Whose G*d?

It's so hard for me to let G*d in.

When my childhood image of a sometimes benevolent old man with a long white beard, the one I cherished, honored and obeyed, invades my mind, I recoil. Who wants an old bag as a burden to carry, especially since this old man is not always benevolent?

At age ten, I told my father I believed G*d was everywhere. I still today struggle with that. I don't believe it anymore; I feel G*d's presence often in my direct experience. The experience, however, is not easy to describe, for it has no direct image of an outsider intervening in any positive or negative direction. In other words, it's content free. It's just a presence that tells me I'm connected to something larger than my fears, doubts, joys, wonders, thoughts, history. Most importantly, it is a presence that gives me a degree of confidence that is accessible and filled with peace, even in difficult circumstances.

If this G*d is so accessible to me, this same G*d must be accessible to all. This is where experience trumps belief. None of us can own that which cannot be owned.