Finding God in the Chaos

A Lesson in Spiritual Mastery

"Do" "Re" "Me" "So" "Doh" "So" "Doh" "So" "Doh Doh doh doh" "So"

I jolt awake from what had been, mercifully, a decent night's sleep. Rolling over, I squint at my phone: 6:21 AM.

STOMP. "Doh!" STOMP. "Me!" STOMP STOMP STOMP. "SO!" "LAH!" "RE!"

The novelty-sized keyboard, designed for children to step on, plays with particular enthusiasm this morning. I'd chosen the basement bedroom specifically to avoid early wake-up calls, but apparently Beethoven is an early riser who demands his stage on the floor directly above my head.

Time to surrender to consciousness.

I drag myself upstairs into an explosion of life in its fullest expression: toys scattered like confetti, craft supplies colonizing every surface, children conducting symphonies of joy and chaos, breakfast sizzling on the stove, and the beautiful, exhausting orchestra of a house fully alive.

I make a beeline for the coffee machine.

Tim Hortons pod in. Two minutes later, half-and-half coffee in hand, I execute my strategic retreat from the chaos that is not of my own loins. (The benefits of being an Uncle) Across the deck, barefoot into dew-soaked grass, I walk slowly toward the lake. The earth feels soft and grounding beneath my feet, the fresh water whispering its ancient invitation. Behind me, the symphony of screams and declarations fades into a gentle hum.

The morning air is crisp and perfectly still.

I step onto the dock, dry the dew from a chair with the towel I'd had the foresight to bring, and turn toward the water. A giant breath in. An enormous sigh of relief out. In this stillness - birds chirping softly, warm morning wind grazing my cheek, gentle waves lapping the shore - silence and ease envelope me with grace.

Finally, I have escaped the madness. Finally, it's quiet. Finally, I can spend time with the Divine.

I inhale the earthy aroma of my coffee and whisper into the sanctuary of my mind: "Good morning, God." I settle into my chair, ready for communion.

The moment I sit, as though a patient teacher has been waiting with lecture prepared, a voice echoes through my being:

“Only now you say good morning? Did you not think I was with you in the house? In the kitchen? In bed as you stared at the ceiling this morning? Do you think I'm only with you when it's quiet?"

Humbled.

The truth of the moment lands with perfect clarity. Why wasn't I able to find this peace while surrounded by five-year-old energy? Did I believe God only waited for me by the lake? That the Divine couldn't hear me, or I couldn't hear the Divine, amid the joyful chaos of children being children?

Was I such a spiritual snob that I could only experience Divinity when all external elements aligned with my preferences? As though we had a secret clubhouse that only I had access to?

I felt no guilt over this gentle correction. God holds me in my pondering with pure love, but the contemplation runs deep: Why wasn't I able to create this inner sanctuary while in a more chaotic space? What would that look like? What would that require?

Do I carry within me the keys to sit at a food-splattered dining table, decibel levels exceeding healthy auditory intake, and feel as though I'm sitting beside this tranquil lake? Can I bring God with me instead of always going to Her?

The Path of Mastery

I suppose this is the path of mastery - the very purpose of the spiritual journey. To do the work, the healing, the seeking. To find God, who has been hiding in the depths of our own soul all along, and bring that part of ourselves into the everyday. Into the frustrations of living in this 3D illusion we've collectively manifested.

To sit in bumper-to-bumper traffic and be so enamored with existence that it becomes a joy. To endure the three-hour pointless work meeting and feel grateful to be spending time with literal balls of cosmic divine expression walking around in human costumes.

This is not an invitation to spiritual bypassing - to avoid difficult feelings or dive into the toxicity of "focusing only on the positive." Sometimes the overwhelm of life is inevitable, and more importantly, necessary. We must feel what we feel; it's the gateway to genuine healing.

But our goal is to move through these feelings, to see them as temporary objects in our world rather than forces that control our emotional state. Heavy traffic becomes emotionless. A stubbed toe becomes a prayer. This feels like mastery - the genuine aspiration to become so intoxicated with life that every moment screams God, screams the explosion of cosmic essence into living, breathing consciousness.

It's falling so absolutely, startlingly, embarrassingly in love with existence that no storm can inspire fear. You understand the foundation of it all so deeply that you simply ride the wave. You've mastered the ocean. You trust the ocean.

This is the path. This is the goal. This is mastery. This is the thing that, above all else, I obsess about in this lifetime.

The Monastery Within

If you've read my previous reflections, you know I often contemplate tucking myself into a Himalayan cave, seeking communion at a more still level. Placing myself in a monastery where from sunrise to sunset we sip the nectar of the Divine, meditate on stones, pray to trees. Day in, day out. No commerce, no Tiktok, no expectation, no systems. An environment perfectly, explicitly designed to ebb the noise of the world away from the soul - to calm the external wind so we can hear our own peace within, where we speak only in whispers and the echo of Source responds in kind.

It sounds beautiful, doesn't it? It sounds easy.

But know this, dear friends: mastery is never found at the end of easy.

As much as I wish it weren't true.

I don't claim that the monastery isn't a valid path to mastery. In fact, I still believe I'll find myself there one day, even if only for a season. Tasting stillness, true Divine stillness, becomes a drug that many enlightened souls grow addicted to. Once the peace of Oneness permeates your cells, you crave it in every walk of life.

And so a North Star is born in the soul of the seeker - a pull so strong it can remind you, even in the middle of an especially explosive diaper mishap, that there is a lake within you that sits completely still. Upon its surface rests a light of blinding joy. There is no thing - just absolute being. And we can bring that presence back into our existence.

What an exceptional gift we've been given.

The Practice of Presence

I am no master. I wonder if I'll ever achieve mastery of it all. But what I know with certainty is that my life, this time around, will be spent in heroic attempt to understand that mastery, that mystery.

Once you taste the stillness, once you feel Creation in the space between your cells, you'll never want for anything more.

And so, as I repeated the same fart joke to my nephew for the seventy-third time, I laughed with the same intensity he did - as though each telling were the first. I saw the spark of connection between us and the Divine, our trinity of laughter and love. I was not bored or tired. I was engaged entirely and with peace in my heart.

I lasted about an hour before I needed to tap out. But three years ago, it would have been five minutes.

Mastery, here I come.

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The Divine doesn't wait for perfect conditions. It doesn't require silence, solitude, or scenic lakes. It lives in ink stained traffic tickets, in the tantrum of children, in the chaos of morning nausea and stepping-stone keyboards. The question isn't whether God is present - the question is whether we're awake enough to notice.

The monastery is wherever you are. The temple is whatever moment you're in. The prayer is simply paying attention.

And sometimes, that attention sounds like "Do Re Me So Doh" at 6:21 in the morning.

“Humility is perfect quietness of heart. It is to expect nothing, to wonder at nothing that is done to me, to feel nothing done against me. It is to be at rest when nobody praises me, and when I am blamed or despised. It is to have a blessed home in the Lord, where I can go in and shut the door, and kneel to my Father in secret, and am at peace as in a deep sea of calmness, when all around and above is trouble.”

-Andrew Murray