Sycamore Tussock Moth - Probably the same caterpillar, but the one I saw was more lovely
A lovely young woman sitting on the bench noticed the caterpillar, too. We ended up talking about it, and its beauty, and about a number of other things, including drowning, or not drowning, in the river below us. We connected best when we talked about God, and all the wondrous gifts of the Divine Creator that surrounded us. She finally asked me the question, “What does God mean to you?” Well, I answered the best I could. Maybe I said some profound things, maybe I said some simple thing - maybe I didn’t make sense at all, around a subject I’ve been consciously focusing my God navel contemplation on for 45 years. I suppose right now I could scratch my head and compose some sort of beautiful God is Love poem or go on about how God is the marinara that makes the pasta spaghetti, or the olive, oil. Or maybe I could dig up one of my God discourses in the archives of past pontifications . . . but, but, but . . . that’s not it.
As soon the question is asked, as soon as one word of opinion is spoken,
one explanation is given . . .
the living answer,
the breathing “It” in,
the oneness with the unexplainable “You Know,” (you really do know)
the unfathomableness of all that was, is and ever will be . . .
is lost.
It disappears from being One With, (the trees, the caterpillar, the misty river)
to thinking about it.
And that’s usually where all the trouble begins.
Large canvas from the Hunter Museum in Chattanooga, Tennessee
As soon as I wrote the blog about being on this journey of innocence, about letting go of judgments that lead to separation, the testing began. This I knew was a given. The very sweet young woman I met besides the river had graduated from a Bible College, and works in Christian Outreach on the Knoxville campus. I remember back in my first years of “spiritual knowing” (spiritual arrogance), in my early twenties - I would get into the Jesus debate with women on Christian crusades. We’d both work up an “I am right” zealot frenzy, with no possible point of surrender on either side. We would profess our unquestionable belief based on “facts,” and always walked away thinking the other was just plain ignorant. A micro reenactment of the prelude to war.
Thank God I’ve wised up over the years. The prelude didn’t happen. I won’t go there anymore. To tell the truth, it took me at least 60 years to identify and let go of my spiritual arrogance; to finally begin honoring the freedom any person has to express their faith in any religion they choose. How or why a person builds and expresses a belief about God and their savior is none of my business. And of course what I just said illustrates my religion - zen - (not zen Buddhism) which by its very nature allows everyone to express themselves as they so choose. I watch the misty river flow and the caterpillar as she quietly strolls across the wet wooden plank.
What I relate to, and deeply felt at the beginning of this journey, is the void, the not having of a “spiritual” home and family. I think we are all, in one way or another, wanting to be blessed with a “spiritual” family, a home, with that “something” that will glue it all together, that will give our life purpose and meaning. Figuring out purpose and meaning is not an easy thing. It’s confusing. It’s so much easier to surrender - and turn to an enlightened someone who will give life meaning and lead us “Home.”
And most people do surrender to that outside One. That’s why we have churches, and mosques, and synagogues, and temples. Faith relieves the confusion. It’s like a stepping stone home, for all those who find comfort in being guided on a clearly chartered path.
The South I’m experiencing is a bastille of Christianity. Stepping stone churches are everywhere. There are probably more churches per capita in the South then there are Coffee Shops/Starbucks per capita in Seattle. Southern folks love their Jesus. I get the feeling that Christian religion here is somehow unconsciously tied in with the Civil War - you took our land and there is no way you’re going to take our religion. God and Jesus and church is deeply ingrained in the culture, and there’s no getting around it.
I’m simply a witness - a roving reporter. It’s really none of my business to interfere, to think I might know better or to judge. I’ve concluded that people simply need their faith, and there is absolutely nothing I or anyone else can, or should say that will stop a convinced believer from believing. (unless they believe they have to force it on me or those I love).
So I will be zen. A hummingbird at the window, a rose petal blooming, a ray of sunlight through the pines. A royal imperial caterpillar and then the Monarch butterfly. I will be guided, not by the mind, but by my heart. And I will let my heart be drawn to love, to all that is pure and good. So be it.
Blessings, Dakan
“I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together. Goo-goo-j’-joob.”
Also, on the day I drove through the mountains of Appalachia I realized I was low on cash and decided to stop in at the Bank of Walmart. I’ve come to realized that with my debit card I can buy an avocado for 88 cents and get $100 cash back, no questions asked.
At the check out counter the middle-aged hillbilly woman behind the register said, “I’m going to have to try myself one of these someday.”
That took me aback for a second. “You’ve never had an avocado your whole life?’
“No sir,” she answered, not ashamed, “but I heard they’re pretty good.”
I smiled. “I think you should get one and try it.”
“Well, I think I will one day,” she said with a grin
“That’s the spirit,” I added, walking away with my avocado and cash.
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