The Relative God(s)

I have been contemplating this post for nearly four months now. I have tried to write it several times but have been unable to express my feelings quite accurately. I must admit the title of this post can be misleading for it is not my belief that God is relative; He is absolute. The more accurate title of this post would be the The Relativity of God Throughout Humanity. I do not claim to be a philosopher or a great theologian. I am only offering my observations as a poor student of a University. And yes, I know that I am trying to swallow an elephant with this post.

In my observation there are two very broad categories of religion those that try to explain God and those that do not; e.g. Christianity and Buddhism, respectively. Since this post is about God's relativity I will not be discussing those religions that do not attempt to explain God. For those who know me, I definitely hold nothing against these religions, especially Buddhism. I will ignore these religions for the simple fact that I don't like to compare apples and oranges or try and swallow two elephants at once.

Let's compare apples to apples; Fuji's to Gala's, and Granny Smith's to Red Delicious. It will be noted that religion as with apples there are personal favorites, but that doesn't inherently make them a better apple. It only goes to support the claim of relativity of humans.

As far back as 4000 B.C. we have a record of the people that inhabited the area of Mesopotamia. These people were the Sumerians and the Akkadians. It has been estimated that they worshipped over 2000 different deities ranging from patron deities of varying cities to Gods of war, agriculture, fertility, death, etc. The facets of their life were ran by the favor of the Gods. This polytheistic pattern of appeasing the Gods continued for the next four and a half millennia with the rise and fall of multiple civilizations e.g. Greek, Egyptian, Indian, Norse, Roman, Mayan etc.

We also have a record, the Bible, of a small peculiar group of people, the Hebrews, that practiced a monotheistic religion. This record begins about 4000 BC as well. So I don't bore you with biblical history I will give an extremely brief summation. Adam, the first man, has children and about nine generations later we have Noah, the one with the Ark. In another nine generations from Noah we have Abraham. Abraham has a son Isaac; the one he was willing to sacrifice. Isaac has a son named Jacob whose name is later changed to Israel and he has twelve sons who become the twelve tribes of Israel. after Jacob/Israel dies it is 200-ish years before Moses comes on the scene and liberates the Israelites/Hebrews and takes them to the promised land. After several years in the promised land they split up into two kingdoms Israel and Judah. The kingdom of Judah is where the Jews originate. They had one God, Jehovah.

If we examine the Greek view of deity we will find an interesting correlation to their whole society. Greek deities were extremely human, they had vices and passions. They had disagreements with one another that spawned wars. Now if we think about how the Greeks viewed themselves do we not see a similar pattern. Greeks loved the concept of "humans" they thought themselves to be the best. In essence, they viewed the Gods to be like themselves.

If we look at the Hebrew religion of the Old Testament. It is filled up by a God who is anything, but human. A God who is perfect, authoritative, absolute, and in all candor, a bit of an extremist. Now looking at the people that ascribed to this philosophy another correlation can be seen. The people, as a whole, viewed themselves as absolutely and unquestionably the chosen people of God and everyone else as heathen. They viewed humanity not something to be celebrated, but something to overcome. They viewed themselves how they viewed their God.

The examples of this throughout history are vast. Unfortunately I cannot discuss them all here. I am sure though that if you were to look at other examples you would see the pattern repeat over and over.

We are no different today. There are as many varying perspectives of God as there have ever been. The different sects of Christianity, for instance, all view God differently. Some paint Him to be a God who requires praise, not obedience; and in turn all they do is praise. Others paint Him to be an ethereal spiritual mass without parts or passions that can never be fully understood; these people feel that they cannot reach an understanding of themselves. Others are unable to forgive themselves and thereby deny God's forgiveness. Some view themselves as unhappy and "going through a rough time" and therefore feel that God is unhappy with them.

In our individualistic society we all have varying beliefs of God. It is these beliefs that make Him relative to us. One day I am sure that the grey curtains of this life will roll back; the sun will shine through and our understanding of God will be complete and perfect. We will see Him as he is. Until that day though He remains to humanity, relative.

My Walk

I have no purpose in going for a walk; I have no purpose in staying home. I should be studying for my math test on Tuesday, or perhaps I should be preparing for my audition for band in two days...No I shall go for a walk.

Do I turn left or right? If I go right I take a stroll around the block I walk around a church that I have never been inside...no that won't do. If I go left I journey back to campus where I have already spent several hours today...Yes that is where I shall go.

It is quiet. It is evening, just before the sun sets. Campus is virtually empty. I walk by a girl who is sitting on the steps waiting for 'him' to arrive. We exchange polite smiles and I am on my way. I have no preference where my feet take me. I see two more people studying furtively, trying to eek out every last bit of light to study by. I pass by unnoticed. My feet turn once more to the left and now I stand in front of the Humanities building. I smile and know exactly why my feet led me here. On the fourth floor of the Humanities building is an abstract painting. I have stood there before gazing at its colors, its shapes and patterns. I have tried before to understand its purpose; the reason each brushstroke fell in its exact spot on the canvas. But today, I simply appreciate its wonder. My musings are interrupted by a professor who thinks it odd that a student wearing a lavender dress shirt, blue argyle tie, black vest, nerd glasses, and converses; who has the audacity to be sporting a faux-hawk while toting in hand Les Miserables and a journal has been standing in the same spot staring at the same painting for nearly ten minutes. My time here is spent and I am the servant to my feet once again.

