God of My Body — God of My Circumstance
John Gray June 16, 1996 Glen Ivy
Last month Allen Dorfman, Jim Wellemeyer, Pamela and I had the pleasure of leading a Glen Ivy event called “The Triune Ray,” based on the booklet of that name written by the founder of the Emissary program, Uranda, sixty years ago. The timelessness of his words was just as evident to me re-reading them recently as when I first avidly read them twenty-eight years ago. In the chapter of the booklet entitled “God,” Uranda wrote:
“God is the Expression of the One Law. Creation is the Reaction of the One Law.”
There is a very great deal in a few words! God is the expression of the One Law and all of creation is the reaction to that expression. God, in the sense that Uranda used the term, is a verb, not a noun: God is expressing, God is acting. Creation is response to that action. A Taoist saying that I enjoy goes, “He who knows, cannot explain. He who explains, doesn't know.” I trust I am not trying to explain the unexplainable and thereby revealing what I do not know! But God is a verb: the expression of the One Law.
In another portion of the Triune Ray, Uranda speaks of the law of eternal progress:
“Creation is eternal. It never ends. It never began. It is, and was, and will be, eternally. Thus is the law of eternal progress made possible. The eternal progress of the positive center, God, which includes the Divine Being within each individual, is not a progress of Inner Soul development, but ever a progress in further creative activity, i.e., continual creation.”
The law of being is eternal progress. I don't know about you, but for longer than I care to admit, I associated the word eternal with timelessness. When I looked it up I found it doesn't have much to do with time. The root of eternal means “vital force,” “long life.” Eternal means “living.” Progress is also an interesting word. Its root means “to walk” and “to go,” with meanings such as “to go through,” “to lead forth,” “to go forth,” “to venture,” also suggested. So eternal progress carries meaning like: “life going through,” “life leading,” “life risking,” “life venturing.” The law of being is eternal progress. Uranda also wrote:
“Another law is: The Creator is responsible for His creation as long as the creation exists.”
Many people acknowledge in theory, in principal, or at least find the idea palatably acceptable, that there is something divine about human beings, that there is an innate divine presence called by various names. The fulfillment of a human being is in knowing—experiencing conscious oneness with—the divine presence. Knowing divine presence is one's divine identity. We might accept that idea as being valid, but honesty compels asking ourselves further questions, such as “but what is my actual experience of divine identity?” “God is the Expression of the One Law. Creation is the Reaction of the One Law.” In divine identity I can make the statement and it is true: “I am the God of this body.”
“I am the God of my body.” Say that to your body, quietly, now. “I am the God of this body.” Put your hands on it. Put your hands on your body where you want it to get that message. Where do you want your body to get that message most? Where does your body most need the reassurance that you, the God of your body, are present?
How does the God of one's body act? Caring? Loving? Probably many descriptives would apply. All of them are active. They have givingness about them, for God is the expression of the One Law—the giving, the radiation, of divine presence. As the God of your own body you are fully responsible for your body for as long as your body exists. In ordinary human identity we may often take our bodies for granted, paying attention only when they ail or hurt. The God of this body appreciates what this body is and does and permits to be. It is precious beyond measure because it allows me, the God of my body, to be present here and now.
Can we get out a little way beyond our body? Can I be the God of this setting? I am the God of this setting—not only the Tree of Life I AM in the midst of my personal garden setting, but the I am the God of the garden itself, the setting that I am in. I am the God of this setting. The setting may be physical, it may be a set of circumstances—things going on in your life with friends and family and work and home, whatever. These circumstances need your touch, need the hand of God of them on them to reassure, to bless, to let them know that the Lord is present.
“Lord” is a wonderful word. Its Old English root has to do with “loaf of bread” and the one who keeps and gives it. Bread is the bread of life, and the Lord is the “loaf giver,” the provider, the giver of life. I am the Lord of my body. I am the life giver. I am the Lord of my circumstance.
