I met a gent yesterday afternoon whose name means “one with God.” he lives in the neighborhood and has so for quite some time. But what are the chances that we'd meet right on the day that I request I not only know but live the meaning of “I and my father are One”? And it happened to be his birthday, on the day of the new moon, the day of new beginnings as he informed me while we parted ways.
God speaks often swiftly through all lips, and yet seldom is it heard.
God walks with all feet, and yet seldom is it seen in this way.
while at the neighborhood park with our dogs, he told me, in observance of the wooden beads around my wrist, that sandlewood is burnt by shamans to ward off bad energy. And while we sat on the grass we conversed about the minds of our parents and the change in the outlook of the newer generations.
it made me wonder if our parents once sat around and talked about the outlook of their parents.
Over the years i've had the fortune of exploring other traditions and schools of profound ideas. I came to find they all said the same thing and ceased identifying with any singular outlook.
For as I discovered, they all say some version of “I and my father are One.”
God writes through all fingertips, and yet seldom is it read or understood in this way.
ah well. it's a game well played.
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