It is early March and already the birds are back, the sap is long-running, and the grass is spotting green.  Global warming?  While it is a fascinating topic, it has become far too political for a blog like this to tackle head-on, which is unfortunate.  With this, time will have to tell, but it brings up the equally interesting topic: how much do we control our environment, both physical and mental? Does our mindset actually change physical effects on the ground, or does our (group) mind only reflect those changes that are occurring?

While these questions seem far removed from the latest blogs concerned with the personal aspects (or lack of them) of God, they really are not.  Consider a New Age perspective on cancer; at least for a while, many of its adherents preached that cancer was caused not only by cigarettes and other carcinogens, but also by one's spiritual/mental state.  Many people were offended by this, considering it an unproven burden placed on those already suffering, and I have to admit that they have a point. However, this provokes a contrary and equally un-provable belief - that some things, like cancer, simply happen; that some things are up to fate; meaning, for believers, that some things are simply up to God, who in His higher wisdom has deemed certain sufferings necessary.  Could it be, then, that something as large and unwieldy as climate change is really more up to God than to us?  

Many think so, but this does not mean that Man is off the hook, for in this view, we may be approaching Armageddon in the form of Global Warming due to our sinful behavior.  We might  even say that the excess carbon in the atmosphere is due to greed, so that both our sins and science coalesce.  This points to a third way of thinking, something that holds the scientific and the moral together.  According to many esoteric thinkers (see The Secret Teachers by Gary Lachman), our current technology is the product of unbalanced, "left brain" thinking that has overridden  "right brain" conceptualizations of timeless unity between individuals, humans, and nature.  We are now at the breaking point, where we will have either a smooth transition to a more balanced approach, including both the left and right mode, or we we will have a  complete meltdown of the left, causing the end of the world as we know it, and a return to those who survive of the primitive, mythological mind.  In this case, "sin" is replaced by poor balance, and our current science is simply a reflection of our lack of balance, along with the ensuing problems.  Thus, science and mind and physical reality are joined together in mutually causative ways.  And no matter how one looks at it, we need a return in some degree to a more right brain, or spiritual mode.

But where in this has God gone?  Does he remain the distant clock maker who has built in this dichotomy, so that we might not run too far from the spiritual path in pursuit of physical control? And is our "free will" only the choice between this limited duality, or its balance?  In other words, is God still an active "father" or is "It" removed from our prayers and concerns?   

Here, we go back to the beginning, to the poor guy with cancer. Is this cancer the will of God?  Or is it from unknown carcinogens alone?  Or is it caused by the friction between the right and left brain dichotomy?  

If either the dichotomy or the will of God, then the cancer is a sign that things are not OK, and that we have to work on our faith or our balance. If it is simply an organic problem, then we have to find the material that caused this, so that it will not happen again.  Which of these, though, is it?  

And so this writer's struggle with the nature of God.  Not surprisingly, I found synchronicity between this question and the Gospel in this week's church service, the famous one about the Prodigal Son.  In this, God is compared to a loving father who is willing to allow his son the freedom to choose his own destruction, yet who is overjoyed when he rejects this and comes home in humiliation and repentance.  There is much to be made from this, but for our purposes, we see here a god that allows foolish, self-destructive behavior, but also welcomes the fool back into the fold.  We see, then, a permissive but loving and involved being, something so attuned to humans that we might truly say that we are made in His image. And yet, we are allowed to kill ourselves, if that be our decision.  Where would this fit in with science?  Where would this fit in with the balanced an unbalanced mind?

More directly, where would this fit in with Global Warming and cancer?  Oddly, I think it agrees with all of the perspectives.  With pure science, humans have the reasoning powers to destroy or to create - to mess up the environment, or not - or to make carcinogens or find the cure.  With pure religion, we are cared for if we truly love God; with this, cancer might be a test or a strengthening, and Warming (as mentioned above) a consequence of sin - and in any case, eternal salvation is always waiting.  With the New Age approach, God gave us both reason and spirituality, both necessary and useful, but best when well-balanced.  And, except for His absence in science, "He" is more than willing to take us back.  

But God's nature, or even lack of it, still remains a  mystery.  Just as he could be either nothing but science or mental balance, so could he still be the benevolent father.  But how does one talk to science? And is it worth it for one part of the brain to beseech the other for good fortune or health?  This, at least for me, requires more thought and maybe that something else - more prayer. For although it might be foolish to have my will in many ways of the world, how could greater clarity of mind ever be a mistake? And if there is no  response, could that not also be a deciding answer?  FK              

It has not been a hard winter here, but it has been cloudy, so much so that the sight of the sun in a week could be measured in hours on the fingers of one hand.  Perhaps it is this that has darkened my perspective of late.  And perhaps it was the sudden change to brilliance yesterday that has altered that, at least to a degree, as if leaving truth dangling on the whims of weather.  Still, the fact is that the Power, that glance of 'being' often as cold as the eyes of a wild animal, is also benign beyond human measure.  Poets have come near to doing it justice, and I can do no better, but it must be proclaimed: there is more reason to live than not, and this reason goes well beyond any measure of success or happiness that we might recognize.

It was yesterday, and we were well into our walk along the river when the wonder of it burst to mind.  New powdered snow crunched beneath our feet, and the last flakes of fluff had filled the older footsteps and made them glisten with a jeweled brilliance. More than that, though, for there was a certain something about the contrast of the dark river and the white snow, the water edged by new ice, that drew a remarkable contrast that cried "life!" This was no recondite moment of inner vision, but a calling out to beauty for everyone, a touch of universal grace.  In it was The Power, not of exploding galaxies or blood-enraged predators, but of its stillness, of its peace, of its promise of eternal rest among the movements of wind and water. Already, the Canada geese were back, sharing that promise that had been given them hundreds of thousands of years ago, this endless cycle that displaced, that changed, but remained the same.  For the geese, they had never lost the heart of the promise.  For this human, it was found, again, as it always has been, and I hope always will be. 

