Why Is There Two?
There’s no mistake in the grammar of this essay’s title, just an attempt to isolate “two” as one thing, while at the same time trying to attract your attention. The “one thing” is multiplicity. The title asks, “Why are there many things in our experience of the universe?” We take ourselves and all the other things in our world for granted when we go about our practical day-to-day lives. But when we reflect on the existence, as such, of the many things we experience, it’s difficult for some of us, depending on our religious or philosophical orientation, to see an answer to such an obvious, and fundamental, question.
The question of multiplicity seems to be a problem only for those who hold that the universe arises from a single source, such as the Big Bang or God the Creator. Here’s the problem: If there was, “in the beginning,” a single pure existence out of which the universe arose—whether it was a single, uniform sphere of plasma or whether it was Divinity—then how and why did many different things arise from this singular pure entity?
As for the Big Bang theory, I can go no further than to recognize that this question of differentiation of the uniform singularity is being addressed by physicists, according to the methods of physics. We, on the other hand, will consider the question from a religious and philosophical viewpoint.
For the philosophical materialist, the answer to this question, Why is there two?, is easy: That’s the way things are! There is no need on their part to guess at the history of how reality came to be differentiated in the way it is. The materialist understands the cosmos at the present moment to be populated by discrete physical entities, from the smallest to the largest and everything in between: from quarks to supernovas, from the milk in each carton to clouds of interstellar gas, from cyber-beings like Angry Birds to black holes. These entities randomly come into association with other entities, and sometimes this association generates an interaction among them, such as osmosis, life, digestion, reasoning, reproduction, nuclear fusion, and so on. And then, just as randomly, entropy sets in and the parts dissociate and separate from one another. That’s the way things are: the cosmos consists of many.
For the polytheist, likewise, the answer is easy. For every significant human experience that the polytheistic culture names—such as love, war, storms, sun, vegetation, death, and so on, it also identifies a god who is associated with that experience. Thus, because there are many categories of significant experience, there are many gods. That the polytheistic culture names the gods associated with each important human experience is a recognition most valuable to that society that every human experience has a spiritual—indeed, a divine—component. Therefore, many categories of human experience demand many gods, for human experience in its multiplicity is always luminescent with divinity. That’s the way things are!
But for the seeker or inquirer who ponders the One Divinity, on the other hand, the answer to Why is there two? is difficult. When we accept that Divinity is One and that all things that we experience arise from the One Divinity, we must wrestle with the questions, How, and especially, Why is the One Divinity the Source of Many?
The ancient (Biblical) Jewish culture dealt with these questions by supposing that there was a pre-existing substance which is not attributed to God and from which God created the multiplicity of creatures. In Genesis, this pre-existing substance is the formless, abysmal waters of chaos which God tames and forms into the created world. God imposes order on the chaos. This results in the orderly creation, with its various categories of creatures: astral, atmospheric, marine, terrestrial, and human.
In this story, God is depicted as the source of order in the created universe. God not only creates the creatures, he also creates the rhythms by which they operate (such as the diurnal solar cycle) and the rules or natural laws that they obey (e.g., the sea does not transgress the shore) or, in the case of humans, the rules that they should obey (e.g., the injunction not to eat of the tree of knowledge of good and evil.)
Because the world was created by God from a pre-existing substance which was not God, the world is not God. The world exists “here,” and God exists “up there.” God provides his creation with orderliness and then rests. The world continues to function according to the laws which God had invested it with, except in the case of humans, who get into jams and need God’s help. When this happens, the scriptures say, the sound of the people’s pleas rises to God on his throne “above the heavens” (= above the sky). God responds by “reaching down” or sometimes by “descending” in person to save the people in distress.
Thus, in the ancient Jewish religion, the many exist separate from God because God made them from a material that was not God.
This answers the question, How is the One Divinity the source of many? But the scriptures are mute about God’s motives, though we could impute from scripture several divine motives for creation—for example, display of divine power, desire to be praised for his goodness, or divine love of orderliness. Nonetheless, the scriptures give us no certain knowledge of the divine reason for the creation of the many.
A Pause, to Look Within
Let’s turn now from our theorizing to a bit of personal reflection on coming to know how the One Divinity is the Source of the many things that exist. Some years ago, I confronted the seventeenth chapter of John’s gospel. This passage is Jesus’ prayer on the night before his execution, expressing his desires for his disciples. At a certain point, Jesus prays, “I pray not only for them, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, so that they may all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I in you, that they also may be in us” (verses 20-21; NAB).
