Who is God? Most people can't answer this question. Go ahead; see what happens when you ask. People look at you like you are the weirdo. Then they stumble around with a few adjectives. It's a rare person who has considered this question and can share a well thought-out description or definition. But, hey, if you are going to pray to this entity, it makes sense to consider to whom or what you are praying.

A good place to start is with what God is not. At a workshop on prayer, our instructor asked the "Who is God?" question, and after the 40 people in the class stumble-bummed around sufficiently, he took pity on us and wrote on the board what God is not:

God is not distant. That means God is not in some faraway place looking down at us.

God is not anthropomorphic. That means God is not a big guy with all the not-so-hot attributes of some big scary guys. God is not a bully. God doesn't have human emotions. God doesn't get angry or annoyed or peeved. (Whew!)

God is not uncaring. God is not some neutral, un-present, un-loving entity who coldly watches our fiascoes here on earth.

Well, the 40 people in the room were pretty happy with all those "nots." So the instructor tried again: "OK, if that's what God is not, what is God?" Looking out at our befuddled faces, he told us something astonishing. "If you line up all the beliefs of all the spiritual traditions, there are two items — and only two items — on which all religions agree:

"God made it all.

God does good work."

Didn't seem like much — just two consensus points across Judaism, Christianity, Hinduism, Islam, Shinto, Wicca and a few hundred other spiritual traditions. But as the class reviewed both statements, it became clear that they cover a lot of ground. If God made it all and God only does good work, that tells us a lot about ourselves, about life, about God and about our relationship with this God.

What do you think? What do you believe is not true of God? And what do you perceive is always true of God? You do not have to agree with the two statements my teacher made. You might want to change them, eliminate some, or add more. You might want to start over completely. It doesn't matter what you do, because you are the one having a relationship with God. Not me. Not my teacher. You.

I went home and thought about what is not true of God and what is always true of God, and I just couldn't be sure, so I dumped the problem on God. This may have been a cop-out, but my reasoning was: Who would know more about God than God? So I wrote in my soul journal:

Dear God, last night my teacher told us what God is not. But, God, it seems to me that the right thing, the easy thing is to ask you. You are the "person" I talk to on these pages. You are the "something" I seek. You are the reason I'm praying. So, who are you? What are you? To whom am I talking anyway?

And the answer came. Well, sort of an answer. I don't think our human brains can get there in words or even pictures. My brain can't, anyway. I think the closest we come are the exquisite feelings stirred up by art, music, poetry and emotion. Perhaps an easier question might be: Where are you, God?

Well that's a question I know the answer to.

I find a little bit of God in a Van Gogh, Chagall or aboriginal artwork. I hear the sound of God in Mozart, Puccini and Eric Clapton. I swear a hint of God's voice lives in Aretha, Placido Domingo, Billie Holiday and, of course, Elvis. It shimmers in jazz saxophone, Celtic bagpipes and Spanish guitar. Listen to Vladimir Horowitz in Moscow, and tell me you don't hear God!

I see a flicker of God's image when Baryshnikov, Fred and Ginger, or Simeon Glover move. I smell the shadow of God in babies' skin. I recognize it stroking Irish linen, Mongolian cashmere and Peruvian cotton. I feel it in my son's sweet hug. I taste it in the first pesto of summer, dry French champagne and dark Belgian chocolate.

I sense God's presence in Japanese woodcuts and Chinese calligraphy. I witness it in winter's first snowfall, October's leaves and April's tulips. I hear a slice of God's ideas in Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson, and Alice Hoffman. And when I try to follow Robin Williams, I believe I am given a tiny flash of the mysterious mind of God. (You got a better explanation?)

Einstein said: "I want to know the thoughts of God." Einstein got a lot closer than I am, but I want to know God, too. And I can. In a smaller way, perhaps. In my way. I also get to turn and say: "Oh, there you are!" And so do you.

My answer to "Who are you, God?" ended up sounding something like: It doesn't matter who you are, I love you anyway. That's my answer; yours may be completely different.

In the end the definition doesn't matter. The exercise of trying to define God simply gives us one more opportunity to connect with the God we are trying to define. If the definition isn't possible, the connection is. In the end, this effort of words becomes a transcendental experience independent of words. In the end it's about the love, not the entity that loves.

And isn't that exquisite!

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Janet Conner, S.E. (Spiritual Explorer), is the creator of the Spiritual Geography map and author of the Spiritual Geography book series. She is currently working on a new book, "Writing Down the Soul: How to Activate and Listen to the Extraordinary Voice Within," for Conari Press. The Spiritual Geography books are available through Amazon or Spiritual Geography. Janet would love to hear about your experiences connecting with the divine on paper at {email janetconner@tampabay.rr.com}janetconner@tampabay.rr.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Janet Conner.