They discussed spiritual practices there. We sat in a circle and one woman said her meditation is sometimes interrupted by rowdy birds. Another said that reading some short prayers helped her get to a place where her mind was still and quiet. A third said she had studied under a guru and a young girl eagerly (and wistfully) commented that she wanted one too. A guru, that is.
My turn came. My spiritual practice… usually involves a lot of yelling, I said. Mostly it’s me yelling at God. This week, it was me threatening God that I am not going to believe in him anymore if he keeps this up.
But I can’t unbelieve it.
The words tumbled out of my mouth and a tear accompanied them.
I can’t unbelieve in God. I can redefine God, I can reimagine it, I can change my perspective and renegotiate the relationship I have with this Divine being. But I can’t unbelieve it.
The more I think of it, the angrier I become. I find myself dragging the bottom of my vocabulary pond to come up with the most distasteful words I can to say to God. I find myself spewing loud, angry euphemisms. The heavens do not break, the birds don’t stop flying, and I am still left here, driving and wiping hot angry tears from my eyes, asking why.
The question that has no answer.
The question invented to mock humanity in our non-divine nature.
This morning, there was a fly in my coffee. I smirked. Of course there was. Why wouldn’t there be?