You want me to describe my god to you?
I’ll make an effort.
When I was a child, I was given many things.
One was a picture of god as a father and a ruler and a punisher.
He helped me, in those early days, to feel safe and behave appropriately.
But later, when I saw more of the world, I realized he was too small to answer my questions, or infuse my spirit, or quell my true fears – true, by virtue of being grounded in reality, in the horrors and injustices all around me.
When I was older, but not yet fully myself, I resented and gave him up, knowing I could never get him back.
I lived alone.
I tried to fill the emptiness of his loss with people and ideologies, wading through several pools but staying ever in shallow waters.
These pursuits led repeatedly back to a familiar place of disappointment and hopelessness.
Later still, I realized I had never grieved for god the father, god the tyrant, god the security blanket.
So I mourned.
And I wandered alone again.
On no particular day, during no particular crisis beyond prolonged fatigue and sadness, I encountered the god of now.
Only a flicker of a glimpse of the god of now can I hope to convey.
She is she to me and anything to you.
She is the best things in my mind, the essence of authenticity, small delights, enormous joy, gratitude, empathy, and kindness.
She is ineffable but articulate.
She is connection to more, to others and to the earth itself, to the stars beyond, to the memory of my ancestors, to the honor of heroes and the tragedy of lost souls.
She is whatever I need her to be, when I need strength or resolve or courage or compassion.
She allows me to pray but needs no worship.
She is a construct of my mind or an unfathomable external force.
She does not ask me to find out for sure.
She only asks me to live as my full self.
So I try.