An Orgy of Love, Death, God and Madness

 

Since my mother died, I have come to the realization that grief very much feels like madness. Another manifestation of awareness that has come into being is that love is madness. Love does feel like madness. Both madness and love join death in an orgy of mayhem.

This dialogue of orgies brings God into the equation because, not only is God such a delicious topic, but don’t we all have an appetite for delicious things?

God and love is one and the same. Since love is madness then God must be insane as well.

Atheists don’t rejoice just yet, because science cannot explain or solve everything. One “fact” I present here is that no science or discovery would exist at all if people could not believe in the impossible, the unseen, and the unproven.

If one could not believe in the extraordinary truth behind the manifestation of thoughts, ideas or beliefs, there would be no creations. The evidence is simply everywhere.

The concept of God fits very well into what is impossible and, what we know as insanity.

God is whatever you wish God to be; I am merely presenting my own concept of one God that encompasses all things. I admit that for me, my concept of God is very much God in a monotheistic context, and within a Christian perspective.

God is evidenced in writing. Whether one believes in the Bible or not is not something I am concerned with now, I am purely presenting my perspective.

Having said that, to me, the foundational principle, the paramount message in the sacred text of the Bible is in one commandment.

The command of this omnipotent being, of God, is a very simple one; “love one another”. John 13:34-35, The Bible.

I suppose the 10 commandants were too much for us humans to absorb and/or remember and/or agree about. So a new commandant was given that makes it all so very clear;

“Love one another”

How can intelligent people believe in God? Well for me, God is perfect love.

I am taking on some very massive subjects I realize this. One question has vexed and teased me intolerably;

“If God does exist, (and l ask you to stretch your imagination, play along and pretend that an omnipotent and all creating being exists) then why didn’t he (or whatever God is to you) just make everything perfect?”

The answer that is given, in the good book; the Bible, is that God actually did make everything perfect. God created and provided a perfect planet and he created and provided for perfect beings.

But we know who screwed it up, don’t we?

Humans – see Genesis in the Bible, it is a marvelous read that seeks to explain how we are the way we are.

God, this creator, gave us the freedom to make choices and even if one didn’t believe in God, it is our choices that determine much of our life.

I will close this article by sharing an experience that happened today, and I hope it brings all I have discussed in the article to a satisfactory climax;

Today I saw a pashmina scarf, one identical to the beautiful olive one my mother gave me. It was draped on a ladies shoulder. I saw it and I had the memory of my mother giving me the scarf. I started to cry. I sat myself down on a chair sobbing as discreetly as one can sob in public in a shopping centre. An adult mother and daughter approached me to ask me if I was ok. I wanted to howl.

Sometime later, something shifted inside of me. I began to blame God, very much, as if I was a powerless being or a puppet on a string. And so I raged while weeping and in my angry grieving heart I asked God,

“Why did you have to take my mother away from me?” I felt so justified in my anger and so gave God more of my venom, the bastard deserved it. I threw this at God, about his bastardly ways, “Why do you allow us to suffer? If you are so great, why don’t you do something?”

I couldn’t listen to anything God would have said if he was standing right in front of me, I didn’t want to listen, wasn’t interested at all, I wanted to let God have it, and have it hard.

Later, exhausted, I did listen. I heard every word that was said and I absorbed it.

I had all these chances to spend time with my mother and join her on these little mother – daughter shopping sojourns she loved. I could have called her more, I could have listened to things I did not want to hear, for her sake, not for mine, and yet the two, as I discovered, are not in isolation.

“Love one another.”

Every time I want to call her now, I know that I cannot. I am reminded that I could have. I could have, but I didn’t.

I had squandered many opportunities freely given to do so. It was a series of choices I made consciously. I had, and have, no one else to blame outside of myself.

It wasn’t God who did that, it was me. 

 

Natasha Stone