Where is god? Unanswerable. First breath of the universe; ancient sacred texts containing both breath and primordial waters; Turner’s ‘the sun is god’; a weeping eye in a waterfall; a butterfly under the surface of a river; a circle of standing stones; the tide pulling in and out, sucking stones; a memory palace; a grandmother’s voice patterning through raindrops on wild garlic; the ley line meeting place at Castle Beach, at ancient Glasney. Where is god? The old god – omnipotent, omnibenevolent, omniscient – is dead. How might we build a new dwelling place for the gods now? In land, in bellies and hearts, in process, in attention. How can we hold a sense of the sacred when all is profaned, bureaucratic, polluted? I walk in the woods every day and ask the gods to walk with me. Sometimes they do, I think.
