Bono once said “…it is impossible to meet God with sunglasses on. It is impossible to meet God without abandon, without exposing yourself, being raw.”
Surrendering to God (as we know him to be) is discussed often when we are talking about addiction, quitting and abstinence. Surrendering to a higher or greater power is mentioned in seven of the twelve steps and is deemed essential to building a new life without alcohol.
How many of us actually allow ourselves to meet God? I’ve never really been one for organized religion. I mean my mom is a Muslim, my dad a Hindu. I attended a Catholic primary school, and a Presbyterian high school. I’ve been to Sunday school, Mac tab classes, Hindu prayers, and even a ‘small’ church where everyone clapped and hugged all the time. Twenty years ago, in university, there was a two week period when I researched all the faiths, especially the eastern religions, trying to see if any one connected with me in a particular way.
A few years ago I was liming at a bar talking to a girl I’d just met. It was a Saturday night and she was saying that she didn’t want to lime much longer as she had to go to church the next morning. We started talking about God and religion and I asked her about her faith and whether she believed in her religion. She said she never questioned it. She asked me what religion I belonged to. I answered her in pretty much the same way as I’ve stated above. She looked at me for a moment and then told me that I was lucky. She said that because I had the opportunity to see what fit me from all the religions, what I eventually believed in would be true to me and not to someone else’s doctrine. Until that day I’d never thought of my experiences that way. I stared at her and then smiled and told her thank you.
I can honestly say that I’ve felt God. Or at least, I’ve felt the presence of something greater than me, something timeless and perfect and comforting. I’ve felt that once. I was 19 or 20 at the time, still attending university. Late one night a group of us went to Maracas Beach. That is a beautiful beach to be on at any time of the day and at night I love it. I love any beach at night actually. I wandered away from the noise and playfulness of the group and sat down on a piece of driftwood just looking out at the water. I just sat there, feeling the cool sand under my feet and the salty wind against my face. I looked up at the millions of stars that are always easy to see at that beach. I looked for the unicorns in the waves as I always do. I listened to the music of the waves as they crashed and tumbled and raced up and down the beach. I sat there for half an hour. I felt happy. I felt at peace.
And then I just knew.
I knew with absolute certainty, that I was not alone.
I knew with absolute certainty, that I was a part of something greater than I could imagine. Something infinite.
As soon as that realization hit, the wave song was louder, the wind was stronger, the stars were brighter, and I was growing smaller and smaller. Less important I guess, or more correctly, less self-important. It was an amazing feeling. A fantastic feeling, unlike anything I ever felt before. I felt connected. I felt comforted. I felt eternal. I felt grateful.
I haven’t felt that way in a really long time. Sometimes, when I’m surrounded by nature, like at the beach or in Tucker Valley with bamboo all around, or in the garden where I used to do Tai Chi, I feel a tiny little bit of that connection. But it’s always fleeting. In yoga class, when we work on the heart chakra, the feeling lasts much longer but never really stays.
Today, I know why I haven’t been able to feel that way again. I haven’t let go the way I let go back then. I was 20 and angry as hell at the world and didn’t even know it. Full of self doubt and questions about life, purpose, love, parents, destiny, everything! I remember that night very well. I was fed up and tired and ‘soul weary’. I think I walked away from the group because I wanted to turn it all off: the noise, the questions, the ‘answers’, the bullshit, all of it. I just walked away, and stopped thinking about everyone and everything. The thing is, I did not make a conscious effort to stop. I just did. I just released everything. It was a beautiful moment that has forever been imprinted upon me.
The year which followed that night at the beach was a difficult one, in so many ways, and I am only now beginning to understand the reasons behind the choices I made in the two decades that followed. I know I want to feel what I felt on that beach. I know I want to let go and surrender to the divinity I feel in my heart and that I know is there. I want to trust that I will be ok. But some days are so hard and I feel alone and afraid and I worry that all that I have learned will be too much and too big. My heart beats fast and my tummy hurts just thinking about it.
Maybe I still have my sunglasses on.
Photo credit: Matilde Berk