“We are not in the universe; the universe is in us.” – Grandmother Pa’Ris’Ha
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Have you ever decided to decide about something, but only if you get a sign from God? Ok universe, looking for a sign here…
And when you get one, you’re all over it like an excited puppy… OMG, I just got a sign!!! (But later you secretly wonder if you made it up, right?)
We’ve all heard stories of people that were spoken to directly by God. In the Old Testament alone there are something like two thousand references to God speaking to individuals through angels and dreams. Moses met up with God for a conversation of epic importance when He appeared in the form of a burning bush. The world-changing content of the Qur’an was given to the Prophet Mohammed as Allah’s divine instruction through the angel, Gabriel. Stories such as these gained everlasting permanence in the form of sacred scriptures.
But not all divine transmissions make it into sacred texts. We know of other recipients of dramatic communications that significantly changed history, such as Joan of Arc, whose angelic visitations inspired her with a passion to free her own country. Also, the great mathematician, Srinivasa Ramanujan, as noted by Grandmother Pa’Ris’Ha, in the early 1900s, solved previously impossible problems. He was highly revered by his University of Cambridge peers yet attributed his genius to dream visitations from a Hindu Goddess.
So, what does any of this have to do with the rest of us getting signs? First off, the saints, prophets, mystics, venerable leaders, and geniuses spoken to by God, were human beings. They did things that humans do. They went to work, cared for families, had friends, lived in communities, planted gardens, ran businesses, had aspirations, suffered from ailments, had bodily functions, engaged in spiritual or religious practices, and so on.
In most respects, they were just like you and me, even if at some point the messages became the driving force of their lives. They went down in history, but what about the ones that did not or will never?
Ponder for a moment on our beginnings. Creation stories abound. Across the spectrum from ancient cultures and religions to quantum science, the concept of creation has many beautiful forms. The common denominator is that everything in existence ultimately springs forth from an original source.
In Kabbalism, it is believed that God’s ultimate sacrifice is what made the universe. Before creation, God existed in the form of pure, all-encompassing, infinite energy. To allow human beings and the material universe the space to come into being, God withdrew.
It is not to say that God disappeared or became smaller. There is no shrinking infinity. God simply became present in each nanoscopic particle of the material universe. In sacred scripture, the realm of God is described as one of joy, rejoicing, and gladness. Where God once existed wholly in a void, now it has experience. Here I paraphrase Grandmother Pa’Ris’Ha when saying, God named every grain of sand and every blade of grass.
Mountains, stones, soil, and minerals are God experiencing itself.
Raindrops, lakes, rivers, streams, and oceans are God experiencing itself.
Fire, wind, air, sunlight, moonlight, and starlight are God experiencing itself.
Algae, moss, flowers, plants, and trees are God experiencing itself.
Fish, frogs, spiders, bugs, worms, snakes, and turtles are God experiencing itself.
Whales, dolphins, buffalo, bears, wolves, and eagles are God experiencing itself.
Constellations, solar systems, planets, galaxies, superclusters, and black holes are God experiencing itself.
Electrons, protons, neutrons, photons, molecules, quarks, and plancks are God experiencing itself.
Laughter, sorrow, anxiety, pain, peace, curiosity, love, and joy are God experiencing itself.
Human beings are God experiencing itself.
All of it is God experiencing itself.
With God existing in everything, it would seem inevitable that God is in a perpetual state of communication. Everything in our known and unknown universe contains something of the pure, infinite energy. That anything at all has taken a material form means it is communicating. The identifying factors that make it unique from the thing beside it is a statement.
Grandmother Pa’Ris’Ha sparked a realization in me that God speaks to us through everything. Why, when walking along the beach is there a particular pebble or shell that stands out? Pick it up. What do you suppose it is communicating based on its shape, color, texture, or patterns? Why does a particular song catch your attention? While walking in the wind, why do certain thoughts arise? Why did you notice a book title or words on a license plate? Standing in line at the checkout, why did you happen to overhear a conversation? What was said?
In whatever way you define God or the universal presence, imagine, that in these examples it was talking to you. Or even that it is speaking through you. With all of infinity at our disposal, there is a lot to hear and plenty to be said. You and I may never be sainted or be written about in history books, but we are each a container of the pure, infinite energy. We inherently communicate something about its nature. The containers around us, those we cross paths with, including the paths themselves, are equally communicating.
Case in point, here is a story from my own experience. It took place on a day like any other day at my job. As events unfolded, I reached a point of surrendering to the realization that something completely out of the blue was talking to me.
