Coffee with God

This may be half baked but it's good to go...

God’s an odd fellow and one of the originals, maybe the original, and there’s no getting away from the fact that he’s heard it all before in one form or another. So when I laid my story on him he blew smoke rings and said nothing.

The coffee was good though, and as I took sips of it I kept glancing over to see if he would do anything; just one word would be nice, I mean, the word of God goes a long way, right?

Perhaps he spoke another language or something.

I was dying to ask him if he was Christian, but the more I thought about it the less inclined I became to open my mouth.

So I just enjoyed the coffee with him and began to feel there really wasn’t much of anything to say to God.

As the thoughts began to clear I felt a huge distance that was closer than anything, and in this distance were all things.

I was a giant and towered, and in my towering I realised that all things were one and I was connected to them, there was no separation. And as I grew I became small again and came back to myself drinking coffee.

“So, it was you all the time,” I said then. But as soon as I said this, God went away as if he was never really there and I was left with an emptiness that made me weep.

For day and weeks I cried and felt too miserable to carry on.

But everything changes in time and so one day I found myself back on the search to find what I already had inside me, which must be perplexing to anyone looking on from a distance, it certainly was to me, but whichever way I cut it, it always came out the same.

And then came the witch's whistle...

Sometimes when things turn easy you wonder what’s going on, especially when things have been going hard for too long. Just then, bursts of synchronicity began to happen...

Some gun-child of the marshes and many old men came with dirty boots and pulling the God-given ass of Rosemary Tuesday doing the witch’s whistle.

As they passed, heaving into their destiny, I felt a touch of déjà vu again, another stranger in the extremities waiting for a bus home, or at least out of this place.

End of part one...

Image from Pixabay

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