For a time, I called my God She.
It was my way of tipping the scales back toward wholeness after centuries of only He. It was a balm, a rebalancing, a way to bring the Sacred Feminine back into the conversation. And it worked — for a while.
But even She is too small.
I no longer need the word “God.” Not She, not He, not even Goddess. The language helped me heal, but the truth is larger than any name.
What I know now is this: there is a vastness, a luminous current, moving through everything that has ever lived and ever will. It is the breath in the whales, the pulse in the trees, the shimmer in the wings of a dragonfly. It is in the still stone, the rushing river, the newborn cry, and the silence before dawn.
It is the 9th chakra — the seat of the soul — the infinite field that holds us all. Human and hummingbird. Ocean and oak tree. Mountain and moonlight. Each of us a shimmering drop in the same endless tide.
It has no edges. No beginning, no end.
I have felt it cradle me when I could not stand. I have heard it in the spaces between words. I have seen it blaze in the eyes of strangers.
It is not outside me, and I am not outside it. We are the same tide, the same spark, the same infinite field.
Call it what you will, or do not call it anything at all.
It does not need a name to be what it is.
My God both transcends anything I could conceive and lives inside of everything I know and do and am. ~Mirabai Starr
And neither do we.
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