When I say God is not a presence, I mean he's not anything outside you -- neither a person nor a presence as conceived in the language of objectivity. When I say God is a presence, I simply mean he is the innermost core of your being -- that silent core, that space where nobody else can enter you; that private, that absolutely intimate virgin space, your interiority, is God.
But the word "God" can create trouble for you. Words are very troublesome because words carry the past; they are made by the past, they are overburdened by the past. Any word is dangerous, because its meaning comes from the past. And for me the problem is: to use the words which come from the past -- because there are no other words -- but to give them such a twist and turn that they can give you a little insight into a new meaning. The words are old, the bottles are old, but the wine is new.