Without a why

I feel as though I am in a dream, as though nothing I am engaged in is really real. The worst part is, as in a dream, that I cannot get a grip on what is real. It is not just that God is absent and the yawning gulf of his absence is a felt emotion. God has become a meaningless word. There is nothing to be absent. There is no emotion. There is this fuzzy, hazy, cotton wool shrouded existence and nothing else.

After living for so long in a warm and comfortable cocoon of my own making I am now exposed to the elements, faced with uncertainty and nagged by anxiety – all on a homely domestic scale – nothing major or life threatening like that faced by billions of people down through history and in the world today. All the time a little question has been niggling away on the edges of my attention – Where does God fit into all this? 

The God I have been accustomed to dealing with has been, partly a mental construct (of memories, of experiences and speculative thoughts), partly a void beneath the surface of reality (with all the terrifying attraction of the plunging fall of a high cliff beneath ones feet), but most of all, the focus of a deep and persistent yearning. He seems to have no place in this mundane world of practical things, of tasks and shopping, work and leisure. He does not enter into our plans, is not a factor in the negotiations and decisions of our daily lives. Moments of prayer, meditation and worship are, more often than not, a hiatus in the daily course of events, a suspension of important and necessary activities. We have become completely secularised and there is no longer a link between the secular and the sacred. There is no longer a sacred.

And yet beneath all this, soft, half felt, an undercurrent runs, of yearning and desire – an impulse to love, to be and be with –  all without a who and without a why.

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