The part yearns for the whole. The incomplete, for the complete. The self, for that which is beyond the self. In all cultures and in all times, this yearning is felt. We give names to the unnamable. We say the Tao, we say Atman, we say Jehovah, we say King of Kings and Lord of Lords, we say the Goddess, we say Beloved, we say She Who Is, we say the Ground of Our Being, we say Father, we say One Whose Name I Cannot Know, we say Holy One, we say Higher Power, we say the Divine, we say the Infinite, we say Ein Sof, we say Oversoul, we say Allah, we say Yahweh, we say Gaia. “As a deer pants for brooks of water, so my self longs for You, O God,” says the Hebrew scripture. We thirst, we are desperate for that which gives life.
At the same time that our spirit yearns, we are in a world in which truth is known through the senses, through observation and experimentation, through logic. We will not accept what we cannot see. “Show me,” we doubting Thomases say. “Let me place my hand in the wound. Then I’ll believe.” And rightly so. Haven’t we spent the last 400 years ridding ourselves of superstitious nonsense? No more hanging of witches, thank you very much.
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