You Are God!

By David Todd Singleton

You Are God is an epic story about who we really are. It not only explains every mystery of the known world, but brings the reader to their 'own' realization that they themselves are - indeed - God! And through this awakening into their natural divinity, their own truth is revealed. For, the only way 'one' ever knows what is true for them, is when it gives them a feeling of relief. Let the relief begin and the light shine in.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257263929

Book preview

978-0-6151-8425-8

YOU ARE GOD

an epic story

by

david todd singleton

I remember my very first recollections of organized religion as rather – through a fine haze, as if peering through a finely meshed – thinly woven fabric – much like the ones placed over movie cameras to create that 'dreamy effect'. I was three years old, I think, and so being – very small in a very grown up world of adult sized rooms. I have a faint memory of such cognitive things as the smell of old paint on the even older walls; the dust on various cabinets (at my level); the cold metal and rough wood of the chairs in my Sunday School Class – (my mother was a teacher herself back then); and, the distant sound of constant activity going on just outside the musty smelling classroom. In other words, I wasn't paying much attention. Of course, at three years of age, the attention span isn't that long and I was definitely no exception to the rule. I don't recall much of my experience of going to the 'big' sanctuary for the main service with the adults. I do, however, remember that on more than one occasion, we would walk down those long front steps of the church and return home to my more permissive world of toys and games. It seemed as if all the other children in my class that were my age (or thereabouts), related more to the seriousness of the ritual called Sunday School. It seemed that their parents had invoked in them a sort of fear and discipline that pervaded and superceded their every rebellious thought. You could almost see an inner mechanism trigger in their mind as they would recall their parents words of admonishment for behavioral past transgressions. Upon reflection, my brothers and sisters and I must have been given somewhat of the same speech considering our behavior and the fact that there were six of us. After all, we could be very unruly. Whatever the case, that is about all I can recall of my very first experiences with organized religion. My mother separated from my father when I was four and moved herself and her six children far away from Michigan (my birthplace) to Florida, where my next reintroduction to organized religion would occur through a next door neighbor named Elsie Jones. Elsie was one of those Southern Baptist women who usually go unnoticed and unheralded in works of fiction and other factions of society that depict the norm/or stereotypical southern religious woman. For that, she wasn't. For beginners, she wasn't wealthy. Nor, did she dress in fancy frilly clothes often identified with the deep religious South. Nor did she live in a stately southern mansion. No, quite the contrary. She and her husband, Lou, lived in a house built in the 1950's sometime and it was the epitome of lower middle class. A living room, dining room, kitchen, three bedrooms, and Florida Room – much like the North's family rooms. For me, the most memorable room in the house was a small office/storage room that she had converted into a music room. This was where the magic happened for me. Elsie had this old piano that had – at some time in its' past – been spray painted white. I can remember vividly that whom ever had done the spraying, had not done a very good job as you could see right through to the original finish below, thus making it (at least to me) like it was clouds painted on it. You know this was well before we knew of anything about faux painting treatments. So, to me is was cool. It gave the piano a surreal quality. Everything about this room was magical to me. Looking back on it all now, it is not surprising that it held this fascination for me. For, back then, money was very tight and Mama couldn't afford such things as pianos – let alone – 'dreamy cloudy pianos'. In fact, as I can closely recall, the very first musical instrument we owned was an organ called a Piper Organ. Remember? Those were the ones back in the early 70's when you would walk through the mall you would hear playing. Some of them would even play themselves back then if you pushed the 'demo' button.

Anyway, Elsie had this old spinning stool that you sat on whenever you played her piano that – though frowned upon – provided me with hours of entertainment as I would whirl myself all the way down to the lowest position and all the way back up again – over and over. You know? Just like a kid. If you have never had the opportunity to sit on one of these stools I definitely suggest that you do – and soon. The room itself was only probably eight feet by seven feet and – even at my young age – seemed small and dark. There was a light switch by the door as you walked in that would illuminate the only light in the room that came from an old ornate fixture mounted in the center of the ceiling. On the wall opposite the piano were two filing cabinets heavily burdened down with stacks and stacks of music books of all sorts and styles – but mostly, religious. In fact, the entire room was filled to the ceiling with sheet music. I mean, it had literally created a small path from the door leading into the room – to the piano. You could barely move your arms to turn the pages. But, I loved it. You see, when my own crowded life at home with five older brothers and sisters became overwhelming and depressing, it was here that I could go to shrink from the blandness of mediocrity and enter the world of dreams. And for me, music was the stuff of my dreams.