The overall theme was clear to me. Jesus knows the Divine Plan for Creation: that “in the fullness of time,” all creatures will willingly join in harmonious union with God and with one another. This plan is the substrate of the Mosaic Law which God gave to the forefathers of the Jewish culture in which Jesus was raised. That is, the intention of the Mosaic Law was to give a foundation for the ideal just and humane society, in which God is worshiped as the source of all goodness and in which people respect one other and treat each other justly. Jesus saw himself as the author of a reform movement in Israel, to turn Judaism away from the corruption it had come to, and to return it to its true path.
In his prayer here, Jesus institutes this Divine Plan as the mission of his disciples—that they are to live in self-surrendering brotherly love, as a “seedbed” community, dedicated to union with God and to serving the needs of one another—a way of life inviting imitation by all the peoples of the earth.
But what perplexed me in Jesus’ prayer was the nature of the unity which Jesus expected. Jesus states as a fact that the Father is in him and that he is in the Father. Then he prays that his followers may be in the Father and the Son.
In the Trinitarian view of Divinity held by Christians, the One God, the one Source of All That Is, is at the same time three distinct “persons” or functional realizations of God: the Father, who is the Creator; the Son, who as the human being Jesus of Nazareth displays God’s love for all people in his voluntary sacrifice of his life on the executioner’s cross for the forgiveness of all sin; and the Holy Spirit of God, who propels human beings toward holiness and toward the fulfillment of the Divine Plan for Creation.
As a Christian, I took the “Father in the Son and the Son in the Father” statement to be some incomprehensible exchange or sharing of the Divine Nature. What Jesus was referring to there, I took to be God’s business, from which I was excluded.
But because Jesus included his disciples—mere mortals—in this “in” equation, I became perplexed. How could human beings be in God in the same way that Jesus, the Son of God, was in the Father?
In an instantaneous insight, I understood that Jesus—in his capacity or role as a human being—was completely surrendered to the service of God’s will. Because of this, he knew the nature of creation, which he desired his disciples also to understand: that all human beings—Jesus and we his followers and everyone else—were in God because God holds all things in existence within himself, within his loving heart. Everything that exists, exists in God. There is no other place in which it is possible to be.
Over time, this became clearer to me. God is existence; God is being. The nature of God is to exist. He names himself to Moses as “I AM who am.” God is existing itself, pure being—on-going being. There is no other source of existence except God, because God is existence itself. And so, it must be that everything comes to be and continues to exist solely within the “mind” or “consciousness” of God. Everything exists because God chooses or wills it to exist within the Divine Consciousness. Nothing can exist anywhere else.
So, in his prayer in John 17, Jesus knows that at least as a created human being, he exists within God—that he is, in God. His prayer is that his disciples, by self-surrender to God and by selfless love of others, may come to recognize that they too exist now and forever in the heart of God, who is love, who loves everything he creates. – Jesus calls him “Father.”
This understanding dispels any questions about the origin and nature of the universe. It tells us how the Many came to be. The universe exists within God because God chose—and continues to choose—that all that is exists in the on-going present moment within God himself, who is existence itself.
God, then, is not only the Creator of All That Is. God is also the “container” of all that is. So, all of us humans live within God, within the perfection of God. We do not have to strive to be in God, nor can we ever be cast out from God. (If God were to choose that we be cast out from him, at that instant, we would cease to exist.) We are, in God.
It is for us, then, simply to recognize that we exist solely within God. This recognition changes us—restructures us, transforms us—from self-seekers to servants of God. There is nothing else to be. We are in God, and therefore, we are completely God’s. That is not a pious desire on our part. It is the fact. It is the way things are.
This recognition that I and all things exist within Divinity has made me a conscious and active servant of God, seeking to find the fullness of being in God. But it has also blessed me with a transformed experience of the world around me. I pursued the teaching that Divinity is encountered in the stillness which one enters when one silences one’s ego-voice—the “voice of the self” constantly yammering in one’s mind. When I quiet my ego-voice, I experience what I call, using the term of Paul of Tarsus, the Newness of Life. My perception of the reality around me is transformed into a purer, more vivid, more intensely colored mode of perception. The world is moment-by-moment always new and fresh and sweet. I understand this experience to be my participation, in the stillness of my heart, in God’s awareness of the joy and beauty of his creation. I luxuriate in it. I take a thousand pictures of the simplest things—squirrels, cloud formations, leaves, birds in flight—all for their simple beauty. “The world is charged with the glory of God!” as the poet G.M Hopkins wrote.
