The Day I Found
God in a Pub
The Day I Found God in a Pub
AI Artwork by Marc Ritter
By Antonia Lyons
The first time I heard Adamus saying the words “You are God, also,” I knew right away I’d be writing a book about this sooner or later. That was during the first lockdown here in London, about 3 years ago and much has happened in the world and in my life ever since.
But at the time, those words were a lot for me to digest. This had very little to do with my Catholic upbringing, and everything to do with my sheer terror at no longer be able to pray to “someone” up there. If we are all God, I thought to myself, then whom do we turn to at times of need? Who will hear our crying and dry our tears? Most of all, who will assure us that it will always be okay?
I remember crying my eyes out for a couple of days as if I was mourning the loss of a dear friend. The God I had grown to rely on and often fear, was me after all, but this just felt a bit too much to accept. A big responsibility, really, because this meant that I could no longer screw up. I took Adamus’ words as an invitation to become some sort of selfless and magnanimous person, who graciously made her way through the world like a beautiful angel. Little did I know at the time, but angels often fall flat on their faces in the mud – and then start rolling in it because they are having fun. The sensuous life they come here to experience often requires them to get real dirty and then brush themselves off and carry on, heedless of what others may think.
Over time, however, I have learned that accepting our divinity is very different from trying to be perfect. Quite the contrary in fact. That is when I started to caress the idea of writing a book about the many Gods I have met along the way. And suddenly the people around me began to sound and look very different.
In truth it was my own husband who inspired The Day I Found God in A Pub. Although he never showed any interest in the metaphysical field, he always displayed the wisdom and self-assurance typical of a very old soul. I loved him for this and truly respected what he offered. Yet, after a few years of being together, I embarked on a risky mission: converting the man to the matters of Spirit. He could not care less. The more I tried, the more resistant he grew. I turned myself into a bit of a “spiritual nazi” for a while, which caused quite a few issues and tensions between us. I obstinately believed that only if we both walked the same path, could our marriage stand the proof of time. Most of all, I arrogantly believed that only when you make space for Spirit can you get life to go the way you want her to.
One day, out of the blue, I suddenly saw something that I had previously completely missed: my husband was totally at ease with himself. He genuinely was very comfortable with his humanness, having learnt early on in life that no amount of incense burning and altar-making will change the course of the world. He believed that some days we fall, other days we walk pretty straight, but it is all up to us how we brush ourselves off each time and carry on.
His acceptance of life was foreign to me. His trust and ease, puzzling. How could he be so sovereign and wise without all the self-help books I had read? Where did he learn to stand so tall and regal without the aid of a spiritual teacher? And could all this mean that perhaps the God I had been looking for was closer than I thought?
One rainy afternoon, while quietly enjoying a glass of red wine in our local pub, I watched my husband ordering more drinks at the bar. His laughter sounded heartier than usual. His smile shone brighter than ever. At that very moment, I no longer saw the man, but God. I thought that if whatever I had been searching for through spirituality felt and looked like that, then I wanted the same for myself.
But soon I was back on my quest. I enrolled in new workshops, bought a few more books, found new teachers, and life carried on being the same long and exhausting search. The one exception was that I did leave my husband alone after that and started to embrace his “human ways” a bit more.
Until one day I came across Adamus and Shaumbra, and suddenly my husband’s acceptance of life and people did not look so strange. Adamus spoke of sensual life and human angels. He invited us to put the incense out and enjoy the smells of real life. Mostly, he told us that we are God, also.
After my initial resistance and sadness, I started to feel curious about such a controversial statement. Did Adamus really mean his words, or was this just a clever marketing stunt to attract new Shaumbra? Could we really ditch the search and start living this often crazy life without the constant need to fix it? Did our supposed divinity demand perfection and mastery or was it just an invitation to give ourselves tons of grace along the way?
Since then, I have become more comfortable in my own skin. I have learnt to embrace the joys this life offers and lose myself in the world without worrying if I’ll ever find my way back. I no longer feel the need for guidance, nor do I look for something bigger than myself to turn to.
What I have really learnt though, is that God has many faces. They are not all pretty, and quite often God does very despicable things. Nevertheless, once we truly accept our divinity, we also accept the fact that we come here to experience life in her infinite facets. And each time, it gets a little easier to remember ourselves and where we come from, especially if we allow. Sometimes, of course, remembering and allowing may not be our game, so we spend our time choosing to be very removed from our divine self and causing quite a bit of pain to ourselves and those around us.
Something quite specific happens when we end the search for a better self and a better life: colors become vibrant, feeling and looking alive; sounds, even when loud, no longer offend the ear, but rather blend in the background like a masterful symphony; and people are no longer just people. When one starts accepting life as she is, one realizes that every person has a story that must be told so this world can carry on existing.
The people in my book don’t have a spiritual background. They never had a guru, nor believed that anyone or anything could actually fix whatever challenge they were facing. By embracing their humanness, they were able to clearly know what to do next, while keeping their heart open to be surprised. For, in the end, the one thing I have come to realize whilst writing this book is that to truly live our time in this world, we ought to be able to show up and allow ourselves to be surprised. Each moment will be a new gift and carry the opportunity to remember our divine essence a bit more.
When The Day I Found God in A Pub was first released, I had not noticed that the title was wrong. To my horror, my husband pointed out that the title on the website was different than what the cover said, and for a moment I went into a full fit of rage against myself. How could I be so clumsy and blind, really? How on earth did I miss such an important detail?
For a couple of days, I threw all sorts of harsh criticism at myself and refused to offer any comfort or grace. It was my husband who saved the day by simply stating, “For someone who declares to have found God in others, you surely know how to be pretty cruel towards yourself.”
In that moment I suddenly saw that if it is true that I am God, then no mistake will ever define me or change that fact. I brushed myself off, told my petulant dark aspects to be quiet, and contacted Amazon’s customer services to find a solution to the inconvenient hiccup.
Adamus never meant to push us towards perfection when he declared that we are God, also. Instead, he invited us to embrace the divine mess and trust that grace is never too far off.