This past year I’ve taken a sabbatical of sorts, and I say ‘of sorts’ because nothing stopped or even seemed to change, in fact everything was pretty much the same. I kept writing and drafted books which I am petrified of finishing, I kept going to work, and playing ping pong and doing a bit of asana.
I’m also part of a collective book project for which I am the Senior? Writer/Editor? Wait, those are not the words, is more like I’m the one doing most of the work, getting people’s submissions and editing without getting any cash or even credit. And I love it.
The work is far from being a “me” thing (as in: my book, or my project). It is very much a “WE” thing. It’s work love which I would have never dreamed of, and it leaves me with this fullness of soul, this quiet happiness and a sense of purpose as I witness what gives when dozens of people put their spirits together, and speak from the heart. It humbles me.
A gift like that can only come Divine sources, I could not have dreamed of it but it’s happening, and I am sort of at the helm because I happened to be there at the right time to help fill the need for it. No credentials needed. No job application. No pressure even. I was appointed straight from God. Sweet.
Yes, Sugar Brought Back God.
I know, I know. It’s a difficult word. But this God I got back is my own. It’s dangerous, unpredictable, brave, strong and not worried about what anyone thinks. Woman! You know what I’m talking about and being a man makes zero difference. And it makes me roll with laughter and sparkle with life. It gives me this jumping enthusiasm that scares people in the park when someone can’t return my ping pong serve. God I love it when that happens!
This God loves me unconditionally and tells me to be gentle on me, to celebrate the small victories, to appreciate and be kind to all fellow humans (including the ones I currently dislike), to move in the world without hurting anyone, most of all myself, and to trust.
She is OK with me not getting it ‘right’, whatever that may be, she says. She thinks I am perfect exactly the way I am today. Aw.
This personal God of mine is the reason women and men got burned at the stake, because we have the audacity to came up with our own interpretation of God regardless of how the church (any church) wants to translate. That is dangerous. I now have her on speed dial, and I call when I want to, sometimes in the middle of Times Square after I high-five Batman.
This is how I connect with her, at first I go ‘a-la’ Eckhart Tolle’ and breathe, pause, return to me and this moment. I become aware of where I am and get down into the body, out of the head. Then I notice the cathedral that my body is, with my heart sacredly placed center stage, pumping love.
Finally I ask that question you may also have. Any question ranging from money to sex to boyfriends and vocation, any guidance I may need, anything I need to understand.
Toady she tells me that the point of life is not to be enlightened, not to be fully in the moment. That may happen, yes, but come on!
The point is to be flawed and love it. Including the parts where I am not my best, the places where I said those things I rather hadn’t, or the time I slammed the doors, and the time I knew that was not the way to go, and did it anyways.
The point is to bring that pause and serenity to anything that may come my way, and face it with dignity. Correct and continue, aiming for the sun, maybe landing on a meteorite.
It is the imperfect journey that drips honey. The point is the defiance of declaring: “I am off sugar”, tweeting about it and being full of myself, and then putting it back in my coffee with a divine wink. Laughing all the way through Penn Station, knowing I’m OK.