From Belief to Knowledge
Thus far in this “look within” I have narrated the story of how I had the insight that everything exists within Divinity. In other words, I have told the story of how I believed this proposition—and the consequences for me of doing so.
It’s a fair question to ask now, To what extent does my lived experience support this belief? In other words, How do I know that I am within God?
To deal with this question, we must go to the fundamentals—to the foundation of my self as I perceive it in interior silence. One would suppose that the fundamental characteristic of self is being, existence. But if it is, it is not the first characteristic I notice in myself. Rather, recognizing my existence depends on my recognizing that I am aware.
There is a simple test for whether a human attribute is fundamental or not. The test is this: the attribute is not fundamental to the self if the self can “look at” it, objectify it, recognize its features or its boundaries. For example, the interior ego-voice, which we silence in order to achieve inner stillness, is not fundamental to the self because I can look at it—or more precisely, listen to it. The ego-voice is an object of my consciousness. And so, it cannot be fundamental to the self, since it is the self which is looking at it or listening to it.
Using this test, consciousness or awareness is fundamental since I cannot look at it nor observe its boundaries. Consciousness is the faculty which I use to see or be aware of everything else in my interior and exterior environment. It is a fundamental constituent of my self.
Now, the question arises: What is the origin of awareness? I know from experience that I am aware. My experience is that I am aware of objects existing in my environment. Is this awareness a characteristic of my perceiving self? Or of the objects I perceive? (Do these objects emit or project awareness of them?) Or of the environment which the objects I perceive, as well as I the perceiver, inhabit?
I observe within myself that my thoughts, my memories, my words, my emotions all seem to arise from a source deep within me. It is a featureless, nameless place, with indistinct boundaries. It is like a lake of muddy water, with no shoreline. Within it or from it, my thoughts, emotions, and so on seem simply to emerge. They “materialize” or “surface” with no discernible formational process. In brief, the source of my thoughts, emotions, and so on is, in my experience, within my personal self, though that source is inscrutable to me.
My awareness, on the other hand, does not seem to arise from that inscrutable source nor from any other source within me. My experience is that my awareness is a pure state in which I seem to participate. My experience is that awareness does not issue from me like my thinking or my emotions, but rather, that I seem to be in awareness. It seems that I am immersed in awareness, rather than that I project my awareness from within me outward.
My experience is, then, that awareness floods my environment like the sea of air around me. I partake of awareness just as I partake of the sea of air when I breathe. In my experience, I find no source of awareness within myself nor do I find awareness issuing from the objects I am aware of. Rather, awareness is like the air or the daylight. It floods my environment, and it floods me, as well.
Now I focus on an object in my environment, in this case, a clock. As I observe it, I ask, Is my awareness some sort of interaction between me and the clock? If so, is the clock aware of me as I am of it? I have no way of knowing, but the clock, unlike the birds in my back yard who flee when I surprise them by opening the door, does not seem to react to the awareness of me in any recognizable way.
Nonetheless, if it is true that my awareness is an interaction between me and the object I observe, there must be some potential or “ether” between the object and me which actualizes the awareness interaction. That “potential” or “ether” in this case functions just like the sea of awareness posited above. That is, it inundates me. It does not arise in my personal self.
A second bit of interior evidence points to the existence of awareness as a state in itself, separate from the objects of which I am aware. I practice a daily discipline of opening myself to Divinity. When I first enter the interior silence, in my spirit I strip myself of those barriers and defenses which enclose and inhibit my spirit. Then, humble and spiritually naked before God, again in my spirit, I open my skull, to enter more fully the Divine Awareness. This opening is accompanied by a sense within me that my awareness expands, that it extends farther outward from my skull than had been the case before I opened my skull. When this expansion occurs, there is no object that awareness focuses on. There is only a sense of an increased extension of awareness.
I conclude then, based on the observations above, that awareness is a pure component of reality that exists independently of any sentient being, that it embraces everything that comprises my environment, including myself, and that it is present in all sentient beings. Moreover, awareness is a necessary component of experience; experience is impossible without it. And awareness is a shared state, in which I take part. I find that I am in awareness, the more so when I enter interior silence.
