Forgotten Memories of a God I Never Found

When I was a child, I believed that when the wind blew, God was speaking. When my grandmother died suddenly when I was fifteen, I questioned God’s choices. During my freshman year of college at NYU, when I watched my life fall to pieces in the greatest city in the world, I decided that if a god was really out there, he wasn’t watching me. In the wake of disaster, as I returned home to California in the summer of 2006, I realized it wasn’t a god I was searching for: I didn’t need a scapegoat, I didn’t want to be saved. I wasn’t interested in storybook scenarios of who created whom, for whatever purpose, however long ago. Ultimately, I was looking for a future...a future I could still believe in without God.

My quest began not with a bang, but a whisper. Handfuls of pills didn’t fix me, rooms full of friends didn’t comfort me, innumerable doctors didn’t help me, only countless mistakes finally taught me: the first thing I needed to believe in was myself. When I hit rock bottom, I knew I no longer believed in God. Instead, I unleashed my questions upon the Universe, and to my amazement, in the years that followed, the answers have spontaneously arrived.

The moments that have brought me closest to death are the same moments that have reminded me I’m still alive. Drugs and disaster have similar effects: both have awakened me, shaken me, and delivered me to ultimate reckoning. Suicidal thoughts can be highly spiritual. Never have I felt closer to Source than the moments in which I’ve questioned the worth of my own life. Separation is another spiritual catalyst, whether it be the loss of a loved one, or the death of a dear one. I have shed tears for many family members; I’ve mourned the death of my best friend. I’ve cried harder over lost love than any physical pain. At the point of separation, vulnerability sets in, and in those moments of emotional truth, I have met my shadow. Though at first, I fled, I have now embraced her. Despite my aversion to weakness, I’ve come to love her, simply because I know she needs it.

Recently, the reason behind my fierce rejection of religion has become clear. Because of who I am, my personality’s makeup, the constitution of my soul, I refuse to embrace answers that are handed to me without total investigation of their source. More often than not, the source of such answers is either an unfounded belief system, or an illegitimate prophet, neither of which can I honestly get behind. Due to my own struggle to find meaning in this world, I tend to resent those who adopt such easy answers without question. I find myself convinced that their conversion to a religion is simply an adaptation required to gain societal acceptance, a sense of belonging, and an ancient safety net designed to absorb fear and blame. I can’t fight the suspicion that such sentiments are manmade devices intended to control the behavior of a society at large.

Though I’ve come to understand the rabble’s need for organized belief, I have come no closer to accepting it. I feel strongly that the only true spirituality is a product of a journey into oneself. This journey must be free of outside influence and preexisting thought; the results must the creation of one’s own intuition. Only then can a person know which beliefs truly resonate with their soul. After such introspection, personally, I found I had many beliefs which resonated with Buddhism, Daoism, and Jainism. However, a single belief system cannot contain my direction, my intention, and my connection to what I have now identified as Home.

I feel that many individuals throughout history have touched upon aspects of the divine, but no single spiritual or religious leader can provide all the answers. I believe ascension is a personal journey, a journey which must begin and end within oneself. Frankly, I believe very few people in this world are cognizant of the Universal truth: where we came from, where we’re going, what we’re meant to accomplish here. However, I believe that upon reflection into our own souls, our paths on earth are revealed to us.

I know that much of my anger and resentment of religion is due to several individuals in my past who have tried to force their beliefs upon me. I recognize that not all religious people are like this. Yet, I believe strongly that religions restrict the vast potential of our spirituality. Religion-imposed rules and guidelines are for people lacking internal direction and inborn morality. I suppose such systems of control are inevitable in an intelligent society. Though I sometimes wish humanity could be less aware of our intelligence, and more involved in the simple process of living. Like the animals and nature around us, if we could just set aside all these complications of who created whom and who is ascending whist who is damned, life would be far simpler, less violent, and more fulfilling.

In this human existence, perhaps such knowledge was never intended for us. This may be why we spend so very much time trying to explain it. We are so far from the answers, yet so desperate to know. So we create stories, parables, and commandments in order to bring us closer to a truth this incarnation will likely never find. And perhaps humans were never meant to know such things. Perhaps religion is the best we can do.