That isn't the usual identity people bring into their day-to-day lives. Coming from a more commonly experienced sense of self, people say, “I am the victim of this circumstance” or “I am threatened by it”—a potential victim. “I want to do the right thing” exposes a subtler form of feeling threatened. All these are reactive positionings. “I am ready to respond in the best way I know how to the conditions and circumstances that I face.” That is coping, often seen as the best a human being can do. But walking through the days of our lives in the identity of the God of my body, the God of my circumstance, our expression precedes us, filling the situation, and we don't position ourselves in a reactive place. I am not the creation. I am the loaf giver. I am the giver of life. This isn't a naive formula for more successful interactions with circumstances in the world. It is the best way I am able to put into words at the moment my experience of being the God of my body and the God of my circumstances.
There is a Zen notion about self that I find to be increasingly accurate as my experience of it grows: Self is a shifting reference position for consciousness, not a thing. Self as a thing is separate, because if there is the I or me there is also what is not me. This duality is a paradox because while there is me and not me there is also total connectedness between me and not me as well; the universe is whole. Dualities like that can scramble your brain! But from the point of view of the God of your circumstance, being the God of this situation, the sense of self is a shifting reference position of consciousness, and not a thing. The human ego is a thing, and things have magnitude. A point has position but no magnitude. Self is a shifting reference point for consciousness.
Lao Tzu is said to have said, “Through selfless action, fulfillment is attained.” I hold this to be true; it describes the spirit of service. “Through selfless action, fulfillment is attained.” What is selfless, as the word is used here? If the self of usual human experience is a thing, an ego, then selfless is obviously not that self. Here is an excerpt from Ray Grigg's book, The Tao of Zen, which expands Lao Tzu's statement:
“As the selflessness of this new consciousness replaces the willfulness of the old one, a formless identity grows and enters the larger design of things. Flowers and frogs and fishes and stones are honored as equals. This is not imposed by any moral, ethical or religious system. It happens spontaneously as self effortlessly dissolves into selflessness and an inevitable humility allows compassion. An empathetic awareness becomes deeper and wider as the narrow perspective of self falls away. In the words of Morinago Soko Roshi:
“‘Unless we... wean ourselves from this stubborn attachment to I, our inherent wisdom is clouded and our inherent compassion is blocked. As this weaning of I takes place, the full range of awareness is dramatically restructured toward a softer, more inclusive way of perceiving. It is the essence of a process that initiates all mystical experience. This new consciousness creates a profound sense of insight and clarity, of peace and perspective. The world is experienced more directly and immediately as selfless insights see things the way they are rather than the way the self wants them to be.’”
“As this weaning of I takes place, the full range of awareness is dramatically restructured toward a softer, more inclusive way of perceiving.” The self-as-a-thing, the ego, has hard edges and boundaries, is centered in itself, isolated. It doesn't softly permeate the circumstance I am in; it doesn't even fill this body. It is retracted, pulled back fearfully into itself, concerned about its future, missing the present. The “weaning of I” allows our true presence to permeate body and circumstances—even very large ones—and really, fully be here.
Oak tree branches arch over the path above the garden here at Glen Ivy. I can look down the path for perhaps a hundred yards at one point, sunlight filtering through the leaves, as if looking through a living tunnel, well-lighted all along. When I look far ahead, focusing attention at a distance, that is where the point of my consciousness is expressed to. The objects in the foreground don't go away, but the focus of my attention is not on them. We're all familiar with a telephoto camera lens, perhaps through watching television or films. When the focal point is extended more distantly, the elements in the foreground blur and disappear from view, as if they were not even there. While you can't see what you're not looking at, what you're not seeing is still there; just shift the focus of attention, and there it is!
This ability to focus consciousness in radiant vision is one way we create in this world: we express our creative energy softly out, evoking response, creating. We're versatile, too; we can move this focus in and out, near and far, all the while present. I am the God of this body—I am the God of this circumstance. As I walk down the path, whether it is the path above the garden or the path of life, I can focus my vision far ahead or close at hand. In this focus of awareness is where the self abides. Be the God of your circumstance, shifting position. Move out, move in, be fluid, be flexible, be present.
