G*d (Whatever That Is)

Gods are those parts of existence that are bigger than we can understand as individuals. They are like mountains. We can see them in their wholeness only at a great distance. From the other side of the valley we can look across to the far horizon and see the triangle shape of the mountain. We can point and say, "Mountain," or "Amaterasu," or "Desire."

But to come into any relationship with the mountain, we must move in close, come into direct contact with the mountain, with the god. As we move closer to the mountain, the god looms and then disappears, breaks apart into meadows and lakes and forests and the innumerable details of its actual existence. We may identify the god in its entirety only at a great distance; we can only know the god a piece at a time. We must walk in this meadow, aware of these flowers and that ground squirrel and remembering the ridges and peaks and other places, as we smell the heather around us.

G*d (whatever that is) is whatever the sum of everything plus the knowledge of that sum and the ability to comprehend both the sum of the parts and the whole. It may or may not be what we were expecting. G*d (whatever that is) is represented in our minds by figures of old men, or women with a thousand arms, or a giant winged snake with the head of a dog that shoots lightening out of its eyes. (It could happen.) We may see g*d (whatever that is) as a force we call compassion or creativity. But whatever we point to when we say g*d is just a mountain at a distance. We cannot predict what the old man is going to look like up close. She may look much younger in places. We cannot yet know what g*d is until we walk through her meadows and breathe his air. And we can’t begin to do that until we are willing to let go of our nice perfect view of the mountain.

Dog Fight 2

[Click Dogs to see all installments of the Legend of Fowl Feng .]

The two dogs fell upon each other all slaver jawed and writhing mass, each aiming for the throat and twisting out of reach at the same time. These were dogs whose ancestors had been bad ass alley monsters for generations. They got down to business.

“You’re some well-brushed monkey’s leash bait, you are!” yowled Fowl Feng.

“Your mother suckles cats!” snarled Rarely There.

What had been red-hot rage turned brilliant white as both dogs found purchase. But Rarely There’s was just that much closer to the vein. He turned his head to stare into Fowl Feng’s yellow eyes as he let his rage clamp down. The alley turned silent as the life left Fowl Feng. The beaming eyes dimmed and faded, and he fell to the alley floor.

Rarely There stood over Fowl Feng in triumph. He felt the blood of his ancestors rising up through his paws. It was good to be victorious.

He looked up to realize the day had passed. He hadn’t thought that any dog could fight a whole day! This had been a glorious battle. He would find his pack and tell them of the death of Fowl Feng of the Yellow Eye. He would tell how he had fought an entire day to rid the city of… He looked down at Feng’s lifeless body. Rather small, really. And it looked like he hadn’t eaten in a while. Well, that just made him "Feng the Ravenous," didn't it? And Rarely There was pretty sure he had heard that Fowl Feng killed puppies. Yes, he knew it was true. So he had killed, no, he had destroyed the Puppy Killer, the ravenous Puppy Killer. Yes. They had fought the entire day, and Rarely There had prevailed!

He turned to leave the alley and found the Moon, full and round, rising up over the distant mountains. She was singing.

“So many dogs,” she sang. “So many alleys, dark and fowl. My children, my children.”

Rarely There listened to the song, at once so sad and sweet. It pushed all other thoughts from him and he sat down and howled. The Moon sang with him.

“So many ways, so many songs.” And the song changed. It became a lilting, traipsing song, a song that made the roads stretch toward the mountains.

Rarely There jumped up and ran from the alley.