When I recognize that I am in awareness, I arrive easily at another fundamental component of my self. I observe that I am aware of the objects in my environment. In other words, I notice that these objects exist. They are here in my field of attention, in the sense that I perceive them to be present to me. And because I perceive other things as existing, I intuit that I exist as well. To torment Descartes’ famous statement: I know I exist because I am aware. (A sloppy statement. More precisely: I know I exist because I am in the all-encompassing awareness which manifests to me other existing things as well.)
In brief, I perceive the things in my environment, and I am aware that they exist, so I intuit that I also exist.
Now I ask, in the same way as above, What is the source of my existence? The answer is the same as I discovered to the question of my awareness. That is: I cannot locate the source of my existence within myself. I also cannot find the source of my existence in the things in my environment. Rather, existence seems to fill the universe around me—and in me—just as awareness does.
In other words, all things—including my self—are, not because they are the source of their own existence, but because they are in a “field” of existence, in an ocean of existence, which floods the existing universe with being, just as the air flood us with breath and daylight floods us with vision. We do not exist in ourselves. Rather, we participate in existence. We are part of existence.
* * * * *
So, we have come to recognize that awareness and being are states or “fields” of reality in which sentient beings participate. Now we ask: Where do these “fields” of awareness and being originate? Do these two states of reality have a source? If so, what is that source?
We have already excluded the perceiver and the perceived object as the source of awareness, and likewise the existing being as the source of its own existence.
So, we ask again: Do these states have any origin at all? Or are they simply the way things are?
It is more productive to deal with this question as regards awareness than as regards being. With being, one could simply say, What is, is. Things simply exist, and they always have—in one form or another. Reality is and always has been simply the association and dissociation of discrete entities. No source is needed to explain all this.
With awareness, however, such an approach does not satisfy. The reason for this is the existence of some beings which do not appear to share awareness—insentient beings, like clocks, or steam, or roast beef sandwiches. Or like dead things. We recognize that they are dead long before their parts appear to dissociate. We establish that they are dead because they no longer behave nor respond like sentient beings.
If everything were sentient (and that, of course, would include dead things), then we could say that awareness, like being, is simply a universal characteristic of reality. However, since some things are aware and others do not appear to be aware, we are led to ask what the source of this differentiation of states is.
We suppose that there is a source of some kind. If awareness is a permanent condition of reality for some beings but not all beings, we must posit a source which possesses awareness—and which also possesses will. This source decides which beings have awareness and which do not. This is so because there is no evidence in the geological or fossil records to indicate that an insentient being evolved into a conscious being. What the records do show is that at a certain point in the historical record, sentient beings began to appear. Lacking a natural process to explain this, we must conclude that consciousness occurs in some creatures or species because an intention that these creatures should be sentient was brought to manifest reality by some conscious source outside the physical processes.
This Conscious Source of Consciousness benevolently invests all the sentient beings with consciousness. That is, as above, the Source opens consciousness to the sentient beings, and we and all sentient beings have our part in it. We find that we are immersed in it. We drink it in.
Now, what must be the case for the origins of consciousness, that is, that consciousness has a Source, I intuit or posit to be the case also for the origins of being. And so, I also find myself to exist within the being-ness of the Source of Being.
Now, when I recognize that I am within awareness and within being, I find myself within something greater than the universe of objects which manifest these two qualities. The Source is greater, more plentiful, more powerful, than these benefits which flow from it. I call this source of existence and of awareness Divinity, or God.
So, we conclude that Divinity is and that Divinity is conscious. Divinity is Conscious Being.
My experience, then, corroborates my initial insight. All things exist and are aware within Divinity. Divinity is the Source of all existence and of all consciousness.
This understanding means that God is closer to me than I am to myself. I am filled with God, the One Who Is. The Being-ness of God is my being. The “stuff” of which I am made is Divine Being. I am—you are—everything is—made of the Being-ness, the Existence Itself, of God.
Likewise, I am aware because Divine Consciousness pervades me and fills me. My awareness is the Divine Consciousness being conscious within me.
I suppose that the willing acceptance of this Truth— the complete self-surrender involved in the recognition that all things exist within Divine Being and that all sentient things participate in Divine Awareness—is what Jesus meant by “I and the Father are one,” (John 10:30) and “I am in the Father and the Father is in me,” (John 17:21) and similar statements.
And—with less certainty, for I am out of my cultural context here—I suppose that this is what the Hindu Advaitic philosophers mean when they say that Atman, the individual soul, finds itself to be Brahman, the universal soul.
