Let your god radiate out from within you

A whistle. That's all it was. A cheap, plastic, orange and white whistle.

Some people worship Jesus, some Buddha, some people wait their whole lives for a god to bless them as they fall to their knees, awed and diminished by the glory. And so god bless, the whistle that can bring me to my knees, overcome by the simple glory of humanity.

I have a cigar box that accompanies me while I travel. In it are a few simple things: two letters, a homemade good-luck shooting star, a bird my dad carved, shells and other things. It does not have much retail value, but to me, it carries reminders of what I hold dear. It is like those cheesy tv commercials: gas $30, ice cream $5, spending time with my children: priceless. 


Nine-year-old Fernando wandered into my room last night. His sticky curious fingers asked about everything in sight. Eventually his nimble hands made their way to the cigar box. I patiently shared and explained each thing in there. He sort of laughed at me. I didn't think he understood at all. I was expecting some compassionate, "awh, thats so sweet," but instead all I got was a mocking laugh from the nine-year-old. 



So this morning, when I came back to my room after a full day, and feeling quite homesick, I was overcome by finding a cheap, plastic, orange and white whistle on top of the pile of letters, on top of the shell, encased in the US Bond cigar box.


And there you have it. Fernando and his whistle represent the only religion I worship. For what else do we have but what is inside of us. That drop of sugary sweet nectar we carry. The ancient blood of something wise and instinctive. Some far distant god, who only speaks through an ancient book, will never tell me as much as that whistle.

Let your god radiate out from within you.



For I may bow to the Buddha statue, I may kneel and pray during Christian mass, and I may cross my hands and lower my head at dinner. But what I am really bowing to is the god inside of us.