If God was your mother, could they ever unlove you? If God gave you birth, could they ever wish you away?
Whence you step out of their lines, when you fail to do as they please, would God ever smite you so you were forbidden to exist? Could God ever hate you away?
If God couldn’t understand the words that you spoke, couldn’t understand the clothes that you wore; if God couldn’t find beauty in your poetry, does that mean your poetry does not speak of God? Does that mean that your poetry is not for them to read? Does that mean that God fails to be themselves?
Enraged, poisoned, blinded, devastated, sorrowed, broken by their sight: perhaps God is only muted when such separation occurs. Lost in the mire of maya that engulfs us to believe that the material, the dogmatic, the rules and order, the lineage, the blood, the story, is what makes you a valid child of God. Perhaps in such moments, they are simply suspended by this disruption of etheric connection so much so that they cannot see that you are still their own, in different form, in different word, in different step.
If such a God were lost in their own soul, what a journey to find their way home. If you were the child of God and thought yourself unloved, what a journey to find your way back to love. If God were born to God and could not see it as such, what a journey to realize the other, what a battle through the forces of the mind to victor as such.
For you are no ones child but for God. Your flesh and bones borrowed from dust and earth, your blood born of rivers that begin before time. You are no ones pure being, you are no ones corruption: you are whole and complete in and unto yourself, to God. Given forth through the mystery and pain to traverse into this world through another of its own. Placed with the challenge of sewing the webs of uncertainty until you find your way home, to each other, to the world, and to yourself.
And where you are placed to reject your flesh, to question your being, to face the tragedy of a self unloved, you are simply placed with a pathway back to God. In every breath that is caught in your anxious heart, that turns your stomach in the muck of guilt and shame, that smallens your voice into a child that has wronged, your responsibility is to exhale, and inhale, and exhale, and inhale, again and again, until you find your way back to the eternal love within you that is God. To be disciplined in your ego’s watch, and be firm of hand against the indulgences of destruction. To be of unwavering faith in this service, until your compass points to love. The love that bars no one. The loves that spans out across the sky and believes hate to be no more than a passing cloud. The love that is the peace at the end of a storm’s wreckage. The love that meets you unchanged in every morning’s sun.
If God were your mother, if God were your father, they could not unlove you away. It is not their right, nor their ability in the heart. For love is the bond between us that makes us its children, and each others kin, unwaveringly, irrefutably, inextricably. Through time and space, severing the curses of word and the blackened visions of mind, the resonance of love pulses, an echo through the aeons upon which our forebearers and celestial sages whisper their secrets to generations lost in the mind: there is only love, there is only love, there is only love.
And if we were to falter, to cry out in anguish or to act out of hurt, be quick to forgive and stay aglow, for such a God has only forgotten who they are. Absorbe no ignorance, be of steady heart, and know that love will always lead us home.