• Asrar Mousli

A Letter To God

4:00am - I am alone with my thoughts.

I'm unsure when it started, but I often find myself writing letters. Letters to no one in particular, to past and future versions of myself, letters to loved ones that are no longer in my life, letters to loved ones who I haven't met yet, and letters to people I will never meet. Some of these thoughts and expressions never leave my journal, are never seen by anyone, and are rarely revisited by me.

Today I want to share one of the most significant letters I've written. One that frightened me as much as it liberated me. I don't know why I need to share it, but I do. I am not seeking advice or opinions, although personal experiences and emotions of all kinds are always welcome in my space. I hope you find a thought or two that bring you personal meaning...

Dear God,

Sometimes I think I never really figured out how to talk to you. I've always secretly wished that you were a loyal friend who wanted nothing but love from me. I find it odd that unimaginable levels of honesty can be achieved with people who seem separate from me, when genuine intimacy is deemed shameful with the very source of my creation.

I wonder why your presence is perceived to need a special occasion, an "epiphany" or a divine purpose, when you are the only Truth that exists; the only reality. Even though you seem invincible and sometimes indifferent, I know you are more alive, here on Earth than you are in what many humans call Heaven. I know that since my birth, you have always spoken to me, sometimes with your own voice and other times with the voices of people around me. I know you were there for every sweet and bitter moment of my upbringing.

But let me ask you this. Why couldn't I have known you as you are? Why is it that, when religion spoke to me of you, it saturated my thoughts with punishment and bottomless fears that did not resemble my spirit at all?

Deep down I resented that. I resented the fact that I was terrified by you for most of my life, that I wasn't able to just love you and be loved by you for who I am; a perfectly imperfect human being. A manifestation of your own intention.

I wonder how I might pray to you now, when that was all I knew. Could I just express the words I think or feel? Or should I recite words to you from this book or the other, in a tone that does not ring true to the harmony of my voice, but rather, embodies the very fabric of my long-lived fears?

Dear God,

Of all the living beings that might have experienced a lifetime in this universe, why am I human? I have no real language to use that is my own. No way to let my spirit speak without getting entangled in the constructs of man. But somehow, I am flooded with dreams and memories of a time and place where words were not the only vehicle for thoughts. In fact words were not needed at all.

But in my waking life, no matter what I do, I am met with limitation. I am bound by a language or the other, a religion or the other, a movement or the other, a society or the other, a modality or the other. There is always a system that exists, and it always attempts to translate the etheric-like substances we call thoughts and feelings into shapes, sounds and forms we can absorb. How can we even begin to do that without disintegrating the quality of our intangible, immeasurable experiences?

I am beginning to learn (sometimes with great difficulty) that much more can be said in silence. In stillness. This is where I am coming to find you more wholly. I am meeting you again, in a place where it is possible to bask in you and feel the line between us melting. Maybe it's true, maybe I don't need a language to pray to you. Maybe silence is all the language I need to hear you loud and clear.

Maybe, all this time I was searching for something outside of myself, something the world agreed on but not the world within, while you waited for me with your infinite patience, in your silence, where you knew I would eventually return, and where all the answers I seek reside...

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