God is a Verb.

How humans may actually be the creators of God

When two bodies float alone in space, they either crash into each other or drift apart. That’s the truth of raw desire, it burns hot, it consumes, but left unchecked it cannot last.

What steadies them is a third presence, the sun. Something greater than either body, something they can orbit together. That’s how balance is made, not through restraint, not through pulling back, but through circling something larger than themselves.

I’ve come to believe that love in its many form’s works this way.

Take for example falling in love, that pull between two people can feel like obsession. Terrifying, intoxicating, impossible to control. We mistake that raw magnetism for love itself. And if it’s only you and me, the pull is too violent. We either collapse into each other or tear apart.

The miracle happens when a third enters, the sun we circle together. Sometimes that third is the hearth of family. Sometimes it’s the shared fire of work or art. Sometimes it’s simply the mystery of love itself. Whatever form it takes, it steadies us. It gives our fire gravity.

And this, I think, is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a definition of God.

Not a distant noun, fixed and untouchable, but a verb. The act of orbiting and the movement of devotion itself. God is not what sits outside of us, dictating from above; God is what we create when we give ourselves to something beyond the self.

If gravity is consciousness, the awareness that we are not isolated fragments, but bodies pulled into relation, into orbit then when we choose to circle something greater together, we awaken to that consciousness. It’s not passive. It’s the most active thing we can do.

We think permanence is impossible. We live, we die, we vanish. But permanence is born every time we enact God as a verb. Every time we choose to make meaning our vow. We say: this love matters. This fire matters. This story matters. We create permanence not by escaping time, but by becoming conscious of the gravity that holds us.

Maybe this is what mystics mean when they speak of union with the divine. The fear is always the same. If I surrender, will I disappear? If I give myself, will I lose myself? But the truth whispered across traditions is this…no , you expand. You blaze. You become more.

God, then, is not separate from us. God is the orbit itself. The verb of devotion. The act of consciousness pulling us into relation. Without that third thing, we spin wildly, burning out. With it, we become permanent.

And if this is true, we are not just merely holding a belief in God. We are actually making God. Every time we choose the third thing that steadies us, every time we orbit something greater than ourselves.

That is love. That is permanence. That is God as verb, as gravity, as consciousness alive.

This piece was first published in Medium. You can read more of my work there.