What is God to the Godless? What is form to the formless? An enigma born beyond the grasp of a mute consciousness; a known unknown. One who chooses not to be conscious of breath is still breathing. One who is not watching still sees. Wherein lies the difference? Is it in the state of conscious awareness or in the ability to reference that state? Do we not all partake in the fruits of God, whether with eyes closed or open; Do we not all taste?
Overwhelmed by the lightness of dissipation and the complexity of wholeness, slipping between Atman and Maya* I find myself yearning for the words with which to express my being. Like audible breath in elated exhalation, I crave the string of silken thread that brings form to this most wonderous eternity. An intoxicated lover, I write its beauty upon my walls, sing its praises to the sky, and tell its stories to anyone who will hold my gaze. I care not what else may come of this; I am drunk with its beauty. I crave its nectar; to rouse in the bliss of its touch.
If ever one asked, I would tell them I am human to experience this God; I am God to experience this human. And it is this that meets me as I lay surrendered in afternoon light, piano notes meeting my body in the places they create together. It is this that brings weight to my eyelids as I muse on words which call to wanton parts of me. It is this that warms my flesh as we smile upon each other moving in fluid motion.
One need not name it to share in this. One need not try to understand. There is no definitive Other. It is a word without sound. Therein lies the beauty of the ephemeral intimacy, conjured in those fleeting moments in which one engages with a form of the formless. It matters not whether we watch or see. We meet each other here, again and again, where one shows the invisible and one bears witness to that which cannot be seen.
This is why I speak of God.
* between an individualized unit pure consciousness and the illusion of reality as referred to in Sanskrit.