I used to believe in God until I found out he didn't believe in me. He e-mailed me to tell me. He used this e-mail address – God@everywhereandanywhere dot com. I knew he was a fake because I couldn't find the website. His e-mail said, "I have decided I don't believe in you any more. You question my existence, so I've decided to question yours. After all, you made me in your own image and I made you in mine. I just wanted to let you know. Signed, God."
I wrote him back. I wrote, "Fine. I don't blame you. I don't want to believe in you any more if you don't believe in me. I try my best. That's the best I can do. Signed, me."
For several weeks we corresponded.
In one e-mail, he said, "It is the start of understanding when you stop believing in each other. That's the point when you arrive at a concept of emptiness. If you've come to this point, you are in an abyss of separation. That's when you realize you must believe in something. Or somebody. Otherwise, what's the point? I congratulate you." - Signed, God.
I thanked him, of course. But I didn't believe him. I also congratulated him in not believing in me. I figured it was the polite thing to do. Why should he? Believing in each other should be reciprocal.
We discussed many subjects during those weeks. Trailer parks and squalor. Dollars and investments. Calls sent from cliffs. Waterfalls. Whiffs of perfume. Wallowing in pity. Resiliency. Parades. Prisons. Changes to visions. Birth. Isolation. Confusion. War. What energy consumption was for. Confusion. Hope. Sex. Creating art. The death of pets and family members. Parts of various movies. Blues riffs on the guitar. Public transportation versus taking your own car. On and on. It was quite engaging. It was like God was staging a show and we were the only two in the cast. I had vast recollections and amassed a great deal of conclusions from our dialogue. It was as if I were in a fog and then emerged from it to find all kinds of novelties revealed from the inside of us.
It was really very cool talking to God about sex. He got so aroused by my words. That's when I started questioning my own disbelief. Maybe he was God, after all. I made him in my own image just as he made me in his.
I decided to trade one-liners with him. It was like an e-mail stand-up comedy routine. It was fun. Lots of puns. He was my straight man. We were both our own audience. We were one person shows with a full house. We read each other and each of us didn't know whether to believe anything we were saying to each other, but it was like he was my brother and lover and an empty soul playing poker. To challenge or to fold. Did the dealer really take the jokers out of the deck?
The entire time, I wished he would believe in me.
But you can't change another person. That's something I truly believe. And why would you want to? He decided he didn't want to and it was reciprocal. It should always be reciprocal. Love is an equation, the same on both sides of the equal sign.
I have often wondered what happened to him since then. Is he still alive? Is he dead? Damn dude got into my head like a personification of me. Not that I would ever want to be him if he were really him because that would be too much responsibility. Way too much. Just his luck, he got the job instead. But he was way ahead of me. Apparently, he had a rewarding position. And I kept being in revision of myself, unable to make decisions about whether to discontinue the conversation, quit the whole relationship, go do laundry. Wash socks. I couldn't get out of the box. I checked for his e-mails round the clock.
But all of this is not either here or there or anywhere for that matter. The whole purpose of writing this is recording.
Recording has significance since it's documentation. I've never needed documenting since my own creation other than to prove it happened. Somebody made me. And it was probably me but I'm not the one to be able to see the past and so the vast structure of all that's happened or all that will is simply an insignificant point for me, if you will.
Don't you hate it when people say, "If you will?" What in the hell does that mean?
OK, so let's try to glean something from what I'm trying so hard to say which I know won't be understood because if I don't understand it, how can you? What is the projection or reverie? Have I insulted you or me yet? What is the purpose of this pursuit and where will it get us? Is it a must to figure out? What do you have doubts about?
The only thing I really know is how to leave well enough alone. When it's as good as it can be, why try to make it be anything else? You can have wealth, whatever that word means to you, or healthy conversations with those you conceive to be presenting themselves as true to heart or you can simply depart from this world you made as a slave to never getting your day in the sun. If you know you don't know what you stand for, I've decided, you've won.
Change is the tide necessary to ride. It's the ticket. The jump on board.
I don't have a clue what I'm writing this for. I have a million things to do but I don't want to bore you with them. I have a friend to call. I have wall to break down. I have sounds to make like breaking glass, mounds of papers to trash, class action suits to pursue, though it never works to sue. It isn't good for me or you and wears us down. It's an erosion to pointed fingers. Blame is the most negative, ridiculously vague disturbance.
I believe in sleep. Charity can reap an abundance of rewards. I believe in investing all I can afford.
I tried to e-mail God again after several months of silence. He never responds. My mail bounces back into my box. He was a hoax, anyway. No bother. I have been considering putting locks on my doors and windows again for some time now. But I have to stand up for what I believe and keep them ajar.
"You can do anything and be anything you want to be," my father told me. My father was not God but he was funny like that.
I wanted to make this humorous but I can't find my silly hat with feathers. Whether this makes sense to you or not is not my concern. My only concern is the creases in my pants, the rants you want to share, liars exposed, dares released, please-come-to-me's spoken honestly and the veracity of e-mails from and to cowards and saints.
And so I paint my signature on this. I believe in majesty and bliss. I wish I could believe in a Judas kiss though I have been taken. Don't be mistaken, OK? I stand for everything I say even though I don't know what way it will take me once I get started.
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Author's Comments: poetic prose written a long time ago... poetic because it entails rhythm, rhyme, assonance, etc.