I have written before that my first real exposure to the wisdom of the Veda was through the writings of Sri Aurobindo. I was introduced to the work of Sri Aurobindo via my experiences with a woman I met through a mutual friend. Four of us--the friend, the woman (whom we'll call Betsy), another man and myself--all went out to breakfast together. I ended up later that day having my tarot cards read by Betsy, and, one thing leading to another, of course, we got married.

In her apartment was a photograph of a stern, dignified older woman, whom she referred to as The Mother. She had been christened thus by Sri Aurobindo for the energy she brought to his own spiritual work in Pondicherry, South India, and together they built a spiritual community that survives and thrives to this day. Sri Aurobindo had seen in this woman, Mirra Alfasa, an embodiment of the feminine divine energy, or Shakti, the creative force of the universe. In this particular way of looking at creation, there is the male, unmanifest portion of things, which in Sanskrit is called Purusha, and there is the female, creative power, Shakti, both of which together are necessary for creation to occur. These two people, Sri Aurobindo and The Mother, as she came to be called, were co-creators, each one an embodiment of that force which was the most prominent in them as individuals, and in that embodiment, able to balance and support the other.

My friend, at the lowest point of her life, had been visited in spirit by a woman who told her she would be okay, who directed her to get help. Later she saw a photograph of The Mother and realized they were one and the same, that it was The Mother who had come to her. She became a devotee, began to study with someone who lived most of the time in Pondicherry and had images of The Mother throughout her apartment. You cannot see the visage of this woman and not wonder what she's about. She is indeed an embodiment of something unique, and is at the very least a powerful expression of all that is the creative energy of the female. For my part, I began to study Sri Aurobindo and accepted his ideas about her to the extent that I could, which was not very far, really, because none of it made sense to me. All these questions: what is divine? What is human? How can one be both? Isn't there a very clear dividing line between the two? Isn't God in heaven? Isn't God male? Etc. And then to begin to study the Vedas and see that there only is one thing and that all distinctions are arbitrary: male/female, God/human, Shiva/Shakti, dark/light. All distinctions and separations are there merely so that some part of the infinite can be grasped in my limited brain. If God is, then God is everything. God is the universe. The universe is infinite. If God is, then God is infinite. My mind, as I experience it, is limited. Is partial. Is finite. By definition it cannot conceive of the infinite. So my choice is either to divide God up into bits that I can swallow, or not to think about God at all.

God may be seen in any way that is attractive to us. Our idea of God may change. Our idea of where God is may change. There is the great story of a Sufi poet who is rudely awakened by a holy man and scolded for sleeping with his feet pointing toward Mecca. He apologizes for his gaffe, and then asks the holy man to point out to him the direction in which God isn't, that he may never make this mistake again.

Everywhere is God. Everything is God. I met someone once who joined Alcoholics Anonymous and was told by his AA 'sponsor' that he needed to have a God in his life, but that he could pick his own conception of God. He chose for his God a very large tree that grew outside his window. It was greater than him, older than him, probably wiser than him. When he prayed, he prayed to the tree, thereby short-circuiting the broken connection he'd had with God in his younger years. The tree worked for him--until one day he came home and it had been cut down. He went through a process of panic and grief and anger, but on the other side of it, he had a much larger idea of what God was.

Deepak Chopra, in his book, Life after Death, tells a wonderful story about a middle-aged writer he met, a spiritual seeker who knew about the idea of the Divine Mother, but had never had an experience of it. He knew people who tried to bring on the experience of the Mother through a variety of approaches, but he himself simply meditated each day for five years in an ashram. Then one day something strange occurred.

"I was sitting in meditation when a gentle feeling came over me. It began as warmth in my heart, then it took on an emotional tone. Tenderness, sweetness, love. ...the intensity increased. I seemed to melt away. Within ten seconds I became pure. Nothing but love. I was the Divine Mother." 

He now looks at women differently. 

"They exist as ordinary people but at the same time a totally impersonal force--the Mother--shines through them. I can be honking at a woman driver to move faster through a light, but if she turns her face toward me, I see it. It is doing everything, and when I realize that, honking my horn seems absurd. Can you honk your horn at God?"

If God is everything, where someone else finds God must be okay, even if to me it may seem odd. And where I may find God today may be different than where I found it yesterday. God is everywhere, in everything, waiting to be seen. My only job is to be looking for it. Clear my mind of everything that is not God, and then look for God. Everywhere, all the time, in everything, in every situation, in every person I meet. If God is everything, and I am looking for God, my chances of failure are nil.

Today I will try to see God in the face of the people I meet. I will look beyond the individual to see the divine.

  Woman in Shadow and Child, Pondicherry, South India