Chapter 5

It’s a Process

“Let us settle ourselves, and work and wedge our feet downward through the mud and slush of opinion, and prejudice, and tradition, and delusion, and appearance ..… till we come to a hard bottom and rocks in place, which we can call reality, and say, “This is, and no mistake.”

Henry David Thoreau, Walden 

But this is a different perspective of God than most people are accustomed to. So it’s a process. It’s a process to reprogram ourselves to think of God in a different way. It’s a process to reprogram ourselves to think of God in a way that’s different from our religious tradition, in a way that may seem strange to us at first, in a way that will probably require us to change our mental image of God, our concept of God, entirely. And for me personally, there were certain events that triggered this process. There were certain events that brought about this change in my beliefs, this change in my life, and that brought about a unique experience later in life. And because it’s relevant to this little book (and hopefully somewhat interesting), here’s how the process occurred for me. It’ll be different for everyone. I think it can be a smoother process today, in the age of computers. In the information age.

I grew up in a religious home. My father was a Baptist pastor in the Christian religion. Christianity was very important to my family, but not overbearing. My parents were wonderful people. For a preacher’s kid, I grew up quite normal. We lived on a small farm then a couple of small towns in Kansas and Nebraska, USA. I was one of eight children. There was me and my seven sisters, which wasn’t too normal. I thought it was torture at the time, but there was actually great goodness in it.

I went to college on athletic scholarships and in my junior year I was riding on a bus that was involved in a serious accident, which made me start thinking. It made me start thinking in a serious way. It made me start thinking about life and death. It made me start thinking about God. And I wasn’t particularly religious during those college years, so at first, I turned back to my Christian roots. I recommitted my life. However, in spite of my conviction, in a practical respect, I was more of a lost soul. My life had no particular direction. My years as an athlete were coming to a close. I wasn’t too thrilled with my college major, electronics technology, and really I just wanted to travel. I wanted to see the world. So I didn’t return to school the following year, instead, I worked some, traveled some, and then during the winter months, I rented an old house in a remote area near my hometown in Kansas, USA. The area was remote but it was close to Kansas City. Hillsdale Lake is there today.

And by this time my recommitment had faded, my recommitment to my Christian faith. It was short-lived, but not my questions. They didn’t fade. Not my questions about life and death. Not my questions about God. My questions were just beginning to come. The picture, by one of my sisters, is an actual drawing of where I lived. As you can see it was quite primitive.

And I certainly wasn’t a hermit, but my solitary time there reminded one of my friends of the classic book, Walden, by Henry David Thoreau, and I was given a copy. The book tells of Thoreau’s solitary time in the woods in the early 1800s. It also dives deep into his thoughts. Deep into his beliefs. I opened the book and it opened my mind. It opened my mind to a new perspective on life. It opened my mind to a new perspective on my religion. It opened my mind to a perspective that allowed me to question and even encouraged me to do so. So there in the silence and solitude of those four worn walls, sitting in front of an old wood stove late into the night, I continued my serious thinking but with newfound freedom. I began to question everything. I began to question my Christian beliefs. I began to question God. I began to question everything I’d ever been taught. Why do bad things happen, I asked? Why did God create a world in which that was even possible? Couldn’t God have done it differently? Couldn’t God have done better? And why can’t we see God, I wondered? Where is God? Not up above the sky, apparently. And what really happens when we die? Is there really a heaven? Is there really a hell? Why would God create hell? Didn’t God create everything? Eternal torture seems quite cruel for a God of love. And I knew the traditional answers to these questions, but they just didn’t make sense anymore. They just didn’t seem right anymore. And if they weren’t right, then what is right, I asked? So I began seeking other answers, and I began coming to other conclusions.

And so began my search for truth. I had found my purpose, it seemed. I left the old house in the spring and returned to school in the fall in Atlanta, Georgia. I played my final year of college basketball and changed my major to philosophy, which I thrived on. And during that time I had a certain awakening, which led to new religious beliefs and a new awareness, although to no particular religion. This process occurred partly through my college classes but mostly through my own reading, reasoning, and obsession with it. I was passionate about it. I learned about Eastern religions. I read about the Christian mystics. I read the writings of William James, Richard Bucke, Meister Eckhart, Plato, Plotinus, and others, and through these writings, I began to form a very different concept of God, very different than that of a king on a throne in the sky, very different from my traditional beliefs. During that time I came to believe that God is not up above, but rather, God is within. God is within everyone in a very natural way. It’s the way we’ve been created.

That was the first part of the process. But for me, it was also just the beginning, because then I came to believe I could find God there. Within. Then I came to believe I could experience God there. In the depths of my mind. In the subconscious realm. In my soul. Through meditation. And I was passionate about it but not necessarily wise. Quite the contrary, in fact. So after two years in Atlanta, six hours short of a philosophy degree, I made the rather unpragmatic decision to move back to Kansas. Back to the country. Back to an ascetic life. A life of meditation. A life of mental discipline, although in a different old house in a different part of the state. But things didn’t quite go as planned. Reality soon set in. I didn’t really know what I was doing, or trying to do. I was immature. I had no structure. I was still just a free spirit, mostly. And then there were the little issues of how to make a living and the persistent desire for companionship. So a couple of years later I moved on. On to adulthood, marriage, family, more education and career, but the longing for that spiritual experience never really left me and apparently a seed was sown, because about forty years later, long after the passion had simmered, I did have an experience with that inner realm that I had tried to find many years before. Quite unexpectedly. But I didn’t see God there. I didn’t go that far. I didn’t go that deep, although I did visit the place I believe God to be.