Reflections on faith, freedom, and the quiet return to the divine within
“I see no reason to behave like an Inspector of the Invisible or a mental Marie Kondo trying to label and organize every corner of my mind.”
Sooner or later – or at the right time – there comes a point in life when we finally gather enough courage to question the things we were taught since childhood and always assumed to be natural truths. I prefer to call them that, rather than dogmas, because dogmatic people are always the others, never our current version of ourselves.
I grew up in an evangelical family, in a time and place where most people were Roman Catholic, and being “Protestant” sounded almost as if we were living in the days of Martin Luther himself. In fact, we used to sing in church some of the hymns he wrote.
And of course, my seven-year-old mind was being carefully programmed to believe that I would rise to heaven on a cloud with my family, while everyone else – especially the Catholics, including a few relatives – would slide down to hell, since they hadn’t accepted Jesus as their only and sufficient Savior… and still prayed to the Virgin Mary.
As we grow up and begin to live among people from other backgrounds, especially at school and university, the conflict between ideas and beliefs inevitably arises. And then you realize there are wonderful people who simply cannot be condemned to eternal fire – which would be an outrageous injustice. After all, if a mere mortal sinner can see that, how could God, with all His omniscience, not?
At the same time, the idea of sin and divine justice starts to shift. How could someone be sentenced to endless torment for just a few actions committed in a short lifetime? Can a little alcohol, cigarettes, drugs, or sex really erase an entire life of love? And speaking of love, if God is love, how could He send a man to hell simply because he loved another man instead of a woman?
When the weakening of religious dogma isn’t strong enough to cause atheism, one of the natural paths is an inclination toward “modern spirituality,” also known as the New Age. Suddenly, everything seems to make sense – mind and heart perfectly aligned. The power of the spoken word explains how God created the world just by saying, “Let there be light.” Sin now becomes karma and can be transmuted through meditation, mantras, and violet-flame decrees. And there are countless other beings, masters, and entities you can call upon for invisible matters… Jesus can finally take a little vacation from you.
If all goes well, there comes a moment when your own consciousness asks whether you’ve simply traded one illusion for another. Whether the attention and devotion once given to religion are now disguised under the idea of “expanded awareness” and “cosmic integration.”
The problem – or the solution – is that you’ve already been here before and can recognize, even if you deny it, that something feels familiar. Not in the teachings or the practices themselves, but in the way you relate to what is shown to you.
All this leads to the inevitable conclusion that, even if enlightened beings, masters, and angels exist, within your own world – within your own consciousness of reality – there is only you and God. And perhaps the New Age people are right when they compare us to both the drop and the ocean.
In the end, what remains after the divine ocean washes away religion and spirituality? In my case, only God and I remain – with the awareness that I am an avatar through which He experiences the joy of being human in all its forms.
And as for all the other concepts and ideas from religion or modern spirituality, what did I do with them? Nothing. I left them as they are. I see no reason to behave like an Inspector of the Invisible or a mental Marie Kondo trying to label and organize every corner of my mind.
And as for God Himself? I just sighed and realized I had placed Him inside my breath. He is both within and around me – interacting, nourishing, guiding. Alchemists might call it ether. The “quantum” spiritualists (whatever that means) would probably call it plasma. I, at this stage of my life, simply call it Father.
With kindness,
Marquis David
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