Geese die, however; if not by age, then by the predators, and even in stillness this cannot be denied.  Just an hour ago, as I sat before the computer thinking of this re-emergence of beneficence,  I received a call from an old friend.  He had been one of our core group of six from high school, now reduced to five with the unexpected death of one of us with a sudden heart attack.  That had been less than two years ago, and now I was being told our number would be reduced to four.  Shockingly, Bill was now in hospice for a cancer that had spread to his brain.  He might not last the week, I was told. Perhaps even now, there would be no time to say goodbye, with the drugs and all.  

We had imagined these days when young, and had soberly turned these thoughts over, then tossed them out.  It was all too far away. We had forever, as the young always do, but now we do not, as the old come to realize.  I don't know how Bill has managed, but I can't imagine him in panic, as I can myself. Perhaps I will find out, but the friend who called has already found solace in Bill's cheerful resignation, as if it is us, not him, who needs comfort.  For me, he is the "Bill" in my book, Dream Weaver, the one who came to Wisconsin, got injured in a car wreck and was happy about it, as he no loner had to work at logging.  He was also the one who, after a night of intense beer drinking, could knock cans off a wall with his shockingly powerful "whizz." Juvenile, I know, but it is those memories that build a person. With him, these memories remain in bright sun; with him, there were seldom dark clouds.

And so it is, this silent and peaceful, this quietly beautiful side of The Power.  It is no lie, no cover-up, no barefoot dancing in the park. It is as real as war, as pain, as hate.  Really, it is more so, for of the latter, they come and go, but the peace, the silent movement, never stops, ever.  And it is this that gives us the meaning behind its beauty: we know it will always be with us, no matter, just as the geese know without need for thought.  We, too, know deep inside that we will always be a part of its flow, even as the hard and temporal tears us apart, and this, too, we know without thought.  This too we know from the beauty that holds us gently as the quiet stream moves endlessly through the changing shore.  FK                

OMG!  Sunday night, we drove through an unexpected blast of cold and snow to the movie "The Revenant," and were treated to unimaginable storms - storms of revenge, storms of nature, all projected through awe-inspiring scenery and relentless acts of brutality.  It left us exhausted, and neither of us could go to bed afterwards, even though it was late.  

This was The Power on stage, something that I have been dealing with intellectually and spiritually lately, as one might see from the last essay.  It is not the awfulness of humankind that has been bothering me, but the apparent distance of the force that animates all reality, what we refer generically to as "God."  This turnabout came as I realized that most of those personal things, small things that I could have little effect upon, have simply not worked out, mindless of my pious prayers.  This could never convince me that The Force is not with us - that is, that it is not in the very fabric of all being, for I have felt it and still feel it - it is simply the truth.  No, but rather it seems that my life is too small to matter, too inconsequential to be heard by whatever that Force might be.  And that is a problem.  That is a problem, for however smart I think I have become with my readings and cogitations, I have realized that I still hold the image of God the Father, of God as a sort of super-dad, in my heart.  

It is not entirely my fault. This is what many of us have been taught as children, and it has long served as a wall against the existential angst that has troubled modernity these past few centuries.  But that, to paraphrase St Paul, is a childish thing, and not meant for adults.  Yet I, many of us, still cling to it, a security blanket against meaninglessness and death.  

That this concept is still within me came as something of a shock, and with this recognition has come another shock: that without the kindly, although stern, Father, I must come to deal with the raw power exhibited in "The Revenant."  It is glorious, the power of mountains and galaxies; it is what the grown-up mind was made to contemplate.  But it takes courage.  The mystics understood this all too well - that every concept we have of God must be jettisoned before God can be beheld - and in that, we must pass through the infamous Dark Night, which is not simply a night of obscurity, but one of terror and disintegration, where everything we cherish must be let go.  The Power is not only far greater than a great father; it is greater still than any natural event we might witness or even imagine.  We have the means to approach it, and in its light is also a glory greater than any we can imagine, but for most, it is not an easy journey.  Thus, some wise men have thought that for those lacking the drive, it is best to stay simple, to stay with the things of a child.  But for some, the cat is already out of the bag.  For some, they have no choice but to drive on.

In the movie, no easy answer is given us, just as in real life.  If one is content with one's beliefs now, one is probably wrong, and the movie makes damn sure we understand this aspect of Being. To make certain we remain uneasy and awed, we are treated to only one aspect of The Power, given us through stupendous shots of natural scenery.  But Glory goes well beyond this.  It glimmers in all of us time and again, and is ever present, if we could allow it.  We hold it at bay, not only with childhood memories of God that attempt to shield us from this power, but with the "objective" mentality of modern humans, the breakdown of all into little bits that can be explained all-so-coolly by a team of Vulcans in lab coats.  That, too, is only a security blanket of the child.  

That the God, the All, is concerned with every hair on our heads is, I think, true - God is far removed from the cold objectivity of the scientist.  But neither is "It" swayed by childish dreams.  What IS, is vaster than a glacier or comet, and greater than deaths both of mice and galaxies.  We cannot correctly think of such a force in terms of anything less than that which is greater than anything we can imagine.  For that, we must endure a voyage that in many ways mirrors that of our tortured hero in "The Revenant."  And it is on this voyage where we can all say, without the fault of immaturity, "God help us."  FK