The Man Who Found God

There seems to be no way, in which I can better teach you about this life, so strange to you, than by telling my experiences and conversations with men and women here [in the world of spirits].

I said, one night long ago, that I had met more saints than philosophers, and I want to tell you now about a man who seems to be a genuine saint.

Yes; there are little saints, and great saints, as there are little sinners, and great sinners.

One day, I was walking on a mountaintop. I say “walking,” for it seemed about the same, though it takes but little energy to walk here.

On the mountaintop, I saw a man standing alone. He was looking out and far away, but I could not see what he was looking at. He was abstracted, and communing with himself, or with some presence of which I was unaware.

I waited for some time.

At last, drawing a long breath, for we breathe here, he turned his eyes to me. and said, with a kind smile―

Can I do anything for you, brother?

I was embarrassed for a moment, feeling that I might have intruded upon some sweet communion.

“If I am not too bold in asking,” I said, “would you tell me what you were thinking, as you stood there looking into space?”

I was conscious of my presumption, but being so determined to learn what can be known, if sometimes I am too bold in making inquiries, I feel that my very earnestness may win for me the forgiveness of those I question.

This man had a beautiful beardless face, and young-looking eyes, but his garments were the ordinary garments of one who thinks little or nothing of his appearance.

That very unconsciousness of the outer form may sometimes give it a peculiar majesty.

He looked at me in silence for a moment; then, he said―

I was trying to draw near God.

And what is God; and where is God?

He smiled. I never saw a smile like his, as he answered―

God is everywhere. God is.

“What is he?” I persisted, and again he repeated, but with a different emphasis―

God is.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

God is, God is.

I do not know how his meaning was conveyed to me, perhaps by sympathy, but it suddenly flashed into my mind that when he said, “God is,” he expressed the completest realisation of God, which is possible to the spirit; and when he said, “God is,” he meant me to understand that there was no being, nothing that is, except God.

There must have been in my face a reflection of what I felt, for the saint then said to me―

Do you not also know that He is, and that all that is, is He?

“I am beginning to feel what you mean,” I answered, “though I doubtless feel but a little of it.”

He smiled, and made no reply, but my mind was full of questions.

“When you were on earth,” I said, “did you think much about God?”

“Always. I thought of little else. I sought Him everywhere, but seemed only at times to get flashes of consciousness, as to what He really was.

Sometimes when praying, for I prayed much, there would come to me suddenly the question,

To what are you praying?

And I would answer aloud,

To God, to God!

But though I prayed to Him every day for years, only occasionally did I get a flash of that true consciousness of God.

Finally, one day, when I was alone in the woods, there came the great revelation.

It came, not in any form of words, but rather in a wordless and formless wonder, too vast for the limitation of thought.

I fell upon the ground, and must have lost consciousness, for, after a while, I awoke, and got up, and looked about me. Then, gradually, I remembered the experience, which had been too big for me while I was feeling it.

“I could put into the form of words, the realisation, which had been too much for my mortality to bear, and the words I used to myself were,

All that is, is God.

It seemed very simple, yet it was far from simple.

All that is, is God.

That must include me, and all my fellow beings, human and animal; even the trees, and the birds, and the rivers, must be a part of God, if God were all that is.

“From that moment, life assumed a new meaning for me.

I could not see a human face, without remembering the revelation, that the human being I saw was a part of God.

When my dog looked at me, I said to him aloud,

You are a part of God.

When I stood beside a river, and listened to the sound of its waters, I said to myself,

I am listening to the voice of God.

 

When a fellow being was angry with me, I asked myself,

In what way have I offended God?’

When one spoke lovingly to me, I said,

‘God is loving me now,' and the realisation nearly took my breath away.

Life became unbelievably beautiful.

“Theretofore, I had been so absorbed in God, in trying to find God, that I had not given much thought to my fellow beings, and had even neglected those nearest me.

But from that day, I began to mingle with my human brethren.

I found that, as more and more I sought God in them, more and more, God responded to me through them.

And life became still more wonderful.