Maybe it’s God, Maybe it’s Me?
The practice of Two-Way Prayer reminds me that Love is an innate part of each of us.
If I had to pin when I discovered an unfulfilled longing for God within me, I’d say mid 2016. I’d just started college, and was enamored with the “Law of Attraction”, which I learned about via a formerly vegan YouTuber. (Yes, that was my initiation into spiritual seeking.) Subsequently, I started practicing yoga; monitoring my thoughts for traces of negativity; looking earnestly for signs from ‘the universe’; sitting down cross-legged with my eyes closed; and experimenting with a variety of (mostly) New Age practices. I started and stopped believing a lot of things, reoriented my conception of religion and spirituality many times, and as I stand now, am still left with an unfulfilled longing for something that might be God.
In some traditions, like Sufism and certain forms of mysticism, longing is what this whole God thing is all about. Seeking union is what keeps us humble and devoted to our spiritual practices. Here’s Susan Cain on this point, from her book Bittersweet: How Sorrow and Longing Make us Whole:1
“Longing is what Sufism is all about … the whole practice is based on longing — longing for union, longing for God, longing for the Source. You meditate, practice loving-kindness, serve others, because you want to go home.”
In other words, those of Sufi teacher and author Llewelyn Vaughan-Lee: “Longing is different from craving; it’s the craving of the soul; you want to go home…we have lost touch with the potency of longing. Many people feel this pain of the heart and do not know its value; they do not know that it is their innermost connection to love…”
Reading other perspectives on this longing for divinity leads me to think that it’s supposed to be there, and I’m supposed to follow where it’s leading me. Longing is my gateway to connecting to love—it urges me to seek divinity in my daily life. It drives the humbling recognition that my little human mind and body don’t totally cut it; that there’s something else; something that grounds, steers, and propels me. Grazing that thing every once in a while is enough to satisfy me for a moment, and keep me on the path.
. . .
Each person needs something different to experience their conception of love, or God, or the Universe (etc.). There isn’t a prescription; here’s where I’ll sound New-Agey, because I do really think that experiencing divinity never comes from a one-size-fits-all approach. I’m skeptical of using an alternative medium to translate the divine; I’m more inclined to believe that while community-oriented spirituality or religion can be powerful for facilitating individual connection to the divine, the emphasis does ultimately lie in the individual’s connection. Being able to connect personally to what you claim to have faith in is what will yield authentic feelings of faith.
Most of the practices I’ve experimented with over the years haven’t stuck: they served me for a time, and kept me doggedly seeking something more. The practice that continues to make its way into my routine, however—and that has brought me the closest to something I don’t call God but do call love—is called “Two-Way Prayer.” In essence, it is the practice of writing to love and listening for love’s response, through your own hand.
I first heard about Two-Way Prayers a couple of years ago, from Elizabeth Gilbert (that delightful Eat, Pray, Love woman who now writes this Substack Letters From Love with Elizabeth Gilbert ). I wrote letters to and from love every morning for months, fell off the wagon, and then only gravitated to it when I was in great distress or need. But when I’m in distress isn’t only when I want to connect to love; having a regular practice, even in the midst of my regular moody life, always serves to take me deeper into trusting that love really is always here, within me. And so here I have been lately, writing to and from love every day again.
Two-Way Prayer stakes its origins in early Alcoholics Anonymous groups; over time, for a few reasons, it was removed from A.A. Literature.2 I’m not sure how many contemporary 12-step programs teach Two-Way Prayer, but I do know that some use this practice as part of their 11th step, which involves connecting with a higher power.
The purpose of Two-Way Prayer may be slightly different for everyone; however, the broad intention is for the individual to quiet themselves enough to sense the presence of love, and listen for its guidance. You can ask specific questions, or as Elizabeth Gilbert recommends, you can simply start the page with “Dear love, what would you have me know today?”, and go from there. The idea is to let your words flow; to engage in a dynamic back-and-forth conversation between you and the higher power you are invoking.
The point of the exercise is not to dwell too long in the questions of “What is this voice? Am I making it up? Is this just me talking to myself?” The point is to linger in the listening. Writing is a way to let your unconscious become conscious; it’s supposed to be imaginative, creative, and it may indeed feel like you are just talking to yourself. It doesn’t really matter if this advice is coming from love or from you; what matters is if it resonates; if it lands; if it feels like honest, kind guidance that could stand the test of your integrity. As I understand it anyways, Love (or God) is a part of you. Love is that thread of divinity that weaves through each one of us, and if you remain open and earnest, you can connect to its innate wisdom that lives within you.
Writing by hand is the easiest medium through which I can access what feels like love, although typing works too. Speaking aloud is a surefire way for me to get lost in the mud of my mind; rereading what I’ve written at the close of a practice is what allows me to contemplate if the wisdom on the page is total bullshit or actually has some worth.
Usually, I can tell if I’ve tapped into love’s guidance if I receive something that feels solid and true. It isn’t the kind of truth that my mind would be thrilled to learn is true, but the kind of truth that sits deep in my bones. What love comes to me with is rarely shocking, because the part of me that is always connected already knows what it will say.
When I consult love, it doesn’t coddle me. It doesn’t lay down platitudes to soothe my ego, nor does it pretend things are going well when I don’t believe that they are. Love doesn’t ask me to contemplate terrible things to “prepare” myself for what is coming, nor does it sweep me into fear. Love always approaches me with kindness and gentle conviction, and often, its guidance is very simple and repetitive. The voice of love reminds me, often, that the only place you have power is now, in this moment. It reminds me to not get lost in the mud.
Despite all of my attempts to shut myself off from it, or deny its real, endlessly forgiving presence within me, there is nothing I can do to make love go away.
. .
Two-Way Prayer has served as the most intimate, reliable way I’ve been able to connect to what feels like unconditional love within me. Even still, I’m not convinced that it’s really divinity that I’m connecting to. I’m not sure that it really matters.
I may never feel like I’ve satisfied my longing for divinity, and that’s ok. It doesn’t have to be my goal. Temporary glimpses of the divine—if that is indeed what I’m glimpsing—is enough to keep me coming back.
And so—
Remain earnest in your seeking, willing to pay close attention, and open to receiving guidance. May you all find ways to connect to that place of unconditional love within you.
Maggie
This quote is actually from Cain’s conversation with a Sufi man named Edward; I don’t know where he can be found.
My favorite of yours so far!
As usual your words resonate. Perhaps there is a commonality between being someone in the beginning of life, and being at the end of it.