LOOKING FOR GOD

Sub specie aeternitatis. From the perspective of the eternal.
Baruch de Spinoza. (1632-1677)

No, I have not become a Latin student. I am just looking for my God.

Today I read an article about a family who lost their 13-year old daughter in a road accident this January. It was a horrible and meaningless accident - two young girls riding a short way on a straight piece of road in a horse buggy and being hit from behind by a car, the driver apparently not even realising how it happened. Both girls died. One of the dads has written about his grief in a book published today. Being a devout Christian believer he explains how he is now at war with his God, and at present he does not know how long this war will last. I found myself respecting and admiring his honesty immensely.

I've contemplated this today. Not least while I was soaring through the blue water of the swimming pool, at first with a guy who gulped a friendly "hello" at me, but after I beat him at every length he gave up and I had the pool to myself.

I have no God to be angry with. Though had I been in this dad's situation - having lost a child... I don't even know if I would have been able to survive it. Now this is when you can talk about being strong! He says: "No, it's not a parents' worst nightmare. It's even worse." We have friends who've been through losing a child. My heart bleeds for them every single day. I look at my daughters and granddaughters then and think: We need to cherish every moment. And keep the memories of the children who died in our hearts. This is in fact the dad's mission by writing the book - take care of each other - EVERY DAY!

I have known for long that I am not a religious person in the Christian sense of the word, or in any dogmatic sense at all. Sure enough, I too have sworn and shouted and prayed and begged for justice during my husband's illness - and at other troubled times in my life - but I've never really been absolutely sure who I've directed my pleas and curses at. Or no. I know there is someone out there.

This someone IS my God, and he is in everything. For me - he - or she - or it - is the world. The world, big and small, and the objects I see and feel. The stuff that surrounds me. The small things I take pleasure in. My enjoyment. My sorrows.

My God is in nature, in breathtaking orange sunsets (I don't see sunrises that often…), in my walks along blue seafronts in every country I've ever been to, in the fresh mountain air that helps me breathe deeply from my stomach. My God is in the sudden splash of a wave, in the first pink spring tulip, in a white seashell, in a shady path through the woods. My God is in a bowl of mussels with chili sauce, in a glass of rosé, in a green olive filled with feta cheese! My God is in my wool knitting, my book (always in a book!), in a colourful but sad Munch painting, and especially in very loud rock music - tonight it was legendary band Thin Lizzy! Or in the smooth slow jazz of Stan Getz. My God is in a Latte and a laugh at the pier this afternoon with my tall gorgeous dark-haired friend Berit. Or in the walking and talking at endless lengths in the Park with best friend Grete.

And suddenly my God is in a message from someone who meant a lot to me nearly forty-five years ago: "Thinking of you both."

Most of all my God is in my family and my friends, but also in everything and everyone I see and meet on my journey through life. I once had an epiphany of this - which only strengthened previous experiences - it was so strong it stayed with me and always will. It has somehow become my guiding light:

My husband and I were driving at leisure through a Hungarian village some years ago, so far from home. As usual we were on an adventure, not knowing exactly where we were heading. Well, we were heading to our holiday apartment in Bulgaria eventually, but I had asked him if we could take it easy, not rushing past everything on the motorway. So we took a detour to Lake Balaton - planning next to spend the night in the historic town of Györ, to celebrate our wedding anniversary. Suddenly - driving slowly through this random little village, of which I can't even remember the name, on our way to Györ - I noticed with overwhelming clarity the pink and red dahlias in the windowsills of the modest but well kept houses, the rows of fresh vegetables in the small plots, the lives lived in these worn out streets. It struck me: this is what unites us as human beings - wanting to make the best for ourselves and our families, to live normal everyday lives with flowers in windowsills, to live in peace with our neighbours.

Lake Balaton

Serbian-Bulgarian border

  

Györ

My guiding light is this: We are all part of the same human race, thrown together on the same planet, with the same hopes and wishes. Dahlias in the windows or not. We are all set on the same goal - a peaceful and decent life for ourselves and our children. I've seen this of course not only in that small village in Hungary, but also in the streets of Jakarta, in New York City, in the countryside of Bulgaria, in Africa, in the Middle East which I love dearly - in the poor and the affluent. I know it from myself, that's why I also know that my hopes and wishes are universal.

Call me a naïve pantheist, call me a Spinozian. It'll be an honour. I think Spinoza would have enjoyed a glass of rosé and a bit of Thin Lizzy with me. And a detour around Hungary.

Balance, perspective and not least tolerance. Hah - and a bit of craziness! It's what keeps me going through my life. 

This is my God, summed up. We are all part of eternity.