reconfiguring god

Men create gods after their own image, not only with regard to their form, but with regard to their mode of life.

-Aristotle

I've agreed with this premise since the first time I heard it, which was many years ago. What I didn't realize until recently was that regardless of my intellectual stance, the "Old Man in the Sky" image of God was still deeply rooted, quite pervasive, and functioning full steam ahead in some parts of my psyche. (I guess those childhood catechism lessons must have sunk in pretty deep!)

I first became aware of it while I was reading aloud to Adelle, my 95 year old friend with macular degeneration, from her Science of Mind magazine. I can't even remember exactly which article I was reading, but the realization shot through me like a bolt of lightning: Part of me still conceptualizes God as an old guy with a white beard who is judging me. And that part is still trying desperately to earn his approval!

I came home and dug out my copy of The Science of Mind by Ernest Holmes, which I purchased a year ago so I could have well-informed discussions with Adelle about the articles I was reading to her. I randomly opened the book, and here's what I found on page 354:

The best illustration of this is in the creative soil, in which the gardener puts his seed. The soil does not argue nor deny, but goes to work on the seed and begins to create a plant which will represent the type of manifestation inherent, as an idea, in the seed.

That is, from a cucumber seed we get cucumbers; and from a cabbage seed we get cabbages. Always the law maintains the individuality of the seed as it creates the plant; never does it contradict the right of the seed to be what it really is.

And voila, the Bearded God in my psyche fell from his throne. In his place rose a new image: rich, fertile soil. Pure creative life force. Neutral. Nonjudgmental. No longer personified. Not judging, withholding, denying, or even considering the worthiness of me or my desires -- simply supporting the growth of whatever seeds that I choose to plant. And doing so because in some obscure way, I, like you, am an agent through which it can express its creative impulse.

So if I plant a cucumber seed, and after tasting the harvest realize I don't actually like cucumbers, it's not a big deal. I can simply plant a different seed, and harvest a different crop. The fertile soil has no agenda for me or my life. It does not approve or disapprove of my choices, it just germinates them so I can see them more clearly and make adjustments if I want. All just for the fun of it. Creation is the only game in town.

If you'll pardon my mixation* of metaphors, I suddenly visualized the whole gig as a lava lamp. We are little bits of god-lava that separate, leave home, and make interesting shapes, then melt back into the main blob until we heat up enough to form another glob that can separate again. None of the shapes we make are better or more worthy of love than any other.

So now I am picturing us all as god globs jumping on a big toasty trampoline, performing amusing tricks, saying Hey, look at me! And when we crash back into the big blob, it's not a tragedy. Just an opportunity for re-creation.

Hmm. That's quite a deviation from the old bearded guy, huh? I find it infinitely more satisfying.


*no, mixation is not actually a real word. neither is costed. but I like them both anyway, so I'm claiming poetic license.