Love or fear?
Love or fear?
“I wrote that title,” I said. “I don’t know what follows.”
“You will,” God said. God had been appearing a lot in my writing, as I had predicted. Here She was again. “It means that every time you make a decision, you have only two choices. Love or fear. Me or ego.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Everything is a choice,” God said. “ Everything. You don’t recognize most choices, and most choices are different than you think.”
“Not everything is a choice.” said a reader. “How much is two plus two? Choose that!”
“It’s a choice,” God said. “You can choose four. But you can also choose five or three or π or ‘blue,’ or ‘supercalifragilisticexpealidocious.’ It’s always a choice.”
“I suppose,” said a reader. “But if I didn’t choose four, I’d be wrong.”
“That’s fear,” God said. “Your answer might be wrong. But you would not be wrong.
“Every choice is in two parts,” God continued. “There’s what you choose, and how you choose. And there are only two ways to choose: through love or through fear. Me or ego. You’ve been taught to fear being wrong. But you can’t be wrong. You’ve been taught to fear giving wrong answers. But you don’t have to fear. You can choose with love.”
“How do I choose two plus two with love?” I asked. “That makes no sense.”
“If you’d been taught the beauty of mathematics,” God said. “you’d know that four is the answer that comes from Love of mathematics. If you love teasing people, you might chose seven out of Love.”
“I do love mathematics,” I said.
“So do I,” God said. “I invented it.”
“And I love teasing people,” I said. “So I can choose seven.”
“Yes,” said God. “That’s freedom. That’s free will.”
“When children are being taught,” God said, “they are taught facts and fear. They’re taught that when they don’t give the ‘right’ fact that they are wrong. Instead they could be taught they are right and the answer is wrong.
“And they’re taught that sometimes they will be punished for the wrong fact. And so they come to fear wrong facts.
“They come to believe that they have no choice. They come to choose based on fear.
“So you’re saying that writing a post is a series of choices,” I said. “And I can choose ti write with love or fear.”
“No,” God said. “I’m not saying that. You are saying it. But I could say it, because it’s true.”
I thought for a moment. Then, “I will use writing this post to teach me something,” I said.
“Good choice,” God said.
I thought back to what I’d written to this point, then went back and reread it. I made some edits and read it again. Several times. I revised it. Again, just now.
I thought about the process of writing.
I’d chosen to write.
I’d chosen to let the writing flow, not forcing it. Letting it come from wherever it comes from.
I’d chosen to have God appear in my posts. Or whatever it was that called itself God.
“That would be Me,” said God. “God,” said God.
God looked at me. “Why are you writing this? Why are you writing at all? “Think!” God said.
I thought.
“Love,” I said. “Love is the answer. I love to write. And whatever you are, I love writing these dialogs with you. I love the people who I imagine reading what I write—and the ones who don’t. Writing fills me with love.”
“What about fear?” God asked.
“I fear judgment, and when I feel the fear, I avoid writing. I fear misunderstanding, and when I fear misunderstanding, I avoid writing.”
The point of this post is love, I decided. The point of this blog is love, I decided.
“And the purpose of your life?” God asked.
“Love?”
“You choose,” God said.
“Love, or fear. Those are your choices.”