God and Fish Paleontology

I have been thinking about fish paleontology since I watched the PBS series "Your Inner Fish". Once upon a time, a bazillion years ago, the primordial sea formed itself into fish like creatures (no bones), then fish-like creatures with a few spine-like bones, then fish/amphibian-like creatures with 1 bone - 2 bones - lotta bones (arms and hands;  legs and feet). And then the primordial sea crawled out of itself and onto dry land.

Same thing happened for you and me in the primordial sea of the womb. First we were fish-like creature with no bones, then some bones, then "1 bone-2 bones-lotta bones” (femur, tibial fibula, ankle and foot bones; humerus, ulna and radius, wrist and hand bones) You and I as fetuses looked almost EXACTLY like the primordial pre-fish. If that is not enough to blow my mind open to wonder nothing is!

In our incredibly secular culture, I can't talk about God and make any sense. And I can't not talk about God and make any sense. But I can talk about the crazy miracle of evolution and I feel like I am talking about God.

I have been in a process of acknowledging to myself that I don't "believe" the many stories and beliefs and dogmas and deities that have grown up around the Sacred Mystery that continues to move and breathe life forward. I also don't NOT believe in them. It is just that the whole realm of "belief" is not what is at work in me. A deeper faith is afoot.

I have, over the decades, cultivated and clung to various beliefs as a way - I think - of sidestepping the mind-blowing mystery of the unknown. But now that I do not have so many beliefs I am holding to, I have more faith than ever before. Faith in the wild Love that is repeating itself, replicating itself, growing itself, fetus by fetus and acorn by acorn. My faith in the Sacred Mystery is stronger and stronger as I know less and less about what is REALLY GOING ON.

Now I am at a loss to give the Beloved a name. And the name "Beloved" does not do it either. I like the Jewish tradition of not writing the Name / Namah. It lands closer to home with me than names like Shiva or God. And yet, I love those names too. It is just that they don’t make my mind small anymore. They are like fingers pointing to the fantastic, anything but small, Mystery of Love and Light.

I sleep curled up sometimes. Fetus. Primordial fish. Then gradually as I wake up, my skeletal system engages spine, 1 bone, 2 bones lotta bones. My feet and legs and hips crawl me out of the primordial sea of sleep. And I stand up and participate in the crazy-wise mystery of evolution.

Thinking about fish paleontology has not diminished my awe and devotion to the Sacred. It makes the aquifer of my faith grow stronger even as the surface waters of beliefs come and go.

I want to continue to be more and more open to "not knowing", even though it comes with the price tag of increased vulnerability. It is a fair price to pay. Surrender to the Mystery does not take sacredness and love out of life. Just the opposite.

The crazy-oh-my-gosh- how-did-this-happen miracle of the primordial sea forming itself into individual packages of sea water and growing bones. Wow. That is a miracle for me. And my heart and mind fly open in devotion when I ponder - even for a moment - the Blessing Force behind it all. (Robert Frost's line perfectly here: "The heart can think of no devotion, greater than being shore to the Ocean....")

It is all God. And I don't know what That is. And I bow down. Again and again I bow down.

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Here is the poem from which a stole the line:” I can’t talk about God and make any sense. And I can’t not talk about God and make any sense”.

What’s In the Temple – by Tom Barrett

In the quiet spaces of my mind a thought lies still, but ready to spring.

It begs me to open the door so it can walk about.

The poets speak in obscure terms pointing madly at the unsayable.

The sages say nothing, but walk ahead patting their thigh calling for us

       to follow.

The monk sits pen in hand poised to explain the cloud of unknowing.

The seeker seeks, just around the corner from the truth.

If she stands still it will catch up with her.

Pause with us here a while.

Put your ear to the wall of your heart.

Listen for the whisper of knowing there.

Love will touch you if you are very still.

If I say the word God, people run away.

They've been frightened—sat on 'till the spirit cried "uncle."

Now they play hide and seek with somebody they can't name.

They know he's out there looking for them, and they want to be found,

But there is all this stuff in the way.

I can't talk about God and make any sense,

And I can't not talk about God and make any sense.

So we talk about the weather, and we are talking about God.

I miss the old temples where you could hang out with God.

Still, we have pet pounds where you can feel love draped in warm fur,

And sense the whole tragedy of life and death.

You see there the consequences of carelessness,

And you feel there the yapping urgency of life that wants to be lived.

The only things lacking are the frankincense and myrrh.

We don't build many temples anymore.

Maybe we learned that the sacred can't be contained.

Or maybe it can't be sustained inside a building.

Buildings crumble.

It's the spirit that lives on.

If you had a temple in the secret spaces of your heart,

What would you worship there?

What would you bring to sacrifice?

What would be behind the curtain in the holy of holies?

Go there now.