Thursday, May 31, 2012

God's Language + A Life Lost and Found In Translation


God is the source. But most of us don’t have easy access to him. Most of us need a translator to imbibe and synthesize the data and send it outward, to us, with some clarity. Writers, preachers, theologians, teachers, therapists, artists, animals, nature, and even the odd stranger on a bus can all be translator’s of God’s language.

I met a woman recently, in the end stage of her life, and she told me she no longer felt the hunger to absorb information, spiritual or any kind in this part of her life. She said it had come on rather recently, this contentedness to be in the present.

The more we spoke the more she used words of adoration like “being in love” and with her “beloved”. These are some of the words the most divinely attuned mystics used. And it made me think that it was not that she was no longer receptive to “information” but that she just no longer needed a translator.

While there are some mystics and highly attuned people who may spend chunks of their lifetime in the every-moment presence of and direct conversation with God for many of us it comes on for brief moments–in illness, grief, and life’s intensity, we brush up against the immortal lingering with God, momentarily, in the space between here and there, life and death.


When a person becomes what my agnostic-ish secular therapist friend calls “self-actualized” and I would say spiritually is coming into the “true self” or “god self” it is possible for people with age and letting go to linger in the twilight of life being, both, mostly divine and mostly human. They are more humane in this time and they can connect with God with such a visceral present-ness that they look like someone newly “in love”.

This is because they are no longer abiding solely from the human experience of love–our carbon copies of God’s love that sometime bridges to divine love for parents, children, spouses, and friends. Usually we can’t exist in this tender space of intoxication and fulfillment with family and friends indefinitely because our insecurities and pettiness will create friction and the connection is lost.

God love, and living inside of the beloved inside of the self, the soul, is something rarely attained with any constancy in life–even in the mystics, and often not found in all that many in the end-stages of life.

This woman I met embodied the best of God-love and human-love. She no longer needed a translator for God’s intentions. In a moment, in a prayer, He is there for her in crystal clarity–her life being purged of all the barriers.

In the crisp divinity of her twilight she shines like an angel–not in a saccharine valentine’s card way, but with such a palpable beauty that it is hard to be in her presence without flinching from the brightness. She is light without need of a translator–she is sight without need of glasses, and she is God, standing right in front of me. Almost too bright to look at. So true I want to touch her. But what she has cannot be bought, only cultivated through a mystery of openness and a merging of divinity–where two become one.

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