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God at the Beach

Thunderstorm

Thunderstorm

Sun came, a surprise. I went to the beach to run, but mostly be outside myself. For the first time in months, the chatter stopped, and then I thought of jokes. Then I thought:

We come into life without guidance, but also without weight. We don’t want what we don’t miss, and we don’t know what we’re missing. Nothing ties us down until we grab for it.

We develop expectations. We expect to reify our wonders, which seems reasonable. But things go wrong, at least it seems to us. Failures and wrongs get under our skin and work away at it. It becomes armor. It still falls away.

I’ve never been religious. It seems way too easy: somebody to listen, always available and infinitely attentive, an assurance that at best shows contradictory signs. I don’t think it’s true, at least not the way gravity is true, or doubt. We need God because we need someone to be mad at.

The wise suggest release. It is okay to fall, they say. If you spread your arms, and if the ground is infinitely far away, it is the same as flying.

On a clear night, look up at the stars. Tell me this isn’t true.

 

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