My feet take me now right and I know there are only two places they want to go, but which is first...Of course, we are going in the Performing Arts building. My feet take me not to the elevator, but up the stairs until I am on the third floor. I know why I am here; I hope it is still unlocked. It is. I am outside again this time on the patio that provides a most stunning view of city, the lake beyond, and finally closes where the sun dips behind the mountains setting the sky aflame. It is an inspiring scene. Does anyone else do this? I wonder. I see the people below rushing to get to their cars. Hurrying to the next task of the day. I want to cry out to them to stop and look at the beauty of it all. Bring them up to where I am and show them a different perspective, a more grand perspective. Alas, I stay silent. I sit on the bench and my eyes catch a glimpse of a folded paper and pen. I open the paper and of course there is a music scrawled upon it, Edelweiss.

Blossom of snow may you bloom and grow
Bloom and grow forever.
Edelweiss, Edelweiss
Bless my homeland forever.

My feet are on the move again. This time down the sidewalk to the Fine Arts building. I have been here many times, but at this time of day all the galleries would be closed. But my feet march in that direction relentlessly. I walk in and the cleaning crew is going about their nightly routine. I make my way to the elevator and push the button labeled three. I have never been to this part of the building before. All white walls and rooms that are darkened; is this still the Fine Arts building or did I step into a mental hospital? I find my way soon enough and once more I am outdoors on a patio. There is only one chair. A chair without a back, a front or sides; only a seat. I sat hesitantly facing one direction then changed to another and another and another. I was never quite comfortable where I was facing. I finally settled on looking directly at the building I had just walked out. A man passes he doesn't see me. He passes once more and pays me no mind. My feet are all too anxious to leave this spot.

I start back home and realize there is one more stop I will be making this evening. The duck pond. I step down the stairs listening water falling on top of water and observe that I am intruding upon a private setting. Over in the far corner sit two lovers; feet dangling into the pond and hands clasped tightly, eyes locked on one another and hearts becoming one. I smile. I know. I withdraw until I am unseen by them and sit and am swept away by the sound of the fountain. Water shooting into the air thirty feet then succumbing to gravity and colliding back into the pond . I try and follow a single drop from its birth to death. I can't do it. I walk back home in silence.

I begin to type.

Moving On: The City Left Behind

This is my last weekend in my summer home of Eagle Mountain. I moved home to satiate the desire of my head and heart. My head out of necessity, for my university studies had depleted all my funds, and my heart for love. Now I am not going stroll down memory lane and force you, my dear reader, to row through the ocean of my thoughts and experiences for you would be tossed amid tempests, compelled to endure mutiny aboard the ship, and fight the mythic Kraken to survive. But above all my dear reader you would see incomprehensible beauty that transcends the human experience. Beauty that I was most fortunate to experience. I believe I will rely on Charles Dickens and say:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way..."

It is with great trepidation that I return to my university studies and bid farewell to my summer city. It is not my intention to sound melodramatic, but this is how Wandle Mace felt when he left his city behind; though the names are different the feelings are the same, "Farewell Nauvoo the Beautiful, The City of Joseph! The home of so much joy and happy contentment, and also of the most exquisite sorrow and anguish" Wandle Mace was a Latter-Day Saint pioneer who was forced from his home by malicious and beastly men. He walked until he found peace and refuge in the Mountains of the West, his promised land. I do not mean to compare myself to him for I am confident that it would not be possible for me to persevere through the hardships he endured. My only wish is that after I leave my city I have enough faith and trust in God to continue to walking until I find my promised land.

I beg your indulgence my dear reader before I end. I said I wouldn't take you down memory lane, but there is one place we need to stop.

This is the special spot in my city at, quite literally, the end of the road. It is the spot that I frequent to contemplate life. I have shaken my fists in anger and frustration at God in Heaven and later gave thanks for His wisdom and temperance. I have worried over the apathy of society and subsequently rejoiced in its compassion. I have been brought to the point where words fail and have rowed into the uncharted waters that followed. This is the spot of unobstructed views. This is the spot of inspiration. This is the spot of transcendence. This is MY spot... ...that I now bid farewell.

On Sense and Sensibility

Surprisingly enough this blog post has nothing to do with the delightful novel written some 200 years ago by Miss Jane Austen, though I did just finish reading it for the first time and found out why it is considered a classic. Usually I feel that drama is overdone and bothersome, but Miss Austen seems to have the perfect recipe for it. Excess within control one might say.

This post is about (in my humble opinion) a more...dare I say...practical use of sense and sensibility. No offense to you Miss Austen.

