our yawp who art in heaven

I was raised in a “democracy,” inculcated with the doctrines of freedom and equality, and therefore find it difficult to approach the spiritual with any sense of Lordship. Yet such devotion is not a worthless practice; that metaphor works well for some in this dream.

So do I instead pray to a Mr. President? Is that the correct metaphor for this land? Or maybe Your Honor? Or do we walk the scientific materialist path and speak to the Universe?

Many American Indians use the term Creator, but I have my doubts about the origin of that term. Does it originate in pre-Contact times? Or is it an adaptation from the missionary teachings of monotheism?

Of course there’s always The One, a term useful in referencing the nonduality of things. Using the Sanskrit terms of Brahman or Parabrahman works well too. Sat-Chit-Ananda says much. And the western quasi-religious terminology of Spirit rings divine. Or the more scientifically-bent term of Consciousness can do too.

There’s resting in the understanding and saying nothing. But I do like dreaming, and would prefer some trope in its artistry. God, of course, is out of the question. Too much heavy freight has traveled down that road. But Void? Unmanifest? The Unknowable? Too unthinkable.

Self? Too close to ego-infested waters. Presence? I remember reading that term in Eckhart Tolle’s writing, and, as most of his work, it is actually very good. But maybe a little distant for my purposes.

I’ll continue to use my present combination, Ever-creating Spirit, in my morning prayer. It still rings true for me with its sound of Quantum Heraclitean Native-American Divine dedication to it.

Still, maybe there’s something else out there. I do love the manifest variety of divinities the dream has to offer. In the end, it comes down to this Whitmanic expression. “I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.”

Peace to All and One,
Son Rivers