Tinkerbell: What is God?
It seems that in my cyber sojourn I have discovered a princess who lives in a far off land with her delightful children. She goes by the name of Tinkerbell reflecting a fairy like quality, though her muse is more that of a sweet siren singing, enchanting all whom pass her way. How I wonder it might be to know her as more than a brief warm wind blowing past my brow; how indeed, to know her kiss, her love, even if her heart belongs to another.
Ah, why do I bother pondering thus? Is it because my heart has an empty space and seeks love? Is it because though I have ventured far I have not the blessings this wonderful woman reflects in her every breath? Though I may love I am without a wife and without children of my own creation. It is so clear to see that what I am missing is the treasure that is this woman's very life.
She is most fortunate to be so blessed and to also be aware of her good fortune. One might live a thousand lives and never be so blessed. Yet something seems missing from her life, from her soul. I wonder what it is? Does she know? Is it an awareness of that most profound and filling of loves? She seems in her own way lost and searching. Or maybe I am wrong for all I know is what she relates and much of who we are cannot be put so easily into words. I think that is why she relates to pictures, to photographs of her children playing and delicious meals set out, captured with a click of the camera before the first bite has been taken. Pictures are able to capture what we struggle to relate with words. It is only through the combination of pictures and words that a true reflection of our experience may be made. But as an artist and naturalist I know that even this does not do justice to one's inner soul, for through a deep awareness of nature and self as reflected in art, poetry, music or other forms of creative expression, one is then able to relate what the camera cannot even capture, for our inner self is ethereal.
Who is this woman who calls herself Tinkerbell? Perhaps what she is missing is God -- the awareness that God is love as expressed in all our being, that we shine as a light, that we each are beautiful and that it is God's light that shines through us, through our creative selves and the art we make with our lives. This is why she writes and expresses herself so eloquently. Her art is her muse, is her love, is the expression of God pouring forth. Does she even know this? Does she also sing and dance? And how, I wonder, does she make love?
Please do not be offended that I should ponder thus. When one who loves sees a beautiful woman it is natural to wonder how she loves -- how it would feel to know her love? Certainly Tinkerbell expresses her love in every breath she takes, in every song she sings. Thus it is natural I should tune in on the love pouring forth upon paper writ and pages stacked, sent out unto virtual reality like a message in a bottle thrown out to sea for someone to hopefully find. Well, I found Tinkerbell's messages and they touched my heart. How can I say, "I Love You," from afar to someone I know not? What difference would it make, for love given and not returned is love lost, waisted, leaving more emptiness of heart. An empty heart only longs more for that love not found.
The strange thing is that I was not looking for love when I stumbled upon Tinkerbell. I was just wondering through cyber space as one might walk along a trail or through a forest. Then I found this girl who is fairy like yet certainly not a fairy. She is real and yet so far away and wrapped up in her own life experience that she might as well exist in another life time. Why does this happen to me that I am able to see and come to feel love for a woman so distant, for someone who does not even know I exist? Is this not madness?
It is quite insane, indeed, to let my heart be moved by the muse of a woman from Malaysia living in Australia with her two children. Yet I cannot read and come to know her thoughts, feelings and experiences without wishing that I was by her side, my feet print in the sand beside her's as we walk along the beach. And my mind speeds along to imagine our finding a solitary retreat among high dunes where we lay and make love, a forbidden touch, yet so wonderful in my dreams that I ponder if such fantasy might ever enter this Tinkerbell's mind?
When one finds a thing of beauty, as in opening a clam and discovering a perfect pearl, what does one do, throw it back out to sea and never speak of it, or take it for their own, adding it to a string to wear forever about one's neck next to the heart as a most treasured love? Should I apologize for seeing a beautiful woman who has undressed herself in public and, figuratively speaking, has walked naked, baring her soul to the world? Or should I acknowledge her beauty and the love she inspires through the revelation of her soul and being? Certainly I am not at fault for acknowledging the discovery of a beautiful woman and the love she inspires in my heart. Why for one to see beauty, to see a flower blossoming, to smell the sweet perfume of a tree exploding with inflorescence in spring and not acknowledge the sweet aroma, this would be to lie! I cannot lie, this woman who calls herself by a fairy's name is beautiful and evokes love. Certainly I am not the only one who sees this.
In her own muse Tinkerbell acknowledges others whom she admires. She seems to be doing the same thing I am doing, wondering through life, upon a journey, reflecting her experiences, expressing admiration for others she has come to know along the way. Through the miracle and magic of technology, this virtual reality that is the Internet, it has become possible for mortal souls to become aware of others whom they may never have known even existed. No doubt what I am experiencing, what Tinkerbell is experiencing, the encountering of people from afar whom evoke admiration and love, is becoming a more common experience. To acknowledge that experience is but to confess that we are warm, loving, caring people, that we have hearts and our hearts are open. How else should it be?
In pondering this muse please do misinterpret what I am saying. Do not conclude that I am without love. Certainly do not feel sorry for me. I have know deep and profound love and hope to know still greater love before I die. Through this present muse I am merely saying that there are beautiful people in the world and that this woman who calls herself Tinkerbell is one of them. I'd be honored should she ever become aware of me and have similar feelings of love or admiration. But should she not, still I admire one who reflects the warmth and beauty which radiates from her every literal smile!
Tinkerbell is truly a pearl, a heart of gold shining down under, bringing sun into the lives of everyone she touches. How could I not love such a woman, even though my love is from afar and imagined? What my heart feels is real, and though Tinkerbell may ponder the existence of God, I know God is love and that the love I feel is real. Maybe one day she will realize this and when her two beautiful children ask her, "What is God?," she will reply, "God is Love," as so many years ago my dear mother answered me when I made this inquiry. Then from afar I will have touched her life and she will have found the answer she has been seeking all this while, never dreaming it would come from another who has fallen in love with her from afar.
I am quite fortunate to have found a pearl, a princess, a woman who with every breath blows a kiss to the world. Imagine how the world might be if we each blew kisses to the world with every breath! This is a virtue, one I most admire and adore. I wonder if this woman who calls herself Tinkerbell knows she is blowing kisses to the world? How does she see herself in the mirror every morning? Why does she linger in bed without a lover? I'd die to know her passion. Yet all I can do is catch her kisses and blow one back. So Tinkerbell this is to say, "I Love You!" Keep blowing kisses and when your children ask about God, remember to tell them, "God is love!" They will never forget this bit of wisdom you share. Tell them anything else and it will be doubted and forgotten as so much sand fallen through tiny fingers and built into castles washed away by the incoming waves as children play.