As I continued writing in my journal in April 2005, I left behind the swings from agony to ecstasy and back. Instead, I wondered, what is love? Part of it, whether the love of friends or sexual love, is vulnerability, dangling over the terror of loss. This is something that God cannot feel, and has to experience it vicariously through us. At least, that was what I thought in 2005.
I wrote on 18 April 2005: “Love is sharing pain yet seeing beauty—neither a major or a minor [musical] mode but dorian, with a sad heart but an upward gaze.
This
was my new outline of God, which as I read it now just puzzles me, but I will
pass it on in case it makes some sense to you. “’The God Who Let Go.’ First,
regarding God: The Father, infinite, creator, now present only as natural law
[acting]; The Son, embodied briefly on Earth, now present only in his words
[speaking]; the Spirit, pervading the universe, the only manner in which God
has been continually present [feeling]. In order to experience love, God must
now vicariously share in our experiences.”
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