I mentioned those dualities of self and not self, me and not me and the paradox that while there is me and not me, there is also wholeness, oneness. When our selflessness is big enough to include the self-that-thinks-it-is-a-thing, then this duality ceases to seem a paradox. It is just a fact. This is the key. I am the God of my circumstances. I can extend my focus of vision in any direction, to any extent. I am present. I am the loaf giver. I give the bread of life and I am responsible for the creation I am walking through for as long as it exists.
Some things don't exist very long—a passing scene, quickly gone. Other things, even memories, may exist for a long, long time, but as the God of this circumstance I am responsible for them as long as they exist. When I extend my awareness to somewhere else I may not be immediately aware of this close-in circumstance, but I am still responsible for it. In the Biblical Book of Revelation an image of divine presence is described as being full of eyes, within and without, in all directions. That may sound a little bestial, but it is a metaphor for how to be a human being. We can see in all directions: past and present, cardinal directions, up and down, in and out. The duality of past and present evaporates into now. The duality of me and not me merges into wholeness when I stop being centered in the self that is a thing. We must be willing to venture, to risk, to do that. What Uranda called the law of eternal progress includes risk. The vital force, life itself, ventures; it risks, it constantly expresses anew, and reaction, creation, result.
I am not a thing. You are not a thing. God is a verb. So are we. Knowing divine identity is not like being connected by a cosmic umbilical cord or a celestial phone line to a Great Something-Or-Other, elsewhere. That idea maintains the illusory duality of me and not me. In that case there is me, and the not me is God. If the not me is God then God is not me. That is not divine identity! The way we look at the world really reveals where our identities are. Where we look from determines how things look to us.
The word “King” is a great description of the focus of divine identity. The word may be somewhat disdained in some circles because “king” seems sexist, implying masculine only. It comes from a root meaning “to give birth,” however—an action generally not considered a male function! To give birth: the king is the expression of the One Law: birth, bringing forth. In its background roots, “king" also contains meanings which suggest “origin,” “the origin of family, of kind or kindred,” also, “beginning.” I am the King of my body. I am the King of my circumstances, I give birth to it. I am the origin of it. I am its beginning, I am the Lord of it. I give it the bread of life. I animate it. I am the God of it. I am the presence that sustains it. If I see all circumstances, regardless of size, in the same way that I experience being the God of my body, the way I relate to the world changes utterly.
Some wise recommendations that have come down to us suddenly become possible to fulfill, whereas once they may have seemed impossible to even comprehend, let alone do. For example, Jesus instructed us to love our enemies. You have to have enemies to think you can or cannot love them, and how you look at the world (which depends on who's looking) determines whether you see a person or a circumstance as an enemy or not. The God of this circumstance has no enemies.
Perhaps the idea of divine identity has seemed a distant goal, something to work toward someday. That places divine identity once again as if it were a thing, something somewhere else that I can somehow reach. Be a verb—express. Express divine character and you know divine character. To know God we must act as God acts. Be a verb. Don't be a thing. If you are a thing eventually you will be no thing. If you are a verb you are eternal, a vital force. Your identity is life itself.
I am compelled to live this vision in every circumstance—home and work and family, everywhere. And if I am the God of this circumstance and other people are in it, does that mean no one else is the God of this circumstance? Of course not. We all are Gods, and how God shows up where you are takes everybody. The Great Creation is collective, response to the radiant presence of everyone. If that radiant presence isn't available, if it is withheld, then to that extent God is not showing up in the world. That deficiency is evident!
I am the God of this body. I fill it with my love and the moment I actually accept that fact, I am never again isolated, I never feel apart or separate but at one with a much larger presence. There is a God, a bigger God, there is Lord, the Lord of more, there is the King in a greater Kingdom. The individual experience of divine identity is inexorably linked with the larger context in which we live and move and have our being. No one can know divine identity and say there is no King for this world. No one can know divine identity and say there is no Lord, there is no God.
“The Father and I are one,” Jesus said. Here is a statement made in divine identity. I am the father of this circumstance. I am the father of this body. I am the mother too. I am the author, the origin, the one that makes it so. I have the power to bless, to heal, to smile, and we all do. Let's use it. Let's be it. Be a verb, not a thing. Take a walk along the garden path, and look down that living tunnel. There is not only light at the end of it, but light all over.