Some days and even nights – provided it wasn't too late – I could walk outside the back door of our house that sat perpendicular to Elsie's and hear her playing some haunting piece of church music. After all, she had to practice. She was the church organist. But, you could tell that she loved it like me. At the back of Elsie's house was the outside wall of the music room that held a separate door leading to the outside. The room's clutter, created by years and years of storage, made this door to the outside inaccessible. On those long hot humid nights of restlessness, I would run across the short expanse of lawn separating our two houses and knock – ever so gently as to notstartle her – at the small panes of 'jalousie' windows that ran the length of the door. Elsie would stop playing and come over and look out and would – recognizing me – wave me around to the side door to let me in; sometimes for cookies and punch; sometimes to talk about Jesus and play music; and, sometimes for all of the above. That was the best.

I grew to love Elsie like my own mother. Don't get me wrong. There was nothing really lacking in the relationship I had with my own mother. In fact, she was and still is a very good friend. I'm sure it had more to do with having five brothers and sisters and the constant clamoring for attention which seemed so futile at times that fueled my periodic departures from one 'house' to another. And Elsie, never being able to have children of her own – for reasons I'm still not completely aware of to this day – created me to be her child; to love and share herself and her life with. In fact, on occasion she would tell people that I was her own. Now, I know these days that sounds scary. But, it wasn't then. Regardless, I didn't mind. I felt loved and special. The love that Jesus spoke about in the Bible; the love that He had for his disciples and others; this was the exact kind of love being shown to me by Elsie. And, I recognized it as such; then and now.

I began attending Elsie's church where she and her husband went. She was the organist. It was known as Southside Baptist Church and it was just at the end of our little white sandy road – only some 53 long legged paces from my front door. That's how I gauged it anyways. It was there at the tender age of 10 that I began to learn about the Bible and Jesus and what He was trying to teach us. I got involved in Vacation Bible School too. And, before you knew it, the summer would have flown by and I would unfortunately have to leave my time with Elsie and return to school. For many reasons I will discuss later, I hated school. However, there was always going home to look forward to and my cloud's 'silver lining' – Elsie. Would she be there? Was it a church night? It was all I could think about. I was a lonely boy.

There is so much more about those times and my family and life that I have purposely left out. For, there is only room for so many issues and events, which could if discussed here, only provide a closer understanding of my life from a biographical standpoint. And that is not my purpose. I merely wish to reveal to you the reader some of the more powerful events and experiences that shaped my later spiritual understanding and served as the basis for what was ahead.

I have continued to think of Elsie ever since my family moved from Florida some 15 years ago. I have even visited her on those occasions when I was back seeing old friends and touring my old stomping grounds. Though I no longer believe as Elsie does, she still comes to mind when I consider what this 'Jesus' had in mind for all of us. For, as far as organized religion goes, Elsie is one of those rare individuals who practices what they preach with passion and sincerity. I felt it was important to mention her and by doing so, honor her. She was, in a way, the beginning for me in my journey in spiritual matters. And, I love her. Thank you Elsie.

When I reached the age of 12, my mother – having remarried – moved once again to Corvallis, Oregon. Sadly, I said goodbye to Elsie and all my friends and headed into the great unknown. What Elsie had been instrumental in helping me learn about God had gone with me and would only serve as the mere foundation to a long journey to the ultimate truth. That is, the final realization that God is not only something or somewhere out 'there' – but, rather within each of us as well. Not until some 15 years later however, would these truths and spiritual insights be completely understood.

♦  ♦  ♦           ♦  ♦  ♦

CHAPTER TWO

The Great Northwest with its' majestic mountains and towering trees became a very powerful and magnetic place to begin this journey to forever; something I wouldn't fully recognize and appreciate until years later.

