What I saw stretched beyond anything I could see or experience, but was also in everything I could see and experience.

It saw me and knew me for exactly what I was.

“Who are you?” I whisper.

I can hear it answer back. Its reply is soft and feminine. Motherlike.

Who do you think I am?

It’s voiced inside me, something I feel within me—at the center of me. It’s nothing I can perceive with any of my senses, but a voice that I feel with all of my senses. I can hear it, but also smell its deep, earthy and woodsy scent. I can taste it on the tip of my tongue—smokey, sharp, and sweet. I can feel it gliding softly over my skin—the small hairs on my arm, standing on end, goosebumped.

But then, I could feel it elsewhere, a gentle tug at my heart from the gravitational pull of whatever this was. I was aware of my thoughts, but I could feel, through this nudging, being pulled towards something greater. It was full of peace and contentment and compassion and wisdom and larger than all that was joy. It was here, with me, engaging in this playful dance with my heart that was intoxicating.

Larger than all of that though was what connected all of these elements—not feelings; something greater than anything you’d ascribe a sense of feeling to—was love. The radiance of love that it contained within this presence was brighter than the Sun and as it washed over me, I felt a stirring within my center and saw how small my own sense of love had become.

The presence breathed in love and breathed out love.

Was this God?

Even as this thought became manifest, I knew the answer. This was beyond our primitive understanding of God. My anger and rebellion from all those years—only intensified when Veronica died—was directed only towards the idea of who, or rather what God was. An idea that was held captive by religion, government, culture, and a worldview that was founded on white and Eurocentric principles.

Within this presence were all the answers that I had ever looked for or, in the absence of answers, was this sense that everything was going to be okay.

This was a presence that had always been there. Either exploding into being at the beginning of time or as something that had existed before the constraints of time.

If this was God, then why did he only start to say something after 13.7 billion years?

In this space beyond, I could see the answer. It stretches before me across the millennia: control.

Man (or woman) touches the divine and as their story gets told, someone sees an opportunity for power and organizes a religion around it. You can do this, but you can’t do that. You should pray to this, but don’t pray to that. You should offer this, but don’t offer that.

Then, many years later, a woman touches the divine and goes back to their encampment with a story. Their story gets inscribed on a rock—a little picturesque cave painting of a human looking at the stars—and someone, a man, sees an opportunity for power, and creates a set of rules and parameters for worship around that painting.

A story emerges of a woman who reaches for knowledge and offends a monotheistic God. God punishes the woman along with the man whom she had tricked into reaching for knowledge and a religion is born. One built on sin and shame.

Hundreds of years pass and another man emerges. He journeys into the desert and touches the divine. When he emerges, he challenges the patriarchy. He talks of love as if he is a being made up entirely of love. There is no shame. Everyone is welcomed.

And he is killed for it.

Even as he hangs from the cross, blood pouring from his many wounds, he loves.

From that, a new religion arises. One that slowly replaces the idea of love with one built on control and exclusivity. You can do this, but you can’t do that. That’s a small sin, that’s a big sin. Our religion is the best and the rest of you can go to Hell.

I laugh at the absurdity of it, because laying in this presence’s embrace, it seems so much simpler than all the anxiety my experience with organized religion had caused. This was what Eve had been seeking within the Tree of Knowledge. This was what the first conscious humans were chasing when they sought to touch the divine. They were seeking love and wanted to become one with it. And the stories that have emerged across cultures and religions were pushing people away from this pure sense of love. We would sooner kill a god than become him. If we can’t control god and shape it to our will, we will kill it, hide it and destroy its true message.

This presence was at the heart of the universe. Electromagnetic fields, matter, energy, organisms, ecosystems, force fields, nature and nurture, friendship and companionship, sexuality, the pushing and pulling of all of us against each other—the agitation of cultural and biological evolution and revolution—towards this greater sense of oneness and unification.

“Who are you?” I ask again.

I can hear it gently laughing at me. Seeking its sense of being was me feeding my own desire for control.

But then I hear it.

I am.

I am.

I am.

I am what you fear the most. I am you at your deepest. I am you at your hurt. I am you at your most bare. I am your deepest goodness. I am your deepest beauty. I am what you run away from. I am you. I am all of creation. I am every one and every thing. I am what can truly set you free.

It’s not much of an answer, so I try a different question. “What are you?”

I am.

I am.

I am.

I am everything and nothing. I am the ground upon which you lay. I am the ground you walk on. I am the air you breathe in. I am the oxygen in your body. I am the sound of the blood pumping through your ears. I am the light of the sun pouring through your eyelids. I am the song of the birds calling from the trees. I am every drop of water on every ocean, every river, every stream, every puddle. I am the ocean. I am the sun. I am the trees and the grass and the flowers. I am the moon. I am the stars. I am the galaxy. I am everything and nothing. I am the whole of existence.

The voice becomes quiet, repeating its mantra of I am, I am, I am. Over and over again.

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I am you at your highest.

I am your deepest love.

I am Love.

I am you.

I am you at your strongest.

I am you at your most vulnerable.

I am you at your most precious.

“Why am I here?” I ask. “What is my purpose?”

I can hear it echo back, Why are you here? What is your purpose?

And I can see within a flash of thought myself putting the muzzle of a gun to my head and pulling the trigger and the flame of my existence being snuffed out.

What would happen if you didn’t exist?

Just like that, I snap back within myself.

What would happen?

“Well, if I didn’t exist, I wouldn’t be in this mess,” I reply sarcastically. But I experience the reality of those words as I feel Eleanor’s presence above me and know that if I hadn’t existed she wouldn’t have either.

I can feel something beyond Eleanor and I know that it is Veronica.

