Confessions of a Panentheist

There was no tearful parting from my God. I merely saw him pale before the light of truth, and fade before me. It was as if he knew I didn't need him anymore, although he didn't need to say goodbye, for he was everywhere. How can it be, his love is stronger still? There is no "he," no icy realm, no flame within his breath to ward off beasts, engage the penalty of death, or thunder from the mountain as we cower in holy fear. No, we created those, and they were phantom devils masquerading in egoic foil to all the weakness we might gather to our prayers, all the feral predators beyond the fire at the door. This kind of love is just for us, the taproot of that true reality that groans within us. It is the stuff of Namaste that snuffs out darkness, re-creates a spirit peace within each minute particle someone forgot. How may it, in its quietude, rage as a storm around us, as a hurricane within? In truth, there is no object to its furious assault. It is us, in wonder absolute for whom this strange wind blows both to and from infinity, and yet still bends to our control. This cosmic mind in truth, is such to speak in whispers, yet it spans the curvature of time and sky for listeners with joyous, straightend knees, incredibly the likes of you and I. ~