[Garden Memories: XXI]
We had a basic diving rock near the deep end of our pool. Next to it was a small patch of grass in the shape of a circle. If you think of the lawn as a clock, the diving rock was on the perimeter at 7 o’clock. Well, one could get out of the pool at 5 o’clock, run counter clockwise along the edge of the lawn, and arrive at the rock running full speed. This one lap turned our humble rock into a launchpad, and made for hours and hours of play.
I believe any connection to the divine reality is like that rock we had growing up: it ought to produce joy and maybe a bit of playfulness.
But joy does not mean just laughter or bliss. That's too thin. And untextured. For divine joy to have any kind of staying power or depth it must involve risk. It must be bigger and more dangerous than a mere lift of serotonin.
This is why a fabricated “god-experiences” that requires perfect lighting, smoke machines, and theater seats is more propaganda (emotional manipulation?) than an actual encounter with the divine.
A friend of my brother ran and jumped off the rock as many of us did for years. He misjudged the depth of the water and as a consequence lost at least a pint of blood from a two inch gash in his forehead.
Joy will always include risk. And sometimes blood.
