God is love.
You aren't.
You don't love enough.
You don't love anyone, unless you want to count your weevil-like self squirming through the muesli of life looking for the powdered sugar.
God, however, loves you. You certainly don't deserve it.
Reality is God. We are broken eggs on the Teflon frying pan of God.
God is the world, and is not the world. He is omnipresent in the world just as you are omnipresent in your body.
You are a god, and a human being. There is a God who looks after you and loves you, and you are entirely on your own and at the mercy of an uncertain future. All of this is true at once and without contradiction. It's difficult to get the mind around but the Doctor wants you to accept it.
OK. I'm sitting on a cottage porch on a beach in India, dictating this. When you do this kind of work you can move around (see WEATHER). The sand, the sound of the sea, some strolling nudists—and over by one of the other cottages, a cobra, moving very slowly. Everyone knows it's there, no one's going near it.
Now, who made the cobra? Forget about evolution, the numbers are wrong (see SELF-IMAGE, YOUR). You can see the shaping hand on every creature, don't give the Doctor nineteenth-century theories.
What kind of concept is "cobra"? What mind did that come out of?
(My stenographer requires that I comfort her. It'll go away soon.)
Let me put it another way: is God a personal or an impersonal God? Does He have a face? If God is impersonal, and God is love, what does that add up to? Do you want impersonal love?
Better than nothing, I guess.
If God is impersonal—and this is a comfort insisted upon by many—what does that say about you? Are you, ultimately, impersonal?
It's not an easy idea to like.
Go directly to SELF-IMAGE, YOUR and we'll kick it around some more.
Robert MacLean is a bad poet and an independent filmmaker. His The Light Touch is on Amazon Prime, Tubi, Scanbox and YouTube, and his 7-minute comedy is an out-loud laugh. He is also a screamingly funny novelist, a playwright, a blogger, a YouTuber, a reviewer of films, a literary critic, and a stand-up comic poet. Born Toronto, PhD McGill, taught at Canadian universities, too cold, lives Greece, Irish citizen. He is of towering intellect but, as is often the case with such people, not that bright.
Cinemah!
Short pieces
Boccaccio II
Poems
