# Come, Let Us Know God (Final Part) The quest to know God is the deepest yearning of the human spirit. It is not a question of intellect alone, nor of emotion alone, but of the totality of our being—body, mind, and soul in concert. When we speak of knowing God, we do not mean the kind of knowledge that comes from books or doctrines. That knowledge is borrowed; it sits on the surface of our consciousness like dew on a leaf, easily brushed away. True knowledge of God is an awakening—a sudden, overwhelming recognition that transforms the knower entirely. In the ancient traditions of our land, the seekers understood this well. They did not ask, "Does God exist?" as though God were some object to be proven or disproven. Instead, they asked, "Who am I?" For in the mirror of that question lies the face of the Divine. The Upanishads whisper this secret: *Tat tvam asi*—thou art that. Not metaphorically, not symbolically, but in the deepest ontological sense. The observer and the observed are one. The seeker and the sought are not separate. Yet how distant we have grown from this knowing! Our minds have become factories of concepts, grinding out definitions and doctrines, each more elaborate than the last. We have built temples and holy books, rituals and commandments, and in our fervor to approach God, we have created walls that keep us from drawing near. The very structures meant to house the infinite have become its prison. The paradox is this: God is not hidden. God is the most obvious reality, closer to us than our own breath. It is we who hide from God—not through any evil deed, but through our addiction to the unreal. We have mistaken the shadow for the substance, the reflection for the source. We believe the world of forms and objects to be primary, when in truth they are but ripples on the infinite ocean of Being. To know God, then, is to renounce this fundamental delusion. It is not to renounce the world—the trees, the rivers, the faces of our beloved remain as beautiful as ever—but to see through the veil of separation that our minds have imposed upon them. When we look at a flower, truly look, without the interference of thought and memory, we see God. When we listen to a child's laughter with our whole being, we hear God. When we touch another person with genuine compassion, we feel God. This knowing is not distant. It does not require us to climb mountains or perform impossible austerities. It requires only one thing: the courage to be still. To cease the constant chatter of the mind. To let go of our desperate grasping for certainty and control. In that silence, God speaks—not in words, but in the language of Being itself. The great teachers have always pointed toward this simplicity, though their words were often cloaked in mystery. Buddha sat beneath the Bodhi tree and found enlightenment not through prayer but through profound stillness. Christ withdrew to the wilderness and returned renewed. The Sufi saints danced in ecstasy because they had glimpsed the unity underlying all existence. They were not mad; they had simply seen what the world, in its reasonable sanity, refuses to acknowledge. What prevents us from this knowing? Not lack of intelligence, but excess of it. Not sinfulness, but the very human tendency to complicate what is simple. We are like someone searching frantically for their glasses while wearing them. We are like a fish asking, "Where is the water?" The path, then, is one of unlearning. We must unlearn the habit of separating ourselves from the world through constant judgment. We must unlearn the fear that if we stop controlling, we will be lost. We must unlearn the belief that God is somewhere else, waiting for us to become worthy enough to receive Him. Begin, then, where you are. In this very moment. Look around you. Everything you perceive—the light filtering through the window, the texture of what you touch, the space in which you breathe—all of this is the manifestation of God. Not symbolically. Not as a poetic fancy. But as the literal, undeniable reality of existence. And look within. What is the "I" that witnesses all this? Not the ego, which is constantly defending itself, judging, comparing. But the pure witnessing consciousness that is aware of even the ego. That consciousness, unchanging and eternal, that is your true nature. That is God knowing itself through you. This knowing transforms everything. It does not make you a different person—you still have your likes and dislikes, your strengths and weaknesses. But you are no longer imprisoned by them. You are like an actor who knows he is acting; the role continues, but it no longer binds him. In this knowing, love spontaneously arises. Not the love of attachment, which clings and possesses. But the love that flows from recognizing yourself in all beings. The Bhagavad Gita calls this *bhakti*—devotion—and it is not sentimental or weak, but the most powerful force in existence. It is the natural expression of a consciousness that has seen through the illusion of separation. So come. Not tomorrow, when you are older or wiser or more prepared. Not in some distant place of pilgrimage. But here, now, in this very breath. The Divine is not waiting for you somewhere else. It is waiting for you to stop waiting. It is waiting for you to recognize what has always been true: that you are, and in that being, God knows itself. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. But the knowing of God begins with the recognition that you have never actually gone anywhere. You are home. You have always been home. The search itself was the only distance. Open your eyes—not the eyes of flesh, but the eyes of the spirit—and see. God is here. God is now. God is you, looking at God, wondering where God has gone. Come, then. Let us know. Let us awaken to what we have always been.

