Chapter 3: The Sun and the Sunshine

Vinod took the bottle. He cracked the seal, the plastic giving a sharp snap that cut through the low hum of the terminal. He drank deeply.

Water. It’s such a simple thing. Until you are thirsty. Then it is everything.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at me. The water had cooled his throat, but the question was still burning in his mind.

"A Person," he said, testing the word. "It feels... small, Sir. When I think of God, I think of the Universe. I think of a Force that spins the galaxies. Infinite. Formless. To say He has a face? To say He has a name? It feels like we are trying to squeeze the Ocean into this water bottle."

I smiled. "It does feel that way, doesn't it? Our logic tells us that to be big, you must be vague."

I pointed toward the massive glass wall of the terminal. Outside, the afternoon sun was beginning its slow descent. It was blazing, painting the silver wings of the airplanes in gold.

"Vinod," I said. "Tell me what you see."

He squinted against the glare. "The sun."

"What is coming through the window?"

"Sunlight," he said. "Heat."

"Is the sunlight everywhere?"

"Yes," he said. "It fills the sky. It’s touching the planes, the tarmac, the buildings. It’s touching us right now."

"Correct," I said. "That impersonal light is vast. It is everywhere. But tell me, does that light exist on its own? Or does it come from somewhere?"

Vinod looked at the glowing orb in the distance. "It comes from the sun globe."

"Exactly," I said. "The light is formless. But the source of the light has a form. It is a round, fiery globe. The formless energy comes from the concrete object."

I leaned in, lowering my voice as if sharing a secret.

"And if we could fly a spaceship right into that globe," I said, "do you think it is empty? Or do you think there is a governing power there? A director behind the heat?"

Vinod thought for a moment. "There must be a source. A core."

"The ancients tell us," I said, "that the sun is not just a ball of gas. It is a residence. There is a personality who governs that light. The Sun God."

Vinod scoffed slightly. He couldn't help it.

"With all due respect, Sir," he said, "that is where science draws the line. The sun is a nuclear furnace. It’s millions of degrees. The gravity alone would crush anything to an atom. Nothing can survive there."

"Nothing made of earth can survive there," I corrected.

I pointed to the aquarium in the center of the waiting lounge, where colorful fish were darting through the water.

"Vinod, if I threw you into the deep ocean without a submarine, would you survive?"

"No. The pressure would crush me. And I couldn't breathe."

"Exactly. Your body is not compatible with that element. But the fish? They are perfectly comfortable. They are suited to the water."

I looked back at the sun.

"We have bodies made of heavy earth and water. So yes, to us, the sun is death. But why do you assume all life must be carbon-based? The ancients say that there are bodies made of fire. To a being made of fire, the sun is not a furnace. It is home. It is as comfortable to them as this air-conditioned terminal is to you."

Vinod paused. He tilted his head, acknowledging the logic. It was the arrogance of humanity to assume the entire universe had to look exactly like us.

"Compatibility," he murmured. "I suppose that makes sense."

I watched him process this.

"Think of it in three levels, Vinod," I continued. "First, you feel the heat in your room. That is like the Energy of God. Impersonal. Vast. Peaceful. Most people stop there."

I took a sip of my own water.

"Second, you see the globe itself. That is like the Localized form of God. The power within."

"And the third?" he asked.

"The third is the Person inside," I said. "The Source. You see, Vinod, we have it backward. We think the Abstract is the highest truth. We think the Form is a limitation. But in reality, the Abstract comes from the Form. The sunshine comes from the Sun. The smoke comes from the Fire. The energy comes from the Energetic."

Vinod frowned, tracing the rim of his water bottle. "But a form implies boundaries. If I am sitting in this chair, I cannot be in the chair next to me. I am limited. If God has a form, isn't He limited?"

"You are limited," I agreed. "Because your form is made of matter. If you are here, you cannot be at home. But we are speaking of the Supreme. His form is not like ours. It is not made of atoms and molecules."

I tapped the table gently. "He has a form that can be everywhere and nowhere at once. He has eyes that can see every corner of the universe. He has ears that can hear every whisper in your heart. He is a Person, Vinod, but He is the Unlimited Person."

Vinod looked out the window again. The sun was dipping lower, a perfect circle of fire.

"I have a question for you," I said.

"Go ahead."

"You are a person, correct?"

"Yes."

"You have a personality. You like things. You dislike things. You have humor. You have love. You have intelligence."

"I hope so," he chuckled.

"And where did you come from?" I asked. "Did you create yourself?"

"No. I came from nature. From the Universe. From God."

"Here is the logic," I said softly. "Think of a painting, Vinod. It has color, shape, and form. Now think of the painter. Does the painter have less form than his painting?"

Vinod shook his head. "No."

"Exactly. He has more. If the art has a form, the Artist must have one too. If the entire creation is full of forms, how can the Source of all forms be formless? How can 'Something' come from 'Nothing'?"

I pointed to the water bottle he was holding. "Let me ask you this. What is the definition of 'Supreme'?"

"No equal and no superior," he answered automatically.

"Correct. Now, you are drinking that water. You have the attribute of thirst, and the capacity to enjoy quenching it. If God is formless, He cannot drink. He cannot taste. He cannot enjoy."

I leaned closer. "If you can do something that God cannot do, that would mean you possess an attribute the Supreme lacks. That would make you superior to God."

Vinod stared at the bottle, his eyes widening as the trap snapped shut. "That... is logically impossible."

"Exactly. If God is Supreme, He must be complete. He must have everything you have—form, senses, personality—and infinitely more. If He is only energy, then He is less than you."

I let that sink in.

"A robot cannot give birth to a human. A stone cannot give birth to a poet. If you are a person, your Source must be the Supreme Person."

Vinod sat very still. The noise of the airport seemed to fade away.

"The Father cannot be less than the son," he whispered.

"Never," I said. "He is the Original. We are just the reflection. Everything you have—your ability to build, your love for Prakash, your sense of humor—it is all just a tiny spark stolen from the fire of the Supreme Person."

Vinod looked down at his hands. "I always thought... if I made God a person, I was making Him small. I was dragging Him down to my level."

"No," I said gently. "You are not dragging Him down. You are acknowledging that He is the climax of existence. To say God is just 'energy' is to say He is less than you. You are more than just energy, aren't you? You are conscious."

"Yes."

"Then He is the Super Conscious."

Vinod took another long drink of water. He looked refreshed, but not just from the hydration. The tension in his brow had smoothed out.

"A Person," he said again. But this time, he didn't say it with skepticism. He said it with a strange sense of comfort.

"If He is a person," Vinod said softly, looking at me, "then that means..."

"That means you can know Him," I finished. "You cannot be friends with a beam of light, Vinod. You cannot love a cloud of gas. But a Person? A Person you can love. A Person can love you back."

The sun finally slipped behind the horizon, leaving a purple bruise on the sky. The light was fading, but inside the terminal, Vinod’s face seemed to brighten.

"A relationship," he murmured. "Not just a merger."

"Exactly," I said. "We don't want to become the sunshine. We want to see the Sun."

He nodded, a slow, deep nod.

"I like that," he said. "I like that very much."

Then his phone buzzed. A sharp, jarring vibration on the metal armrest. The moment broke.

Vinod picked it up. He squinted at the screen, and the peace on his face instantly evaporated. His jaw tightened. The charcoal suit suddenly looked heavy again.

"Work?" I asked.

"Always," he sighed, typing a furious reply. "It never stops, does it? The hunger."

"No," I said, watching him thumb the keypad. "It never does. And do you know why?"

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Next: Read Chapter 4: The Hunger