11.5.15 The life we have been handed; sorting through that which holds meaning

Considering the events of the past six months, I now see,in retrospect, how  living and growing  my faith was actually a casual thing. Starting off gradually, in my 30s, with the relationship to God, morphing into the realization that the God that I knew had no gender, no race, no species.

     The facts, the design that I came to know through meditation, mindfulness and just being , struggling in the world, was about as far from any Old Testament as you could ever possibly get. 
     It took awhile until I would look around, And realize that what had grown , between myself and life, was a sense of "all that is "that was fascinatingly similar to Buddhism. 
     Kind of like turning around, at a certain age, and realizing that you 're part Puerto Rican, or Austrian or middle eastern or from Appalachia or L.A. 
     As the layers unfold, our  discovery happens. 
     This past March, when he became ill, everything shifted into high gear. As if I suddenly woke up once again, Realizing that this living a life was no game. Instead, in a way, it was more stark and revealed to be exactly what it was. 
     And on the other hand, it was serious stuff.
     Without really thinking about it, I began tossing out assumptions and various senses of things ,that I had accumulated over the years, I guess ,you could say ,deductions based upon all sorts of usual and very unusual experiences. Learning to make sense. Learning to be.
     So a whole lot of concepts and constructs and ideas ,that ran the gamut from more traditional religion to far flung spiritualism and clairvoyant experience  ,got placed carefully on the shelf. Just in case they were worthy of consideration.
     What followed was again and unconsciously followed inquiry into the nature of trust. Grace. Faith.
     I mean, what is your trust based on? That everything will be OK? That what is meant to be will be? Because they don't ring true to me anymore.
     And it's not that when difficult things happen, you interpret that as being smited or betrayed by some higher power.
     If we just look around a little tiny bit, we notice that every single species, every single growing thing, in absolutely normal life has all kinds of crap that happens to them, injuring them, ending their lives, tearing off a branch, squishing that ant ,getting very sick, everything. 
     It all just happens. We humans are not exempt. There is no fair. 
There just is what is. 
     And with and all that, there are aspects of our experience that lead to our development of faith. And if we stand just in the right proximity to our day or night, there, for me, is revealed the grace.
     For me, trust is not that the guy with the beard in the clouds gives me the correct parking space. 
     Trust is not that ,no matter what circumstances or conditions or habits, I will be spares a disease. Trust is not that I believe everything will go smoothly.
     So I've kept asking myself, what is the basis for my trust? What do I trust? How do I trust? What does that mean to me?
     As I look at all those thoughts and ideas and interpretations I lived with for the past 30 or 40 years. As I carefully place them up there on the shelf of consideration. 
     Of uncertainty. Of possibility.
     And then, I trust this phone in this moment, as I push the cart tour the grocery store.
     Trusting in the love I share with others, even when it's imperfect, at times seems to be a betrayal of , closeness understanding, and much more. 
     There is the trust of this breath, of this moment, of the life we have , the day we hold in our hands . the lives we have been handed.