God is without a second; He is non-dual. There is no one equal to Him, no one second to Him. He permeates every atom and molecule of the universe. Therefore, there is no room for any other to permeate the universe as He does. You have learned that when two circles occupy different amounts of space, one must be larger and one smaller; but if those two circles occupy equal space, then they become one and identical. If another were to permeate every part of the infinite universe except for a single atom, then that one would be lesser than our God, for our God permeates every atom of the universe without exception.

And none can permeate the world more than He does, for He permeates the infinite universe through infinite time—there is no place where He is not, no moment when He was not or is not or shall not be. We have already said: He exists, therefore space exists. He is the creator of this infinite space. This infinite space is one; it has no second. Though we may imagine space divided into fragments or regions, space itself remains one. Therefore the creator of that space—in whose sight that vast space exists—He too is necessarily non-dual. Just as heat or electrical force permeates all things, so we gain some glimpse of how God permeates the universe.

As God is non-dual in space, so too is He non-dual in time. This supreme Being can endure through beginningless, endless time; there is no room for any other to exist in such a way. If another were to permeate every moment of infinite time save one, then that one would be lesser than God, for God exists without omitting a single moment of time. Therefore, none can encompass time more fully than He does. He exists, therefore time exists. He is the creator of this infinite time. Though we may imagine time divided into fragments, or divide it into hours and days, time itself remains one. Therefore the creator of that time—in whose sight that vast expanse of time exists—He too is necessarily non-dual.

The Supreme God knows every atom in all space and every event in every moment of all time. Since space and time are non-dual, God is non-dual in knowledge as well. Since He is the creator of space and time, it cannot be said that any portion of space and time can exceed His knowledge. When nothing can exceed His knowledge, then there is nothing beyond Him left to know. If there were something beyond His knowledge, that something would remain outside His awareness—but this is utterly impossible.

God is non-dual in bliss as well; He is bliss itself. In Him there cannot exist even the smallest trace of sorrow. Our joy is hindered only because of the limitations we have created for ourselves. But since God is infinite, and in infinity there is no possibility of any limitation whatsoever, there is no possibility of sorrow entering Him. He is the indivisible, immense embodiment of eternal bliss.

God is unique even in tranquility. When He is unique in bliss, when there is not the slightest possibility of joylessness entering into that, then there is no reason for disturbance to arise either. When joylessness comes, disturbance can follow; when disturbance comes, joylessness can follow. He is peaceful—His ocean of peace runs very deep.

God is infinite, and therefore unique. If there were a second to Him, He would be limited—that second being would itself become His boundary—and thus He could not be infinite and unique.

Because God is infinite and unique, He is incomparable. Whether He can have an image or form has been much debated, and will be debated much in the future as well. There is no need for us to enter into those disputes, but let us grasp what simple wisdom can teach us. If God is infinite and unique, then what thing shall we call His image? Whatever we call an image must itself be finite; it cannot possibly be infinite. How then can we call such a finite thing the image of that infinite being?

If He cannot have an image, then no human being or anything else can be His complete incarnation. For anyone to be a complete incarnation, he would have to be infinite; but all things in the world, all creatures and all beings are finite. The ancient sages have stated this clearly: He has no image—na tasya pratima asti.

Now the question arises: because He has no image, can we not worship Him? Not so. The glory that is spread throughout nature, the wonderful things about God that the ancient sages and devoted people have spoken—through that glory and the words of the sages, we can worship Him and make our lives meaningful. The true philosophy of idol worship is to awaken consciousness within the finite image by establishing within it some attribute or quality of the infinite, thereby walking the path toward the infinite. Not everyone finds it easy to plunge directly into the infinite all at once; therefore, awakening one's consciousness through the image is absolutely necessary.

How shall we worship God? Do not be afraid. He is our father, our mother, our friend—He is everything to us; He is with you at every moment. Know that in every instant, in every event of life, in all places, in all conditions, He is with you. If you see Him in your heart, knowing Him as your companion in life, and perform all actions with that knowledge, you will see that all your sorrow, poverty, suffering, and joylessness will vanish away.

The mind resists stillness. It wishes to write on. Can discourse on God—He who dwells in the depths of one's own heart—ever truly end? Regarding this God: as much as one contemplates, so much one gains. If we cannot feel Him in the soul, if we cannot awaken ourselves in divine consciousness, then whatever we do, however much we achieve, will seem hollow. Before death arrives, therefore, we must surrender ourselves at God's feet and walk the path of peace. The sooner one embarks on this journey, the sooner one's life becomes suffused with joy. Surrender to God, immersion in the immortal.