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Last Friday I took the April 1998 issue of The Sun to lunch with me and read Rami Shapiro’s “In Search of Zen Judaism.” Though raised a Methodist, I do not practice any faith. In fact, I resigned as a member of the First Unitarian Church this past January. The congregation was nice; the minister was nice; the board on which I served was nice — there was simply no “juice” at the church.
That same month, at the end of a long pilgrimage, it became clear to me that I had found God. For several years I’d been seeking a higher purpose in my life, trying out a smorgasbord of ideas and philosophies, reading countless books, meditating, and generally stumbling down one path after another. What I hadn’t done was ask God for help. Then, in a deep depression over the breakup of a relationship, I cried out to God, and He heard me. He took control of my soul and put me on the path to find Him.
What Shapiro describes mirrors my experience. I often feel God’s presence within. Last weekend, while driving up to Steamboat Springs to see my youngest son, I stopped by the Blue River. As I walked up to the snowy bank, sun sparkling, wind whistling through the tall pines, I asked God what He wanted. My awareness of “me” immediately dropped away, and I was crying from the incredible beauty of it all. For several minutes, I was a vessel for God; God experienced His creation through me. I was His eyes, His ears, His voice.
Shapiro says, “Our separate reality is momentary, transient, and relative.” I know this to be true.