the writings of richard dawkins
the green mountains
the angel took Elijah to the mountain. There was thunder, but god was not in the thunder. After the thunder, there was a great wind, but god was not in the wind. After the wind, there was an earthquake, but god was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake, there was silence. God was in that small voice.
My summer camp was hit hard by the hurricane.
Nobody was injured, but the roads leading to it and many of the structures were destroyed.
I found god at summer camp as a child.
I found god in my legs and arms, in the Woodward Reservoir,
in hiking boots,
in fresh milk.
We had Silent Meeting every day. All of us sat in silence together, finding the light inside of our skin.
I found god in the concentric circles we formed.
It is more likely that I'll be struck by lightening than killed in a terrorist attach or tornado, but
it is these days that I go looking for silence.
Today, I found two other people from summer camp. We sat in the greenest part of Brooklyn and watched god in the softball games and strollers. We sat and watched the tree branches curve. We sat and held light in our skin once again. We sat, we spoke.
Susan Webb, co-founder of my summer camp, died at 103 on Thursday. We spoke of her and a bird landed in the middle of our circle. It moved like it was dancing to club music.
there is light within all of us.
Today I believe in god.