Beloved, the Forgotten.

Where have you gone?

Why have you gone from me?

You used to marvel at the stories of me. I smile, remembering, as you learned from those who came before you. I was like a beloved relative then, watching your success from a distance, smiling as you grew, and sharing your sadness when things couldn't go your way. I'd help you where I could, and give you advice when you needed it.

But soon, you drifted away. You only call in times of need, and I provide what I can for you, but it isn't enough. You call, and though I stand right here, arms wide and welcoming, you don't see me. You can't, because now you looked with your head and not your heart. I remember the day you turned away from me, and how saddened I was at your loss. You didn't feel the same. You already believed me a fairytale.

Now, you are fully grown. I still watch over you, keeping you safe and helping you where I can, but you still do not see me. You do not acknowledge me, except to hollowly teach your children about me in a pale comparison to how you were taught. Or, worse yet, to argue over which version of me is the True One.

Do you not see?

Do none of you see?

All of them are me, my many faces and bodies help keep you close to me. They should not tear you from each other in the process. I should not cause you so much strife. But, your prophets' words are being distorted, and not all the hearts of my children are pure.

Most do not seek to understand me anymore, but take for granted what has been learned by others in centuries past. Some spout hate and violence against those who are different, because they cannot see the tears I shed as rain. Some believe the words of clergy, but only if they do not need to change their opinions to agree. Some pretend to see me on Holy days, but ignore me all the rest.

Some wage war on their neighbours over lands they call home, places long destroyed, and ideologies that should work together, if you would but exclude me from the arguments.

Have you all forgotten that your only real home is with me? That all physical places exist within me? That all ideas are sent to you from me?'


Have you so abandoned me, that you've forgotten what Love is?

For the Love I still bear for you, please do not let me be forgotten.

I am not hard to find. Look for me in the rustle of the trees. In the beauty of stained glass. In songs and hymns. I can be found in meditation, fasting, or the beauty of a sunset., Find me during sex, the birth of your first child, or at funeral. Look for me with your heart and you will see me everywhere. Perhaps then, you will know Unconditional Love again.

No, I do not believe in God.

It's no secret that I am a Pagan. I chose to leave behind my Christo-Catholic heritage in my teens, in light of something that resonated with me much deeper. My paternal grandparents are deeply in denial. The rest of the family had their initial curiosity and misconceptions, but over all things went well. I was lucky.

While every Pagan is received differently, the number one most common question we get, right after the devil-worshiping accusations, is "So, you don't believe in God, then?"

For years, I said yes, and I honestly thought I did. Most pagans are fond of honouring the duality of Nature - A God, and a Goddess. I would explain my views, that God is only half of the equation, and most people would accept that answer, if not with a little confusion of why we need a Goddess as well.

But, I was almost a decade younger then. I still saw things shallowly. Academically and intellectually, I understood all the metaphors and symbolism. I understood the link between female and male energies to the elements. I understood that certain genders had domain over certain concepts, emotions, and facts of life. The Goddess is the Earth. The God is the Sun. We are their Children. Bla bla bla.

My problem with Christianity, and why I left Catholicism, was the requirement of Blind Belief. The idea that God was out there, always watching, always aware, but never in reach. We had to speak to Him through the priests or prayer, but only through a Priest would his answer be known clearly. Otherwise, we had to watch for signs of his blessing. As a child, I was deeply uncomfortable with the idea of God caring for me, but not wanting to speak to me himself to get to know me, and allow me to get to know Him. A few years after my conversion to Paganism, I felt those same feelings again. I was going through motions, and while my overall beliefs had shifted, my practice of them hadn't. God, and now the Goddess, was still untouchable.

Somehow, Truth and Belief failed to overlap.

"You just need to have Faith. You need to Believe."

That phrase annoys me to this day, even though I catch myself telling it to others on occasion. My mother and father both were very skeptical of religion, and as such, they were amongst the "If I can't see, feel, hear or taste it, it isn't there" crowd. That view clashed violently with my religious wants. The idea that deity was untouchable led to doubt that it was real. How can you believe without proof?

It wasn't until I graduated high school that I had my answer: No, I did not, in fact, believe in God.

Definitions of belief, according to the Oxford Dictionary:

• 1) An acceptance that something exists or is true, especially one without proof
• 2) Something one accepts as true or real; a firmly held opinion
• 3) (belief in) Trust, faith, or confidence in (someone or something)
• 4) A religious conviction

I hadn't yet mastered meditation, nor did I believe the contact I had experienced with my Deities was totally real and not just my imagination. I couldn't believe without proof. Besides, religion wasn't something I wanted to subscribe to post-Christianity. Part of why I left was the confinement and feeling of being boxed in, being told what I could and couldn't do. Having rules and restrictions. Religion, in my opinion, encompassed all those negative connotations. Yet, I was still following those old, ingrained, habits despite no longer identifying as Christian.

So, I studied more, and exposed myself to ideas outside of Pagan beliefs as well (Ideas borrowed from Buddhism, Hinduism, and even Judaism). I was determined not to exchange one cage for another. As I studied, my concept of deity shifted again. I began conversing with a small group of individuals with mixed theological ideas. Alongside my disbelief of Deity, I quickly discovered I was also non-religious. I had never been religious.

I began to identify as "spiritually eclectic", one who takes ideas and concepts from all paths, and combines them.Things that made sense and merged together were kept. Things that didn't work were tossed away. During the clean out, I again stumbled across my need for proof in Deity. I was much more adept at meditation now, and had met several of my chosen deities, along with spirit guides and other beings. Why couldn't I let go of this deep rooted need for something I could touch, something I could hold?

It's funny how the universe provides what we need when we need it. In this case, it was a meme that flashed across my Facebook newsfeed.

Alas, I had my first Oh-My-Gods-Bobbi-You-Are-An-Idiot!!! moment. The metaphors I learned so long ago suddenly had tangible depth, and were no longer just metaphors. The symbology was more real to me than anything I'd ever experienced in my life. I felt my communications with Deity significantly deeper. I knew. I had my truth, even though it had to slap me across my Facebook.

You're probably wondering now, do I finally believe in God, in Deity?

The answer is still no. Why? Because, as Terry Pratchett wrote in Witches Abroad, believing in the Gods would be like believing in the Postman.