And I am struck by the billions of years it took me to create it. To bring it into this form, rather, as God doesn’t say Let There Be a Human Foot and there is one. Rather, it’s a process of making, shaping, re-making, nudging, tweaking, experimenting, going down blind alleys, testing to destruction, and making some more.
For this, God’s Foot, got to its present form through a process some like to call evolution – but I grok it’s more subtle than that, whatever the poor scientism freaks like to think. And oh, yes, we must feel sorry for them – that sad huddle of desperate men and women whose only answer to the wonder and beauty and complexity of Life is to jeer at various parts of it. It’s a kind of whistling in the dark – a juvenile bravado which thinks the only answer to Spirit is to make disparaging remarks at it.
Sigh – I was once there, as many of us know. Hey, but I got better.
Last night, the writing shone against my closed eyelids in letters of light: Thou Art God. And I realised why I use the pseudo-archaic form of you when I tell myself this. It’s because I’m not addressing the mundane being – the one who writes code in the week to draw down information from the database in an exquisite parody of creation – but rather, I’m talking directly to the other bird sitting in the tree: the one who watches. The Divine portion of us all. The Beloved who will never – indeed can never – leave us. The one who we recognise as our true selves in moments of peering through the Veil.
Two black and white faces insert themselves between my eyes and my foot. Tongues lolling, tails wagging, my canine companions have come to share some love, and thus break up this momentary contemplation.
But then, that’s what it’s all ultimately about, isn’t it? Ourselves as God, experiencing the root and foundation of all our making and shaping. Love.