Why Do the Many Arise from the One Divinity?
So we return to the original question, now more clearly defined: How and why do the many things in the universe arise from the One Divinity? Our inquiry has brought us to understand how this is so. The many things arise within the consciousness of Divinity because Divinity wills them to do so.
We also have before us the wisdom of many religions (Christianity and Hinduism have been identified here) that the destination and final purpose of the human soul is to return to and merge with Divinity.
So, for us (and all creatures), our very existence and everything we claim to be ours is made of Divine “stuff,” and our religions (and more fundamentally, our spirits) are invested with the wisdom that our final purpose is to return fully to Divinity. That is the richness of our human condition.
It remains for us now to investigate why the multiplicity of creatures, and especially, of human beings, arises within Divinity.
The Hindu Vedantists understand the many to be an illusion (Maya) which arises from the One. It is as though the One (Brahman) is “imagining” the existence of the many. From the viewpoint of the individual person born into Maya, the only way to break the cycle of cause and effect (karma) which entraps the individual in Maya over the course of lifetimes of reincarnation (samsara), is by practicing the Hindu religious or philosophical disciplines and thereby transcending the illusion and merging entirely with Brahman.
This depiction offers an answer to the question, How do the many arise? in the depiction of Brahman “imagining.” As for the Why?, the explanation given by the great Advaitic teachers is—play. The illusion of different beings is Brahman entertaining itself. That’s the way it is with Brahman. Who can comprehend why things are as they are to the serene otherness of Brahman?
In the Christian tradition, each individual creature actually exists in the reality of the Being-ness of God. Divinity’s nature is to be; Divinity’s name is I AM. Individual creatures each arise within the Divine Consciousness—within Being Itself—and therefore, share with Divinity the Divine Nature. They exist. They exist as really as Divinity itself exists—though the dimensionality and time in which they are accustomed to existing may themselves be illusory.
So, in the Christian context, the Truth is—that is, “the way things really are” is—that we actually exist within the Divine Awareness in which we have our being. What this means in terms of our ultimate destination is that even as we individual humans come to “merge” with the Divine, in fulfillment of the Plan for Creation, we remain at the same time individual beings. We do not lose our personhood, our identity.
Why should it be that Divinity, whole and complete in itself, would create the many, including us human beings? The Christian answer is found in the distinctive Christian understanding of God as Trinity. That is, Divinity is one, whole, undivided Being, existing in and for itself, unique in its nature as Conscious Being, and Supreme in power. Divinity is All Being and Being Itself.
But in addition, Divinity comprises exactly three “faces” or functional manifestations or “persons”—the “Father,” who is the Creator, the Source of multiplicity, the Source of the Divine Plan for Creation; the “Son,” who is the form of everything that is created, who is himself the Divine Plan for Creation, who instills the Divine Plan into every creature, and who incarnated himself as the human being, Jesus of Nazareth; and the “Holy Spirit” of God, who is the force of union among the three persons of the One God, and who propels each creature and therefore all of creation toward the fulfillment of the Divine Plan for Creation. This Divine Plan is—of course—that every individual being will join together in perfect, harmonious, loving union with one another and with Divinity itself.
The “force” which characterizes the Holy Spirit and which joins the three persons of God together in perfect unity is Divine Love. This love is complete surrender to—and joy in—the beauty and the will of the beloved. Each of the three persons “looks upon” the Divine beauty of the others and finds perfect joy in it. Divinity, then, from this perspective is a Community of Perfect Love.
Now, the nature of all love—human and divine—is to desire to share itself. Love spreads itself outward, and the lover welcomes those around him or her.
For this reason, the Divine Community of Perfect Love—the Trinity of the One God—brings others into being, to be the objects of the Divine Love. The multiplicity of creatures came into existence because Divinity desired to love us all. We exist because God wants to love us, and in fact, does love us unconditionally.
And so, despite the differences among the religions in their understanding of the nature of existence (illusory or real), of the meaning of “merging with Divinity,” and of Divinity’s intention in the original differentiation of beings, our received human wisdom is that Divinity calls us back to itself.
Without favoring any religion’s particular explanation, this, I suspect, is as much of a general answer as we’re going to get to the question, Why is there differentiation? Why are there many beings of many different types?
