It’s become a cultural staple, a media trope, this ball-cap business of loving God in a straight-to-hell kind of way.
Technically, I am not breathing. I am being breathed, 25,000 times daily. So it was said, God “breathed the breath of life into the man’s nostrils, and the man became a living person.”
Everything wears out—shirts, shoes, bodies, relationships and, OMG, even words. Words wear out when they’re overused, hacked and habitualized, when they become like tents with nobody in them. My sense is that “God” is on its last legs and “love” isn’t far behind.
We need to follow our enthusiasms, our in-god-ness. Whether it’s an enthusiasm for sex, travel, music or magic, follow that as far as it takes you. Eventually, every road returns us to ourselves.
Beauty is heedless. Do you think God is concerned with human affairs? Or the sun with what it illuminates?