A Conversation with God: From an Agnostic that Sometimes Prays

Dramatic nature background

[The following is a hologram of my imagination of what I believe to be brought on by migraines, creativity, or madness. My conversation with God is not to be misconstrued as anything close to faith, for I rarely believe in what is not there or deny in what is.]

The creator is often seen as being male and infinite, and to avoid confusion in such a gendered language as English, I will refer to God as God. God’s resume is very long, but one of God’s many accomplishments was the formation of this universe among the countless others. I cannot begin to tell you how honored I am that God agreed to do the following interview. To be so flawed and accepted by one so great, when clearly God has so many better and more faithful choices, leaves me so humbled that I must inscribe myself as “unworthy one.”

unworthy one: What is the meaning and purpose of life?

God: To open your eyes and to close them with a smile

unworthy one: Why is there such hate in this world?

God: Because there is much pain in this world

unworthy one: Why then is there pain like this?

God: misdirection

unworthy one: Do people have a chosen destiny?

God: yours?

unworthy: I want to write and write like hell but no one reads it. No one controls destiny?

God: write

unworthy one: Are we all misdirected?

God: “All” can be such a sin

unworthy one: what is the right faith?

God: That gives true hope

unworthy one: But many speak of the “Word of God” for example?

God: Not mine?

unworthy: Are men and women equal?

God: L-I-F-E is equal

unworthy: Why genocide, why World War II, why millions dead in Rwanda, why mass shootings, these crazy elections?

God: you become what you think

unworthy: why do people die?

God: Because people kill them

unworthy: They get disease and …

God: it’s a cycle … hate is not

unworthy: But why?

God: truth lies in those you trust … a week is 3 billion years … all in a time warp …

unworthy: Many will read this and say why did you speak with H-I-M and not those of faith?

God: because you spoke to me without a mask

unworthy: Any advice to the others?

God:  mercy is always worthy …

unworthy: Many people need you …

God: So do I.

unworthy: where are you?

God: In seeing the world, in seeing life differently, in seeing a setback as an opportunity, a disability as a gift, and riches as a curse; to see life, to smell it, taste it, to embrace what lives and mourn what has not, to see that when love conquers evil it may become so; evil follows goodness so. Twins at birth. Sometimes God can be the Devil, you know.  Evil is not Black or White; white is a color of life here and one of death over there. Black shows evil here and peace and new beginnings somewhere not yet here.

embrace life

love what you question

fear not what you know not

______

Here is the podcast of the interview.

Dying in Artificial Coolers

Blue and purple nebula
Blue and purple nebula on black space background (depositphotos.com)

What if your life was at the bottom of that dude’s cooler?

Your eternity, that bit of liquid there;

You see it, rolling around the Styrofoam seams

Lost, wandering, this way and that way

Until it dries up, or the dog licks it

In hopes of something better.

You, YOUR life and dreams,

What then?


What does 10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60

Or 70 matter … a century even?

Some live a week, maybe only a day;

Others lose count or don’t count.


They simply stop working.


It could be worse, right?

It could be maybe that muddy hole instead?

You know, the one your bare-child foot got stuck in

Back when you had hope and dreams?

No, better than plastic-type white;

This one dark, warm and dirty — the primordial soup

— A mommy’s womb — ;

The other bright, artificial and painfully clean.


What we all seem to want but do not want.


What we want to be but are not.

But critters lie there

Or do they lay?

Often hard on the outside, soft on the inside;

We, all wrong, soft on the outside and hard on the inside.

What if we are like bugs, too?


What if God is the squished bug you see over there

On that old book that no one reads

But you keep for no reason?

You like its oldness but don’t care about the inside.

Books are not like people with God’s innards smashed on the outside.


Maybe he, no her, yes, her

Those girls don’t need us.

They clone themselves and make a better you-me.


Because they cannot find love anyway.


But did you ever look close enough?

To stare at the dark eyes, all chocolate chip,

And see what 120 million years sees?

What does she see in thee and thee see in she?


What if a bug is more than a bug?

What if they are significant — in years —

And prophesied that they flew around the sun?

That they are the center?

How many have you killed

Like the dog that licked you up

Or the half-eaten chicken wing that you cannot finish?


It died for that.


Its whole life to be “lick’in” or bitten only once

And tossed aside,

The creator mushed on a book;

Your life a pang of indigestion;

What if you could see you like others see you?

What a legacy in thee?


Are humans that important?

But how many have fallen in coolers, in mud pits,

Or down a nose and throat

And were swallowed?

No worries, they are healthy, much protein

Even spiders and houseflies.


Even you, with some extra fat and sugar though.


She made us all wrong.

Too big to be eaten


And too small to save the world.


Maybe we are just a mistake — the experiment that won’t go away — only 4-million years

And for all of this?


Maybe that is eternity? Chocolate chip eyes,

Or little black beads of pearl …


Black holes are where we find them.


No, it’s all wrong, the agnostic prophesy, of the once priest-like

Boy

That loved to love others that did not love back.


I’ve learned that God harbors in dark spaces:

Crouches, lurks, where no “good” soul wants to go.

We run from nature … from the natural

And drown and die in artificial coolers


All the while, believing that we are important.


Look up at the sky

When it’s very dark

Drive out to red-neck country

And get a good view of what lurks above.

It looks just like a chocolate chip eye, the sky,

Only so much bigger than you

Staring back at you.

What is better?

When it’s dark?

Or if it’s white?


Does death know the difference?


Hear the podcast of this poem here.