Recently I have been fascinated with the idea of happiness (see former posts). Happiness in spite of horrible circumstances e.g. a job you hate going to everyday, being cheated out of two hundred eighty dollars every paycheck, or something of that ilk. It is been said erroneously that happiness is a consequence of your choices not actually a choice. Were that true you and I would be much happier people for I believe we make choices everyday that would ensure our happiness. You make slave away at a desk all day trying with all your heart to help someone you have never met secure a pension from the government and never be thanked. Oh, and by the way you are making pennies an hour that barely keep you above the poverty level. You may have a four-year degree from a university. You may be one of the most caring and talented individuals in your generation. And yet here you are going back to the grind everyday working for that all important dollar; hating every minute of it. Wishing that one day someone would take you away from your hell. Take you to a brand new colony where everything would change...

You might be wondering what this has to do with sense and sensibility and in all candor I am trying to come up with the perfect segue into that topic, but alas it eludes me. For now I beg your indulgence for a lack of a decent segue.

To me, sense and sensibility say, that if you hate what you do change it. Do not be a creature of circumstance, but rather be its creator. Throw practicality to the wind if you must; your sanity is not worth it. Find something that truly makes you happy and pursue it with all the inexhaustible energy and excitement of a child. It may take you Seattle or any other part of the country. It may bring you back to your past. You may not understand everything about it, but you definitely can appreciate the beauty of being happy. Do what you must to be happy. Practicality may even be so subtle in its attempts to deceive you by trying to convince you that he is sense and sensibility. Pay him no mind for he is only a man behind a curtain; a fraud and charlatan.

Only remember..excess within control. It is the recipe for a perfect book and a perfect happiness.

Secrets of Happiness: Simplicity and Sincerity

Have you ever been so obsessed with one idea that it takes over your whole life; every moment you become more entrenched, engrossed and enthralled with it until you are ready to explode. This post is my explosion.

One of the the redeeming qualities about my job is that I get ten hours everyday to myself. Most of my co-workers choose to listen to music, but I prefer to use these ten hours to think about life, the state of the world and my own pursuit of happiness therein. It is very egocentric and selfish of me to occupy so much of my time thinking about myself, but I figure someone has to be the center of my universe so why not me. The idea of life and happiness have been consuming me for the past week. I have concluded after many sleep deprived nights and long hours walking behind a weed eater that I want two things in life; simplicity and sincerity.

Simplicity.

There is an old Shaker song that contains the phrase "'Tis a gift to be simple..." A gift it says. A gift indeed. A priceless treasure in a world where everyone and everything can be bought for a price. Simple pleasures in life that are without price: eating an Otter Pop during a hot summer day; stargazing under a blanket with your special someone; the sweet smile on a child's face when they are missing several teeth; the wind blowing through your hair; figuring out the last clue to a crossword puzzle; running barefoot through the grass; scarves; hiking through a forest in the autumn...orange and yellow leaves falling all around you and the crisp cool air biting your nose.

Perhaps simplicity is the reason I practiced Buddhism. Perhaps simplicity is the reason I am fascinated with the indie/hipster movement. Perhaps simplicity is the reason for my love of nature. Perhaps simplicity helps us see what is truly beautiful in life.

Simplicity because one day that is all we will have. For me, I hope it is sooner than later.

Sincerity.

"I said what I meant and I meant what I said." Is that even possible anymore? We live in a world where deceit and manipulation are acceptable business practices. There was a time when business transactions were concluded by a handshake and a promise. That was the only bond that you needed; your word. People meant what they said. In church on Sunday a man whom I admire greatly addressed the congregation. He is the most sincere man I have ever met in my life. He spoke of supernal things with such conviction and sincerity that I was unable to take my eyes off him. He is soft spoken sensitive man who would give you the world were it in his power. Perhaps it was him that sparked this obsession. I saw him in the hall after the meeting and I informed him I loved his talk and after the customary greetings he asked me, "How are you doing?" A simple enough question. I responded, "I am wonderful." Possibly the most insincere and untrue comment I made that entire day. I could have answered that I was well or I was fair to middlin', but no I said wonderful. Why? I always say it. Wonderful, terrific, or super, those are words that I usually use to describe how I feel and more often than not I use them in honesty. Today was the exception. It struck me as ironic that I am talking to a most sincere man whom I know will actually listen to me and yet all I say is that I am wonderful, that all is well. How often do words fly out of our mouths that hold no meaning to us? Or maybe the better question is how often do we actually listen to someone when they are trying open up to us? How often do we become robots and perform our tasks with no emotion; oblivious to all that exists outside of ourselves?

Imagine the most sincere moment you have experienced in your life. Perhaps it involves your significant other. Or maybe you are alone making promises that only God can hear. Maybe it is an overdue apology to a friend. Chances are when you look back you will remember a feeling, a feeling of power. Power because you know those words had meaning. If you are like me and are incessant with your pondering on the world's sincerity or lack thereof think back to the sincere times for hope. They are calling, " Look back, Look back at me."