As soon as my mother and new step father found a place they were happy with and my sister Clarisse and I had gotten situated in school, we found our church. When Sunday came, we each routinely went through our pre-church rituals like, taking showers and picking out our clothes. For me, it was always a real labor of love. For, it was the only time I had to wear these shoes that were like orthopedic or something. I always had a real hard time finding shoes for myself because my feet were so big. So, when we actually found one that my feet could at least fit into, we bought em. Ouch. And I never had to wear them anywhere else but church. You know how that was right? I called them my 'Early Depression' shoes. You could have easily walked from there to Russia and back and these shoes would've still had at least an inch and a half of sole left. And, I don't mean 'soul'. Anyway, upon arriving at the church – we were warmly received as expected. At the end of the service where new members are formally greeted by the congregation, my new stepfather stepped forward and asked to transfer our letter of membership from our church in Florida to this church. For those of you who are not familiar with this practice, it is very simple. It just means that we were expressing our desire to start coming to their church. That's all. After this very embarrassing process, we were asked to stand in a procession of sorts so that those who wanted to, could come up and make their introductions. That was when I met the Vanderbilt family.

There was the father – Frederick, or rather, Mr. Vanderbilt to me – who was a very successful orthopedic surgeon in town with more money than God. His wife's name was Marguerite. She was a very 'meek' lady. Last, but not least, there were their 3 children; Mich, Andrew, and Lizzy. Ironically, and much later down the road, I would end up marrying this Lizzy.

In the meantime, the major induction to my new home and town would begin. School was terrible. When I had arrived here, I was so prideful about how well I had done academically in Florida that I feigned to know more than I actually did so that I would appear smarter and be placed in the more advanced classes where these Vanderbilt children were. This led to me pulling many 'all-nighters' in my struggle to keep up and save face. It is amazing what I have done in my life for the sake of pride or 'saving face'. Pride – what a terrible thing.

The next Sunday after church, Lizzy invited me to come to her house after church for lunch. I think I refused for a very long time – feeling instinctively or something that she had some hidden agenda for me that I was not aware of. She was the kind of person you weren't sure wouldn't just tie you up once you were caught alone. I could tell she had 'the hots' for me. That much was evident. At any rate, I felt uncomfortable. But, in a persistent 'I get my own way' style that would become her trademark – I yielded to her wishes that bordered on demands. By the time lunch was over, I was glad that I had. Lizzy and her family lived in what most of us would never have even thought possible for a house. It had 12 sides to it. All of them – glass. It sat on the top of this mountain known as, Martha's Peak. They had everything; horses, an indoor swimming pool, all the electronic play toys and state of the art gizmos and gadgets one could ever want for, and well – everything. We had a lot of fun back then. Needless to say, I was a little overwhelmed by it all. But I quickly caught on. In the middle and at the core of all of their daily activity though, was a strong religious undertone, and God. Marguerite, the mother, was – and I'm sure is to this day – one of the meekest and most loving people I have ever had the privilege of knowing. She had a gentle soothing way with everyone and everything that emanated from her strong spiritual relationship with God – whom she placed above all else – including her husband. One day, this would be her family's undoing. But, that's another story altogether.

I began to get very involved again in my new church and it seemed the more I sank my heart into it – the more I received love and satisfaction from everything in my life. Even my schoolwork improved. I was back on top. I began to sing in the choir and write songs for the Lord and even witness as far away as San Francisco, CA. It's funny how life revolves sometimes. For, San Francisco would come to serve as an education in many things including sexuality for me – or, at least, a display of the wide difference in preferences. All I can say is, I learned more about the real world there then I ended up sharing about the Lord. It rocked the existing ideas I had about my world and God and the differences therein. What I would later learn about that last statement, is that there is no difference. Everything that we do is spiritual and everything and everyone is God. But, let me not put the cart before the horse as the saying goes.

For certain purposes, I must tell you that I am a singer/songwriter and pianist by trade and profession. I am not so shameful as to use this book as a 'plug' to boost my musical career. It is only pertinent and necessary in mentioning as – because of this love for music – I became very involved in musical groups and the like – both in and out of the church. Upon graduating from my intermediate school – barely – and entering my first year of high school – I was introduced to the musical director; Berry Jordan. We called him BJ. At the tail end of my middle school experience I had gained quite a reputation for playing the piano for the various groups and singing. Word got out to BJ and he immediately incorporated