Category: God

The eternal question

The Unanswerable Question That Haunts The God Seeker

It is interesting that the word quest, as in spiritual quest, so easily becomes the word question.

Questioning every aspect of life — from mundane matters to profound spiritual beliefs — is what keeps the human mind engaged.

And the question that transcends all questions, in my opinion, is and always will be: Is there God? Not a God, but God, purely and simply (although hardly simple), God.

Whether we admit it or not, that question, if not always in our cluttered minds, is certainly in our hearts.


The agnostic and to some extent the atheist will say the question is of zero interest to them. Their minds are made up — there is no God. But that kind of arrogance is as annoying as the crazed fervor of some evangelists.

The non- and never-believers want evidence that God exists. Faith isn’t enough for them.

But such evidence is currently, and possibly as impossibly unfathomable and unknowable as radio waves were to the cavemen of a million years ago. Yet radio waves and other “miracles” in the electromagnetic spectrum were in fact ultimately revealed over time — as unknown others may also be discovered in an impossible universe where, I suggest, anything is possible.


If there is God, then all is well with life — and death. But if there is no God we are all lost. Life, in the end — even though we may have had a “good life” — becomes an empty shell, a cosmic fraud, a godless dirty trick. If that is the case, for one thing, the main thing I would say, we will never be reunited or in communion in some unknown Godly and mystical way with our lost loved ones.

We will mourn them for the rest of our lives and stubbornly live in the hope and prayers we will be with them — again, in that unknown and unknowable way — but if that hope is false and all our prayers are based on a diabolical delusion inflicted upon us by a flawed theology and a Christian concept that is contradicted by history and science and common sense, then we are all doomed to oblivion and the nothingness that existed before we were born, when we knew nothing, experienced nothing, were aware of nothing because we didn’t exist and were in fact nonexistent.


Therefore, in order to survive the tragedies in life, one creates or at least imagines a spiritual place or space, a realm, a supernatural sphere, a dimension, and as-yet undiscovered wave-length within a universe of 200 billion galaxies — call it Heaven if you want — where one may, however remotely, but hope-beyond-hopefully, find the spirit, the soul if you will, of lost loved ones; because even if one doesn’t believe in God, one believed and continues to believe in our loved ones — whether they be wife, husband, soulmate, companion, child, sister, brother, best friend, whomever.

They were real. But now they are dead and no longer real, one can only hope that they are surreal and therefore spiritually communicable. But if that is not the reality, by which of course in this context I mean the surreality, then all is lost and emptiness and meaningless awaits us all.


The road to God becomes a road to hell

Let me tell you what happened on the road to God. 

I was a hitchhiker on the side of a dark highway, looking for the road to God, not even knowing if there was such a road — the desperation of the bereaved.

The truck was an oil tanker. My shadowy figure must have spooked the driver. He swerved violently, delivering me a glancing blow and sending me spinning across the shoulder of the road. The truck slammed into the concrete pilon of an overpass. The tanker exploded. It was an inferno. The driver was incinerated.

First responders described the scene as “sheer hell.”

I was taken to a local hospital, and from my hospital bed I watched the horror replayed on the eleven o’clock news.

The truck driver was a young man with a wife and three kids in Memphis. I am an old man who was selfishly searching for an unknown and probably nonexistent entity just so I could possibly be with my wife again.

The tragedy that befell the young truck driver and his family was so grotesquely unfair and unjust that I vowed never to venture on that road again.

I will be haunted by the guilt of his death until I die, but there is nothing I can do to change the tragedy of that night. All I can do now is give up my selfish, and let’s face it, pointless search for God.

Now I stay inside the hallowed confines of my bungalow on County Road 9. Hallowed because it contains the memory of my wife, the photos on the mantel, her dresses still hanging in the closet, her writing materials undisturbed on the desk, all of her belongings still intact. Nothing has been changed or removed.

This is where I will live out my days. This is my life. And this is my death.