I see patterns in my faith. During my life, I ‘ve had faith in the existence of God. I’ve dismissed the existence of God. I’ve believed in the gods and I’ve forsaken the gods. I’ve believed in people and then discovered their frailties and inconsistencies. I’ve had faith in places. I’ve had faith in teaching. I have also learned that those faiths too are ephemeral. I notice my patterns of acceptance and rejection. It did not seem possible to have faith in myself without some kind of aid. Standing alone would require the inconceivable attainment of viewing myself as my own leader, my own true north. In the vast expanse of life that seems inconceivable.
Cynicism is a faith in irony. The belief that outcomes are always twisted. A temporary surety that leaves a void which rebels against the rule of giving up. That was my farewell to cynicism.
When the stars were so far away, we invented stories about their patterns in the night sky. When technology brought us closer, we perceived an endless array of repeating patterns, and gave names to the types of universes. We only see what we are able to understand. The patterns are reflections of us; what we are capable of perceiving. They are almost mirrors.
Awareness searches for connection. It needs a ratification of purpose. Does this come from its temporary nature? Is it because I cannot perceive the world without me?
Cave paintings weren’t made by me but I feel their search. I’ve seen the geometry of the pyramids, almost like beacons. I’ve stepped into a room and instantly become different. I’ve believed this from the distance of time. World views are looking glasses into us. All those expressions forming the patterns of who we are, of our migrations and hibernations.
I had this dream that I was in London but had become separated and could not remember where I needed to go. I tried to describe where I needed to be. I solicited directions. I walked in widening circles. Each time someone said, “Do you mean The Tower of London, or Buckingham Palace, or Trafalgar Square,” I realized that was not the place at all. It didn’t sound right and I had this feeling that I would recognize it as soon as I heard it. In some ways, that describes my patterns of faith. Would I recognize my destination?
Sometimes we find joy in the discovery or creation of patterns because it brings insight. Appreciating the beauty of a braid and knowing how to make one are very different experiences. It is not unlike appreciating music and making it. Writing a story and reading one. Viewing a painting and painting. They are different forms of the same magic.
Belief in magic opens a door to the possibility of eternity. It is not exactly a magic trick that is dependent on slight of hand. It is more than the making of sausage. It is closer to what brings grace into a dance. It can be the instant of harmony. In those moments, existence seems smiling and beneficent. Is that more than just a pattern that is the reflection of me?