father weren't a big enough threat to hold us in line. And God was the one who held all the cards, and all the cards for me meant he could, did, withhold salvation, say if you had committed the unforgivable sin, which they never told you what it was, but you knew you must have committed it all the same, because God wouldn't even pretend to be at home when you knocked.
After I left home, after a while of continuing to be involved in the church community, I became an agnostic, and for many years I was that, not that I outright denied that there might be a god, but that until I could figure it out, or until it could figure out me, I would let it be.
And I need to say this, if god was a loving father, which they always said, then I didn't want to have anything to do with it, because that's what my father was supposed to be. A father is one who bangs with big fists on the dinner table and shouts blue murder at everybody to shut up. A father is one who is seldom seen during the day, except at mealtimes, but he comes into your dark room at night and does unspeakable things. It's true, a father is also one who lets you learn guitar on the only musical instrument he still possesses. But, a father is one who uses, one who can't, or can barely, control his temper, his urges.
There is a spiritual force; I would not say it's god. It seems to me that calling it god both trivializes it and aggrandizes it; makes it into something to worship or something to use. But I think most importantly, calling it god, especially if we also think of it as something outside of ourselves, makes it too easy for us to pretend we're victims, to renege on responsibility for our own lives, our doing, our being.
There is a spiritual force; to mis-quote a saying that originated in Pogo:
We have met god
and he is us
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Posted on Nov 20th, 2009
by rudyan
That would have been last night when I whispered There there's and I love you's to the pear tree whose bare branches were sent scratching and scraping and banging against my window by a wrathful wind.
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Posted on Nov 6th, 2009
by rudyan
It is my life. It underlies my life, under-lives it, connects all the threads, guides my day-to-day, moment-to-moment; there is not one aspect of my life that is uninvolved with, or unaffected by, spirit.
It brings me dreams and waking insights; floats me seagulls' feathers, or perfect-pointed red maple leaves; arranges an evening meeting between me and a young (deer) buck on a city sidewalk...
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Posted on Oct 29th, 2009
by rudyan
I would most like to teach others to love, to honour, and to forgive themselves. I would like to teach it because that has been key to turning my own life around.
How will I teach this? By walking the talk. Can there be a better or surer way?
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Posted on Oct 27th, 2009
by rudyan
I am at my most powerful when I am fully present.
I am fully present when I accept full responsibility for who and where I am in this and every given moment.
Whenever I accept full responsibility for my life just as it is, there is no victim me...
This is one thing I have learned: that every time I blame someone else for where I am; every time I find myself saying I can't help it or It's not my fault; every time, I feel the power seeping out of me. And every time I remember myself, power comes back to me. It's as if when I'm being a victim, the creator me takes a back seat until the matter can settle itself. And when I remove the veil of victimhood from my eyes, the creator is right there, ready to take over again.
Power is me being my authentic Self, daring to be who I am.
Power is owning that I am the creator of me, even when I'd rather blame the way I turned out on someone or something else.
Power is letting go of control and manipulation as a way of managing my life---manhandling has a habit of getting in the way of things.
Power is stopping to listen and feel into a situation before taking action. And when I'm ready, power is setting something in motion, and then stepping back to let it happen.
And power is looking at the thing I created and seeing that it is good---it is what it is; and power is also realizing that if anything about my creation doesn't feel right now or at any other time, I can go in and change it. I am the artist.
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December 2009 
