You recognize your God as everyone’s God. And not only among Jews and Christians and Muslims do you see the reflected face of the One. When the climber reaches the summit and gazes out at a thousand miles of mountains and valleys, there is the One. When the mother pushes through shattering pain to give birth, and the infant sucks in his first breath and expels his wild wail, there is the One. When the father drops to his knees in the military cemetery after burying his son and wraps his arms around his own heaving chest, there is the One. In our first kiss, in our final embrace, there is the One.
Mirabai Starr
The One shows up in Native lodges and Hindu temples, in the deep quiet of Zen meditation halls and in the ecstatic whirling of dervishes. The One whispers through the words of the poets, through the curving lines of painters, sculptors, and woodcarvers; through symphony and hip-hop, Gregorian chant, hymns in praise of Mother Mary, devotional songs to Lord Shiva; through tobacco and cornmeal offered at dawn to the Great Spirit. The One makes an appearance in the heart of the self-described atheist, who gasps in wonder at the beauty of an unexpected snow that fell during the night, carpeting the garden with jewels of frozen light. The One reveals itself as the compassionate Father and the protective Mother, as unrequited Lover and loyal Friend, residing always at the core of our own hearts, and utterly invisible. The One transcends all form, all description, all theory, categorically refusing to be defined or confined by our human impulse to unlock the Mystery. And the One resides at the center of all that is, ever-present and totally available. You remember, and forget, and remember again: beckoned with a thousand names, limited by none, the God you love is One.
