The Honorable Hugeness Beyond Human Comprehension, Sacred Smallness Down Under, Journey That Never Ends, Fairy Dust That Clings. The Ultimate Lover, Thinker, Forgiver, and Doer. The One and Only Silence. Cacophony. Irritating Rash. Soother of Every Fear–God isn’t picky about names or even who believes and who doesn’t. You can’t prove God; you can’t disprove God. A that’s how God likes it—which makes me very crabby sometimes. But I live with it.
This Holy Energy—and the chats we have, the little tricks she plays—at a personal level, these are generally good. The synchronicities and coincidences tickle me. And yes, they also scare the Bejesus out of me. What if, what if, what if? A God so tiny? A God so enormous? A jokester, donkey, poet, physicist, an artist, a hungry dog? A neighbor, an enemy, the blight on the chokecherries? If you could manifest in any form, what would you choose? If you could speak in any voice, how would you speak? Smooth, seductive? Thunderous? Or in the muted voice of the powerless?
“All of the above,” God says. “I love multiple choice exams.”
“Are you ever happy, God?” I ask, changing the subject. “I mean, really happy?”
“Oh, sure,” God says. “How could anyone be God and not be happy? I’m happy a good deal of the time. But then, time is meaningless to me. So, yes. I’d say I’m happy. What would you say?”
This puts me on guard for some reason. I take a swig of my dark beer and consider drinking the whole thing for once. But I don’t.
“Well, Bubba,” I say, “Here’s the deal: Sometimes I think you hitchhike. I think that when mortals manage to be happy, or joyful, you ride the waves. You gobble it up. Expand, magnify, and revel. I think you’re a joy-a-holic.”
“Busted!!” God shouts. “Absolutely. Always. Forever. I loooooove it. Joy-a-holic! Wouldn’t that make a great tattoo? Maybe burned across the sky, hot orange and midnight blue– wide on the electromagnetic spectrum. Sound good? Yes!” Sometimes God provides his own answers.
I shake my head as the Creator, the Big Belly Bubba Essence takes over the sky. Behind my closed eyes, in a secret place, God is heavily tattooed, circling Saturn, jubilant, erotic, irreverent. God is an untouchable ecstasy. If you’re brave enough to hang around and watch, beads of sweaty joy fall like stars, and you can put them in your pocket and take them home. But beware. They’ll burn through your defenses and put you on the street. They’ll blind you to the small differences between you and anyone else.
What’s left of this morning’s conversation? Three chickadees and a gaggle of ungainly turkeys pecking the soggy ground. They move with deliberation, wary of each other. Wary of the wind. But blissfully unaware of their indwelling grace. I envy their simplicity. They own this moment and nothing else.
Now your credentials…with me…are perfect. You like dark beer!!! I know She is pleased also and probably has a pint or two herself more frequently than she would like us to know! Wonderful post…again.
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Is there any other kind of beer worth the name?? God has lots of names, but the range is narrower with beer. Thanks for your steady and meaningful support.
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Real damned good, and accurate in my world.
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Thanks! Glad for the support, and glad for the sense of accuracy…it feels accurate as I write and sit with the words, but then I never know how it lands “out there…”
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Wonderful. I love the soother of every fear.
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I like her too 🙂 And you!
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