Whenever she asked why I loved her, I always felt like I was grasping for answers. Depending on my mood, I could be glib by providing answers like, “Your butt” or “Your boobs” or answer more seriously by gazing intently into her eyes and saying something that was synonymous to the notion of “You complete me.” But the lack of conviction in those words or thoughts couldn’t hide the fact that Veronica was my North Star. She was what connected my heart to my head. She grounded me and provided my existence with a sharp focus and direction.

In the void that her lack of presence created, I was more aware of how it was her goodness, vulnerability and honesty, and her inner beauty that drew her to me. It went beyond the question of why I loved her. It was the same reason why this presence went beyond any description except for love. What I experienced with Veronica went beyond any sense of feeling or emotion. It wasn’t about the why, because it was Veronica’s gravitational pull that was pulling my love to her.

And within that microcosm of insight, I saw the times where I held onto my love and didn’t give it freely. Or those times where I thought I was giving it freely, but did what I could to maintain control over what I was giving with guilt and shame.

I could see myself, reaching behind my back, grabbing a fistfull of flesh and tearing it off. “Here, I guess you can have this,” I mumble begrudgingly as I extend my dripping offering of what I imperfectly defined as love to Veronica. Veronica would always look upon my offering with a questioning look upon her face. Not necessarily a “What is this?” look, but a “Why are you offering yourself this way? Why are you not willing to offer yourself fully and freely to me as I do to you?” Sometimes she would see beyond what I was trying to control and that questioning look would turn to sadness and her gravitational pull would disappear and we would drift apart for a while.

I was a pretty shitty husband.

I was a pretty shitty father too.

But you did your best with what you were given, the presence said, reverberating inside of me.

I laugh. “I guess that’s what they’ll put on my tombstone: ‘Here he lies. He did the best with what he had.’”

Even though it’s without form, I can see this loving presence cock it’s head to the side, asking for my questioning to go deeper. No, not to question, but to just be quiet and stop the cycle of control, shame and guilt and to just give in to who I am.

You are all that I see. I am all that I am. I see your beauty and your needs, your fear, your hungers, your joys, and all of it is me. I am your guide and your way. I am your truth and your beauty and your light. I love you and will never leave you. I am here for you always. You are my child. I am your light and your truth and your power. I am your safety and your beauty and your love. I am your beauty and your wonder. I am your love and your goodness. I am your courage. I am your love. I see you. I am you. I love you. I am with you always, if you will have me.

“Fine,” I whisper. I throw my arms wide to the radiant presence and open myself up as fully as I can.

I see you with my love.

I see you with my compassion.

I see you with my tenderness.

I see you with my faithfulness.

I see you with my mercy.

I see you with my goodness.

I see you with my light.

I see you with my strength.

I see you with my truth.

I see you with my beauty.

I see you.

I am what you choose not to believe, but know for certain: I am the love I carry for you. I am the love you have not yet been able to fold, but feel. I am the love you cannot see in yourself, but you can see in me. I am the love of all you have missed, and all you could not be. I am that love.

My heart cracks open as I let go, truly let go, of everything that I had retained control of.

All the years and experiences. The good and the bad. The times that I was too proud and the infinite more times where I felt shame. All the moments I hurt the people I loved. All the mistakes I made. Everything that kept me from loving who I was.

I am everything that is, that has been, and will be. I am that which has always been waiting for you. I am that which you have always been ready to love. I am that which is love. I am that which holds all love in my essence. I am what you desire. I am who you are. I am what you were born to be. I am the life that breathes with you. I am the life breathed with the ones you love. I am the life of your love, and the love of your life. I am you as you were, and as you are. I am the one who loves you. I am that which was always waiting for you. I am that which forever is. I am love. I am freedom. I am mercy.

I am all of what you feel is good.

I am everything you are.

I am you.

I am all of it.

I love you.

I am you.

I saw that everything I hated and feared were the same things that would make me feel more whole. I saw all the times where I tried to be worthy and deserving instead of letting people love me for just being. And I saw how I demanded the same worthiness and deservedness from others.

I need to stop this cycle of illusion.

I am who I am.

I am who I want to be.

I am what I want to be. An imperfect perfect being trying to be perfect.

I am everything I have.

This moment is love. I am love.

I am everything.

I am my mind. I am my body. I am the energy in my hands and my heart. I am every cell that ever existed. And I am the cosmos. I am life itself. I am every man and woman that ever lived, is living, and ever will live. I am my mother. I am my father. I am the whole universe.

I am. And I am eternal. I am infinite.

I am everywhere, everything, and everything is me. I am.

I am here now. I am who I am. I am life itself. I am alive. I am. I am all. I am love.

I am a star in the universe. I am a galaxy in an infinite universe. I am a planet that has life on it. I am life. I am love. I am love. I am love.

I am alive.

I am more than I am.

I am.

And in every moment that I feel like I don’t want to be here, I choose to be here. I am who I am and that is my path. I am what I want to be. I am the mind of God in the now.

And in every moment that I feel like I’m alone in this world, I choose to be here. I choose to do this work. I am who I am and that is my path. I am what I want to be. I am the mind of God in the now.

And in every moment that I feel like I am living a nightmare, I choose to be here.

And in every moment that I feel like I can’t, I choose to be here.

And in every moment that I feel like I am not good enough, I choose to be here.

And in every moment I feel like I have wasted my life, I choose to be here.

And in every movement I feel like I have to do this work—this work of being and existing and being a father to Eleanor—I choose to be here. I choose to do this work. I am who I am and that is my path. I am what I want to be. I am what I choose to be. I am the mind of God in the now.

I can see Veronica reaching out to me, her hand outstretched. She is smiling, welcoming me to her as our consciousness and unconsciousness are drawn closer together.

I close my eyes.

Palms meet.

Fingers grasp.

Electricity.

And I am lost in the wake of her love.