It happened the winter I was working as a cook in the kitchen of a horse track in Quebec, Canada. This was in the days before betting was done by closed-circuit TV at small trotter tracks like this one. The dining room held a massive hot and cold buffet positioned off to one side of the indoor bleachers, which seated hundreds. The place was a madhouse when the races were on – filled to capacity with ebullient, shrieking gamblers, intent on making a quick buck, sometimes with their last buck.
It took a lot of advanced preparation to cook enough food to satisfy the deluge of hungry spectators. From the crack of dawn, we cooks worked up a hard sweat over flat-top grills and ovens that threatened to sear the skin off our faces. The noise of clanging, banging, slamming, chopping, sizzling, and commands being hurled across the oversized, rumbling equipment was almost deafening.
Then, all at once, everything seemed to come together, and it would get quiet. The buffet tables were filled to brimming and our backup containers sat safely in the warming ovens, waiting their turn. If you had not been part of the earlier hubbub, you would only know it had happened by the good smells of the roasted, baked, steamed, and fried feast greeting your nostrils.
For a few minutes before the guests arrived, I always took advantage of the lull to slip out to the glassed-in observation deck. From there I could get a close-up view of the horsemen trotting their animals, warming them up before the race. The horses were beautiful, extraordinary creatures. It was almost hypnotic to witness the power and grace in their motion. I was grateful to share those moments of peace with them.
On this particular day, the temperatures were sub-zero, with the winds whipping like razor-edged knives off the frozen Ottawa River. It was the kind of day where you risked seizing your lungs if you stepped outside with no face covering. Through the glass, I could see crystallization in the air, the kind of cold that surprisingly can be detected by the eye. A deep freeze like this made it a bigger challenge to warm up the horses. I was not so familiar with equine care, but I knew that much from the veterinarian who treated my animals since he also treated the horses at the track.
By law, one from a roster of local veterinarians was required to attend the stables while the races were on. My vet was on duty that day. He was a gentle and kind soul. He frequently looked for reasons to disqualify the horses at this track because they were usually older and run down. They suffered. Apparently, the races at this track would be the last-ditch attempt to make money on the animals before they were sent to the slaughterhouse.
As the horse-betters began to trickle in, I returned to my kitchen post. Immersed in the frantic pace, running from one boiling pot to another, thoughts of the horses on the glacial track were far from my mind.
Suddenly, through the clamor of the kitchen and thrum from the bleachers, I heard a huge roar from the crowd. A dining room server rushed through the swinging doors to announce there was a horse down on the track. Minutes later it was pronounced dead, its lungs frozen. I was horrified.
Once the betting was over and the kitchen closed, I bundled up in my winter gear and left by the side entrance. I made my way through drifting snow over my knees to the edge of the track. The body of the horse had been taken away hours earlier.
Still, I took a pinch of corn pollen (finely ground cornmeal), and powdered tobacco leaves to make an offering, letting it settle to the ground at close as I could get to where the horse had fallen. I had learned from Grandmother Pa’Ris’Ha that when an animal is found dead, sprinkling it with corn pollen helps to return its body to the earth. The tobacco returns its spirit quickly to the spirit world. With all my heart I desired that the horse would be released from any suffering.
Later that night, after falling into a troubled sleep, I had a lucid dream. I found myself standing in a grassy meadow. It was shrouded in mist, but I could make out the faint outlines of deciduous trees in the background. It was comfortably warm. I smelled sweetgrass and wildflowers. It was beautiful and I felt serene.
Three shadowy figures moved toward me through the mist. As they stepped forward, I realized they were horses. The leader looked like the horse that had been described – the one that had died on the track that day. As the horses moved closer, I could see their dark, gentle eyes and the soft gleam of their coats. They were making quiet, guttural sounds, but the real communication was somehow happening silently through the meeting of minds.
They assured me that they were happy and free from pain. All three had received the blessing of the corn pollen and tobacco offering. They had come to me in the dream time to acknowledge my offering and to give me a message – insight into the wisdom of true power.
They told me that when people have natural abilities, the results yielded are greater when used not only for the advancement of the individual but to enhance the well-being of the community. They explained that everything is interconnected. What is experienced by one affects all beings. As much as we humans give of ourselves to uplift others measures equally to the power we gain. True power occurs when one cares and shares for the benefit of all. Then, as quickly as they had emerged, they faded back into the mist, and I awoke, my every cell tingling from the experience.
Even now, when I recall that dream, I am deeply moved by the love and grace that emanated from those horses. Beyond a dream, it was one of those inexplicable experiences that happen outside the normal realm of frontal consciousness, but equally real. Was it a direct message from God? It’s a mystery. What matters is the nature of the message or sign from the universe, when we hear or see them. Whether it comes in the form of a pebble on the beach or horses that went to heaven, it bolsters the human experience, giving us a deeper understanding of our place in it all.
-RG
This post originally appeared in JMWriters blog. Republished by permission.