The Burden of Personal Identity
We have answered the question, Why is there two?, as best we can. Yet there is one more crucial question for us as seekers after God: Since we are made of Divine “stuff” and since we know that Divinity calls us back to itself, why is it so difficult for us simply to rest our heads silently, like babies at peace, on the breast of God, as it were? Why is it so difficult for us to bring our spirits to merge with the Divine Spirit?
The answer, as far as I can see, lies in “multiplicity” itself. This term, as well as “differentiation” and the whole set of similar terms we have been using, are barren and categorical. When we consider our individuality from the perspective of our human experience, we are far more than simply differentiated beings, like any one grain of sand set against a handful of other grains of sand. When I look within myself for what makes me an individual, I find my personal identity, my sense of myself. This self of mine includes my awareness, my sense that I exist, my will, my conscience, and that welter of perceptions, thoughts, memories, images, emotions, and feelings which flood my mind at every moment of my ordinary conscious experience.
Some say that the “self” is simply one more thought arising from that inscrutable source—that muddy lake—in the depths of our being. My experience, however, is that I embrace that inscrutable source as part of myself, just as I embrace what arises from it also as part of my personal identity. For me, my personal identity—my “self”—with all its variety of sense impressions, feelings, understandings, questions, expressions, desires and satisfactions, is an almost completely absorbing existential experience. My self is, after all, made of Divine stuff. It is, therefore, inherently beautiful and interesting. And except for my recognition of the call of Divinity in my life, and my response to it, the attractiveness of my self is for me pretty completely involving. My self is, in the final analysis, the totality of “who I am.”
In addition, I seem to possess an organic predisposition to defend and protect my personal identity whenever threat or danger approaches. We call this “the survival instinct,” and its presence in us highlights the centrality of personal identity to our existence as sentient beings.
So, personal identity is a most important component of our beings. It is also often intensely demanding. We spend much of our time and energy satisfying its demands. We establish daily routines, which occupy hours of time, meeting its “needs” for nourishment, satisfaction, praise, acceptance, power, self-expression, happiness, self-fulfillment, relief from pain, and so on.
However, this extensive attending to the demands of our personal identities is a distraction to us—a distraction from the call of Divinity that we should expend ourselves in fostering the Divine Plan for Creation, and in particular, in entering union with Divinity.
The way to avoid—or at least, to lessen— this distraction seems to be to objectify the self. I said above that the self is not simply a thought that arises among others from the inscrutable source within us, but that it is the experience of a whole person (minus the Divine call). Nonetheless, like individual thoughts, the personal self is an object of consciousness. I can focus my attention on my personal self, examine its components (as we have been doing here), and in general, identify its boundaries and its extensiveness. Since I can observe my self in these ways, then in terms of the test discussed above to determine whether a particular attribute is fundamental to the human person, as awareness is, the personal self is not fundamental. It is, as I said above, an object of consciousness. Therefore, the personal self, despite its totality and all its demands, can be ignored, bypassed, disposed of, like the ego-voice, for the sake of approaching union with Divinity.
I have begun to attempt exactly this approach to Divine union. In my daily discipline, I open myself to Divinity in the ways described above. In this process, I become passive to the tug on my awareness which draws me out and away from the seething stew of all those components of my personal self. My sense of personal locale in time and space diminishes and drops away. My will, as well as my ego-voice, silenced, I am brought unbound more completely into the spacious peace of Divine Consciousness.
I will continue to practice this discipline as one response to the Divine Plan. (Service of others—and justice toward them— is a separate, practical, day-to-day discipline of responding to the circumstances I find myself in.) I can see no other way to find unity with God than this quiet passive arising from self to enter Divine Consciousness more deeply.
When I ask myself, What can I do to immerse myself in the Divine union, the answer, as far as I can see at this point in my spiritual growth, is Nothing. As long as “I” am positively working on the problem, no solution can be found, simply because “I” am what is preventing the solution.
Rather, I expect that I must “die to myself.” I must become empty so that the fullness of God can abide in me and flow through me to accomplish the Divine Will. It is the grace of God, not my own choice or work, that will draw the water of the pond into the sea, or that will cause the sea to transgress the beach and flow into and through and past the pond, incorporating the pond into itself.
And so, my only work is to prepare myself to accept that grace when it comes. My attitude, it seems to me, must be “willing indifference” or “receptive indifference.” I must be indifferent to when the grace comes—that is a matter solely for the Divine Will—and receptive to it, willing to embrace it, raising no resistance to it, entering it without fear, when it does come.
Beyond this I cannot go.
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